#ill come back later to clean up the tags | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pulisicsgirl · 9 months

Text

not going anywhere - christian pulisic

summary: after Christian (and several others) notice how Y/N hasn't been herself for the last few weeks, he finally decides to confront her about how she's feeling

pairing: Christian Pulisic x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings/tags: established relationship, angst, discussions of mental health and illness, mentions of meds, supportive Christian, hastily proofread

requested: no

notes: Hey there!! This has been sitting in my draft for probably 6 months and I wanted to put something out, so I tried to finish it and make it at least decent for y'all! I promise I'm trying to work on your requests and I have several halfway written, but I've just been struggling in the writing department all summer. Thanks for being patient with me! If this fic is a steaming pile of garbage... pretend you didn't read it

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Christian that you hadn’t been yourself lately.

Your relationship was fairly new, having only been together for a few months, but as attentive as Christian was, he recognized the little things that had shifted in your personality.

He noticed how when you smiled at someone, it never quite reached your eyes—the little wrinkles that usually appeared in the corners were absent. He noticed how when you laughed, as soon as you thought no one was looking, the grin on your face quickly faded, replaced by the absent and distant look that adorned your face so often recently.

He noticed that you would zone out far more often than usual, eyes unfocused as you stared at a distant point. When he caught you in this state, Christian would tangle his fingers with yours or gently place his hand on your thigh, drumming his fingers in an attempt to pull you back from wherever it was that you would drift off to.

He was concerned, to say the very least, but each time he tried to bring it up to you, you dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand, chalking it up to being tired or overworked.

It didn’t take long for others to notice the change, too. As a prominent member of the media department at Chelsea, you had a friendly relationship with many of the players. You were often on the training pitch or on the sidelines at games, snapping photos of the boys as they played. Often, you would mess around with them, cracking jokes and laughing along with them, but not recently.

The joking had been cut to a bare minimum, and you rarely interacted with them at all. You spent just enough time on the training fields to get the content you needed before leaving to work in your office, unseen for the rest of the day. Several of the boys had asked Christian about you. They missed you. But Christian didn’t know what to tell them.

Finally, Christian decided enough was enough. He would have to “corner” you in some way and get you to talk to him. He had wanted to let you have your space and respect your desire to not talk about the matter, but he could see the whole situation physically weighing on you, and he knew that if he continued to let you bottle it up inside, you were going to explode. He resolved that by the end of the day, he’d talk to you.

That night, you had come over so that the two of you could have dinner together. Most of the dinner was spent in silence, you lost in your own thoughts, and Christian trying to work up the nerve to ask what he needed to. He wasn’t sure how to approach this kind of conversation with you—the two of you hadn’t dealt with a situation like this yet in your relationship.

Once your plates were cleared, you stood in his kitchen, washing the dishes, despite Christian’s protest that he could do it later that night. He sat on the counter, wanting to still be in close proximity with you. His heart broke a little when he noticed that you weren’t humming like you always did when you cleaned.

You rinsed off the last dish, placing it on the drying rack with the others, and you were rinsing the leftover suds from the sink when you felt Christian’s arms slide around your waist. He pressed his chest to your back and rested his chin on your shoulder as you turned the sink off, drying your hands on a towel.

“Can we talk?” He spoke softly and placed a kiss onto your shoulder.

You felt your heart sink in your chest. You knew this conversation was coming, but you were hoping to postpone it as long as you possibly could. “Yeah, what’s up?” you tried to speak casually, downplaying the nervous feeling that had settled in your stomach.

“C’mere,” he whispered. You dropped the towel on the counter next to the sink as Christian pulled you to the side where he had been sitting before and turned you around in his arms. He placed his hand on your hips, lifting you to sit on the countertop.

For a moment, the two of you remained in silence. Christian stood between your legs, unsure of what to say first. He rested his hands on your thighs, rubbing the bare skin below your shorts soothingly. Your heart pounded so quickly in your chest that you swore he could hear it as he stood in front of you. You desperately tried to calm yourself, still determined to play things off if you could manage it.

“So… um, you… you haven’t really been yourself lately,” he stumbled over his words and mentally cursed himself for starting so poorly. “I just… I’ve noticed a lot of little things that seem different, and you don’t really seem… happy.” He glanced up at your face, trying to gauge your response. He felt a little guilty for being so direct with the situation, but he didn’t want to keep dancing around the problem.

You drew in a breath, but Christian spoke again before you could. “And please don’t tell me that you’ve been tired, because you keep saying that, but I think it goes beyond that.” The nervousness you felt only intensified, and now you felt slightly nauseous, knowing there was no easy way out of this conversation.

You brought one of your hands up to your mouth, biting at the skin by your nails. Christian recognized the nervous habit of yours and he saw how you used it to try to put space between you and him as a form of defense. He reached up and took your hand in his. With a gentle but firm tug, he pulled your hand back into your lap and looked at your face with earnest concern.

You hesitated a moment longer, looking anywhere but at his face. Sitting in front of him, your hands held in his, resting on your thighs, you had never felt so vulnerable and exposed. He stroked his thumb over your knuckles, squeezing your fingers in an attempt to pull you out of your thoughts and back to him.

The silence between the two of you was long and overwhelming as your head spun with wild thoughts. Did you continue trying to put a wall between you and tell him nothing was actually wrong? Or did you open up to him, tell him what was really happening, and run the risk of scaring him off?

“Come on, I can practically see you getting lost in there.” He poked your forehead gently with his free hand, laughing softly to try to relieve some of the tension in the air.

You glanced up at Christian’s face, and his gentle, reassuring smile brought tears to your eyes instantly. Looking back down at your lap so he couldn’t see you beginning to cry, you settled on trying your best to explain the thoughts that had been swimming around in your mind for the last couple of weeks.

“I don’t know, Christian, I just… kinda get this way sometimes.” You shrugged your shoulders. It didn’t make sense to most people, but it was the reality. “Nothing really happened. Everything is fine. You didn’t do anything. I just… I feel kinda hollow.”

Christian was relieved to hear that your pain hadn’t been cause by something he had done, having toyed with the idea as he wracked his brain for the last weeks, trying to think of what could have gone wrong to make you feel this way. But he still wasn’t sure he understood exactly what you were saying.

“I used to take meds for it, but I stopped taking them a little while after I graduated high school. They made me feel like I wasn’t really myself, and I didn’t want that anymore.” Your still fidgeted nervously as you opened up to him, but at the same time, the weight on your shoulders felt the tiniest bit lighter as you let Christian bear some of it with you.

Christian remained silent for a moment after you stopped talking, processing the things you had just told him He thought he was beginning to understand what you were saying, though your vague description left several questions swirling in his mind. He was happy, though, that you finally felt comfortable opening up to him, and he figured the finer details could wait until another day.

His silence, however, did nothing to calm your racing heart.

“So, I guess this is the part where you leave?” you whispered before you could even think about it, uneasy with how quiet the room had gotten. Your eyes were glued to your lap, and Christian’s hands froze at your words, where they had been smoothing over your knuckles, trying to soothe you.

“W-what?” he stuttered in surprise, heart sinking at the thought that you might be breaking up with him. When you finally looked up to his face, his eyes were wide, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He looked so hurt that you almost felt bad for saying it in the first place.

You took your hands from his as you began to pull away from him, picking at the edges of your fingernails, fixing your gaze downward again. “I’ve done this before, Christian,” you mumbled. “I get weird, you ask about it, and then once you find out that I can’t be fixed… you leave.” You sigh, having resigned yourself to the outcome that had played out in your life before. You sat there, feeling defeated, with your shoulders slumped.

A sniffle coming from him causes you to dart your eyes up to his face, and his eyes are misty as he fights back the tears that he can feel welling up in them.

“You really think that?” his voice quivers.

All you can muster is shrugging your shoulders. “That’s what everyone else did. I’m not worth the trouble.”

Your words shatter his heart into a million pieces. The pain of thinking you were ending your relationship vanished quickly, replaced with a new kind of pain at the realization of how you had been treated in your past.

As the first tears slipped down his cheeks, Christian pulled you into a tight hug, holing you as close to his body as he could muster as he buried his face in your neck. You felt the warm tears against your skin as you slowly returned the hug, caught off-guard by his actions.

Christian felt a bit silly. Here he was, crying on your shoulder after the things that you had just revealed to him, experiences that you’d had in your own life. He just couldn’t fathom that anyone could possibly treat you in such a way. You were the kindest, most gentle and caring woman he had ever known, and he truly believed that you deserved the world. Sure, it had been hard to see you in the state you had been in for the last few weeks, but he knew what he was feeling was nothing compared to what you were. And it never would have even occurred to him to think of you as burdensome—to think that he needed to “fix” you in some way.

Christian drew back from the embrace, quickly wiping his eyes while he still held onto your waist with the other. You were caught a bit off-guard by his behavior, never having experienced this reaction before, and you weren’t entirely sure what it meant.

Christian breathed a soft “I’m sorry” before he looked back up at you, cradling your jaw in one of his hands, and you couldn’t help but lean into his comforting touch.

“Y/N, you are absolutely worth everything. It’s not a burden to be with you. You know that right?”

Tears quickly sprung to your own eyes at his words, and you cast your eyes back down to your lap. In an honest answer, you shook your head ‘no’. This was how you had always thought of yourself, and you constantly felt like you needed to be compensating your partner in some way for the things they had to put up with for your sake.

Christian’s other hand came to your cheek, holding your face gently so that you would look him in the eye.

“You’re not a burden Y/N,” he spoke softly, his eyes flicking over your face. His expression held a sort of desperation—aching to show you that he truly believed what he was saying. “You’re not, I promise. And I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling you that until you believe it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart fluttered at his words.

‘…every day for the rest of my life…’

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?

Marriage wasn’t something the two of you had really talked about yet, because your relationship was so new. But any time you thought about your future, you knew you wanted Christian to be in it. And knowing he felt the same way meant the world.

You felt Christian’s thumb brush across your cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. You could only stare at him, wondering to yourself how you had managed to find someone as perfect as him.

“I’ll always be here for you. Anything you need,” he smiled at you, feeling that he was finally getting through to you.

The only response you could muster was a soft, “okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

The relief Christian felt that he finally had some understanding of why you hadn’t been yourself over the last few weeks was nearly overwhelming. He pulled you toward him, pressing a firm kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Never doubt that.”

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic imagines #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fics #footballer fic #footballer imagine #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic blurb

375 notes · View notes

4pfsukuna · 3 months

Text

omfg bruhhhhh

yall want me to believe Choso “on sight before his feet even land on the floor” Kamo is some pathetic whiney crybaby? Like why is every fic so… ugh i want him to fight back. Somebody please tag me or drop a link for assertive/ aggresive/ dominant choso! (Prefferably black reader)

like do i gotta write it myself?

Choso who meets you when you both come in late at night its 2am and youre standing in the hall talking about whatever the hell a middle part buss down is. He doesnt care he just wish you werent so loud… in your shared hall.

you glare at him because who was he talking too! You pay the same amount of rent as him and to damn much at that they should be lucky you werent in the lounge making ramen watching their t.v right now.

It doesnt get better when you bang on his door asking him to turn his music down cause why was he playing last resort by papa roach at 3:30am on a wednesday. He opens the door in a hoodie and tight calvin klein boxers and your eyes drift for a second until the next rock song starts up this time in japanese and he has the audacity to have an annoyed expresion with you!

”did you want something or did you just want to stare” he glares annoyed with a steady voice though youre expecting him to snap.

“Who answers the door in their boxers have some decorum” you respond half embarassed that he caught you. “And your music is loud… some of us have jobs in the morning” and you storm off not leaving any room for backtalk.

the next time he sees you is a few days later when youre both rushing out and slam into another his shirt and leather jacket falling to the floor with your purse falling sending your wallet down the hall and lip gloss shattering that dior gloss was not cheap.

”are you fucking kidding me” he hisses and you notice hes shirtless silver bars through his nipples and a few tattoos littered across his chest.

”you got a real stairing problem there princess” which makes you smirk.

“you look like a 1st grade art project… line work isnt half bad its just the asshole its attatched to” you retort collecting your items not realizing a few slipped from your wallet.

it was maintenance day you didnt have time to worry about shit it was hair lashes nails toes and a fresh tattoo and belly piercing your friend finally found an artist that did both and had clean work.

youre all smiles and sunshine walking into C.K. Parlor even enjoying the convo with the pink haired male receptionist whos so sweet mentioning this was his brothers shop but something about this guy looks familiar.

“Hes so hot” your friend gushes making you turn around and groan at the sight of your annoying ass neighbor.

”couldnt get enough bothering me home so you come here” he teases but theres something so stoicly calm about his anger… its more so mild annoyance.

”i actually came to get a tattoo and piercing but i think ill pass” you speak not wanting to admit you actually loss your credit card but youre here for moral support for your friend who now that you look at her looks like she doesnt need it.

”youre already here dont tell me youre chicken… come on ill even do it for free”

”free?” Oh that had your attention.

“mhmmm lets call it a truce no more loud… anything just being good neighbors”

and its not long before youre on the table the design being shaded into your spine and he admires how you just take it… his mind does begin to drift to if you can take anything else when he notices how pretty you look today.

he actually loves white on your toes and the crisp french tip on your hands. Its when he notices the snake tattoo wrapped around your wrist that he realizes you might be interesting and not just some stuck up—

“you wanted your belly pierced too right?” He ask and if someone wouldve told you that youd be half dressed infront of your neighbor Today you wouldnt believe it. Hes professional and doesnt even glance at the double d’s you have in your lace bra… ok he did but you didnt notice at all.

you thought you seen his ears burn red but hes quick to turn away disposing of the needle and your completely suprised by how soft and careful his hands are… ahem he is.

”and maybe we can actually be nice to another” he says softly holding out your credit card that you dropped earlier.

your truce last all of 5 days. It wasnt your fault meg the stallion announced she was going on tour and you couldnt help the screams of joy and to blast her music.

you dont expect anyone to bang on your door or barge in when you open it.

”excuse the fuck out of me” you hiss slamming your door facing him when you notice hes looking past your face and down at your body.

you were wearing a dark purple lace bra and underwear the silver belly ring he initially put in switched out for a dangly silver one with a dragon that matched your tattoo and yes it was to early to change.

”my eyes are up here”

”please. Nothing i havent seen before princess actually it kind of looks like the black one” he smirks watching the fury in your eyes as you look for something to cover up.

”get the fuck out”

he saunters (the god damn audacity) out but not without pressing his whole body into you as if the walkway wasnt wide enough making sure to press himself into your ass leaning down to your ear.

”good night princess” and you dont have to look at him to know hes smirking but that raspy voice does something to you.

that night you go to bed with 3 orgasms… what dont make that face you had a voice kink and couldnt help it.

he smirks when he sees you the next day and you try to ignore him as he unlocks his car door.

”sleep well? You know the walls are thin and im sure our bedrooms share a wall”

you make a mental note to get on apartment finder tonight.

”im sure that was your first time ever hearing a womans moans outside of porn” you hiss back you werent no weak bitch.

and he wasnt a cliche man his taunts went further then just an insult back, hed give you more content for tonight. After all he was helping you help him.

”just be a good girl for me and let me hear everything tonight alright princess” he utters in a deep octave that makes your breathing stutter and you cant form a proper sentence and any insult is going to be childish.

you of course try to walk off but he grabs your arm pulling you closely his large hand spreading across your lower back.

”did i say i was done… look up at me” and you bite your lip to keep your jaw off the floor this man was wicked and you were not about to play with a devil.

”youre such a pretty mess” he adds in watching the gloss in your eyes before you come to your senses pushing him off heading fown the street.

”wrong direction princess” and you were headed the other way but you should probably just head back inside to change underwear.

and if he could hear you through the wall you were going to put on a show, you make sure even whine moan groan whimper and cry can be heard through these thin ass walls honestly you were so sensitive from overstimulating yourself… It was his fault.

You do everything in your power to avoid him the next few days that post nut clarity knocking some sense into you.

You actually have no idea how wrecked he’s been. How wrecked you had him! He needs to hear it again.

he might turn slightly yandere for you. its when you get a call at 1am and of course youre up you had actually just got out the shower.

”is this your payback” he hisses into the phone though you arent sure what hes talking about.

”how the fuck did you get my number? Doesnt matter bye”

“stop it just listen” he grunts catching your attention “i just need you to be a good girl for me just once i promise” he nearly begs and you have a wicked idea of what he’s doing on the other side of the phone.

you listen to every command, praise and groan his sultry voice lets out your fingers and sheets soaked

“you did such a good job baby, you deserve a reward how about you cum for me” he grunts sending both of you to your end him losing it to the sound of your orgasm.

“i wanna take you out on a date” and thats when you hang up not in the mood for his antics.

hes serious though, he takes you to the finest seafood restaurant with expensive alcohol you cant pronounce he even gets you a dress to wear, suprising you with a new dior lip gloss…3 actually.

”thats how many times you orgasmed through the wall the first night…” you thank God for your brown skin and him not being able to see you blush. He genuinely takes the time for you to get to know another subtly throwing in praises.

by the time you get back to the car your a wreck hair frizzing from your body overheating already.

your legs are rubbingg together and he spreads them guiding your hand down.

“Be a good girl for me and show me how pretty you look when you cum”

You happily comply watching as his hands fidget while driving

When he gets you back to his place your clothes are off and your back is against his fluffy comforter, not that you had time to notice but his whole room is black.

Hes a certified munch and will eat you until youre lightheaded. He eats you out on your back, makes you ride his face, eats you from the back he has you in 7 different positions from head alone.

He gives the deepest stroke while telling you how pretty you are for him the most filthies things he can mutter in your ear giving you back shots the pillow under your stomach propping you up as he plays with your clit begging for you to cum.

you black out and hes not far behind but makes sure to clean you with a warm rag and throws a tshirt on you.

He loves waking up to you and will actually barge in your home or bring you over to his.

He has his own stubborn ways which you will sometimes talk your best shit which he loves, he needs his woman to be on go not some docile lil weakling.

and sometimes he fights back!

#Choso kamo #choso x black!reader #choso jjk #choso x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #kamo choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso x female reader

108 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 2 years

Text

calls home | k. bakugou

★ tags ;; gn!reader, pure fluff, established relationships, reader is a support items enginerr.

★ wc ;; 1.3k.

★ synopsis ;; katsuki hates nosy interviews, but maybe coming clean about his love life will get these people off his back.

★ a/n ;; not a very novel concept but i wanted to give it a go lmao

"We're rolling!"

Katsuki as the director behind the camera gives him a thumbs up. The camera light flashes red. He really loathes the entire filming process. All forms of public promotion, actually. But he promised his manager he would turn up and do his best for this interview.

He sighs, looking into the camera with a bored expression.

"Uh. Hi. I'm Bakugou Katsuki. Pro-Hero: Dynamight. I'm here with Heroe's Weekly to do a QnA."

He can hear in his voice how much he doesn't want to be there but doesn't bother to change his face. Off-camera, the crew are snickering. He knows a handful of them, friends of friends. He shoots a glare their way. The director gives him a pleasant look.

"Aw, don't be like that. Your fans have been asking for this forever."

Katsuki snorts, arms pulled over his chest.

"You think I don't know that? Fuckin' everyday on my twitter. You shitheads are so nosy."

"Calling your fans shitheads...your brand is one of a kind."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't get why they all care but whatever. Made a promise so I'm here."

The director laughs.

"Right. So, are you ready for the questions?"

"As I'll ever be."

The interview questions start off as he expects. He really does hate doing them, quick and formulaic responses for most of the basic ones. He's gotten them so many times in his life they don't even really feel like real questions. It's all information that's found easily through some google searching.

Age? 20 something. Star-sign? Who the fuck knows, but he thinks aries. Favorite food? Whatever's spiciest. Why'd you become a hero? Because he wanted to be the best. Who's your favorite hero? Still Allmight.

After the initial round of questions comes the deeper ones. He has to admit they're more well-thought-out than he's used to. With time, he finds ease in talking about the prompts.

What sets you apart from other heroes? Field experience, he thinks. Knowing the position of the victim and the victor young, all thanks to his fucked up teen years. What was your childhood like? Better than most, but god he was such a dick. Is there any advice that you think young heroes should hear, even if they typically don't? Valuing your life is valuing the lives of others, no matter what anyone says.

After the serious questions die down, the director gives him a smug expression. All softened up by the obvious thought that went behind it, her grin is amused.

"...Your viewers wanted to ask some more.. personal question

Katsuki raises an eyebrow.

"Gave me all the good questions upfront to curb my mood, huh? Cheeky fuckers."

"Permission to ask?"

He barks a laugh.

"You can ask whatever the hell you want but I don't know if I'll answer."

"Well, everyone is most curious about your love life."

Katsuki scoffs.

"Not this bullshit again."

"Oh, c'mon! You got voted sexiest hero of the year, of course the people want to know." The director insists, probing him "You can't give even a hint?"

He sighs.

"Give me a second."

Pulling out his phone from his pants, he unlocks it and opens up his text messages. He can practically hear everyone holding their breath but chooses to ignore it.

(sent 2:46pm) they're asking about you. fucking annoying

from baby 💌 (sent 2:46) you already know i don't mind. it might get them to leave u alone.

(sent 2:47) yeah i guess. love you. rest up and ill see you later

from baby 💌 (sent 2:47) love u too kat. see u at home. pick up some food on the way pls i dont wanna make lunch.

He grins at his phone a little, completely lost to the fact he's still with a bunch of annoying people. All of a sudden he wants to go home, clicking his phone.

"Who's got you smiling at your phone like that?"

"My fiancée."

Immediately the studio erupts into chatter. He gives them an unimpressed look, clicking his teeth. Is it really such a huge deal?

"You'd think I just dropped a fucking bomb in here."

"Fiancée?! Is this the first time you're talking about it?"

He nods once.

"Yeah."

"Can you spare us some details?"

"Like what?"

"How you met, what they're like, how you fell in love! The more the better."

He clicks his teeth. This is tiresome, but he relents. Crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes flick up to the ceiling.

"I don't know how to fucking answer any of that. We met on the job, though."

"But we're dying to know!"

"Isn't it fuckin' enough that I said something? What else do you need to know?"

"Are they pretty?" Someone on the crew shouts. Katsuki smirks.

"Better looking than every person in here, yeah."

A bunch of oohs and aahs chorus from around him. He wants this to be over and done with more than anything, but it feels like he can't back out now.

"Well if you can't answer them, maybe it's worth having them answer."

"Are you fucking serious? You want me to call them right now? No fucking way."

"A journalist is never above begging Dynamight. Plus now the whole set wants to know of this mystery person.

"God you people are so persistent." He spits, agitated. He looks directly in the camera "Let me make it very clear. Put this in your final cut. After this, I'm never talking about this shit again. If you ask, I'm kicking your ass."

Katsuki reaches into his pocket for his phone again, fingers hesitating to open it. He does with a deep sigh, tapping your contact in his call list. It rings twice before you answer. He puts you on speaker.

"Hi baby," Your voice is melodic and sweet. Katsuki can't help his smile "Is your interview over?"

The director mouths the word baby in shock and Katsuki gives her a glare.

"No, we're in the middle of it right now. They were asking me annoying questions and I didn't feel like answering them so they told me to call you."

"Oh? So they wanted me to answer, instead?"

"Yeah. Just about how we met and shit. That okay?"

"If it's okay with you I don't mind. What are the questions?"

Katsuki feels a flush crawl up his face.

"Uh. How we fell in love or whatever."

"Oh, how romantic." Your voice is pleasant. Katuski holds the speaker closer to his mic. "Well. Hi everyone. I'm Y/N and I'm Katsuki's fiancée. We met on the job, I'm a support items engineer and I worked on the major mechanisms for his suit."

Katsuki smiles a little at his phone, pleased. The crew greets you and you giggle on the other side of the line.

"We met in a business context first and became friends later. I used to think he was a scary guy but he's really not at all," You pause between sentences. Katsuki feels his stomach flip, smile widening "Mm... falling in love? It wasn't very grand. I think some time in-between I thought that he was a person I'd like to be with. Kinda boring right?"

"It's not boring." He insists. You giggle.

"I'm glad you don't think so. Anyway, it's not a very romantic story. I think if anyone got to know him like I did, they'd also fall in love."

A bunch of aww's sound. Katsuki flushes.

"You're an idiot." He spits. You laugh.

"He's prickly but he's a good person. I hope people are willing to look past him a little and see that."

Katsuki feels his heart give in, emotions rampant.

"You're too sappy for your own good." He says, no malice in his voice.

"Uh-huh. I love you too. Was that good enough?"

"You did good. I'll see you at home."

"See you at home, Kat. Bye everyone!"

Everyone sounds off on a bye and Katsuki hesitates as he clicks the phone off. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward.

"That good enough for you?"

The director shoots him a grin.

"Perfect."

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #i am thinking of him a lot lately

2K notes · View notes

fairysluna · 1 year

Note

Hello, I just stumbled into your old account and read and LOVED one of your Aegon fanfics (What Should've Been) and I have a teeny tiny request, if you don't mind. It seems the reader had tuberculosis from the symptoms, especially the bloody coughs, and since Aegon was thoroughly exposed to it, I was wondering if you can maybe make a teeny tiny follow-up about how he also contracts the disease and dies and later joins the reader in the afterlife under the same weirwood tree where she's waiting for him in her wedding gown and Aegon goes to her and tucks a purple pansy in her ear and they walk off into the light, together at last.

Please, I'm terribly heartbroken (and depressed but that's just my usual depression) over this beautiful story and I'd love a follow-up, even if it's just bullet points of what happens 🥺🥺

Author's Note: Hi hun!! I love the fact that you love my story enough to come here and ask me to write more, I will always love to make a follow up of my fics... so this is entirely dedicated to you, love!! thank you for enjoying my writing (and srry for breaking your heart). These are bullet points btw and it is quite short, but i hope you like it!!🤍

WHAT SHOULD'VE BEEN — Aegon's Grief.

Summary: The aftermath of the biggest loss in Aegon's life: you. An epilogue for this story.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Arryn!Reader

Tags/TW: angst, grief, death, mentions of depression, sickness, sensitive content. If something is missing pls let me know.

Aegon didn’t leave his bed for days. The grief and sorrow in his heart was too much for him to bear. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t bathe, he wouldn’t even stand from his bed… the bed he used to share with you.

It was hard for him to go inside the room, the weeks before your funeral he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the door of it. Needless to say, he didn’t even step inside of it until the funeral was over. The sheets were still there, the shape of your body was still seen on the bed. He did not allow the maids to clean up the room; he could smell the scent of death that was left behind, but once he went closer to the bed he was able to smell your perfume… and that was enough for him to bury his face against the pillows as he sobbed and whined.

Alicent tried to go and persuade him to go back to his duties. He had become a King, but what kind of King he was if he didn't have his Queen by his side? What purpose was left for him when the most important person in the world was now gone? The forces of your love had left him without warming, the warmth of your love no longer covered his body in the shape of an affectionate kiss. He felt useless without you, for you were the only thing that brought meaning into his life.

Aemond would start to cover him up in the Small Council meetings and other duties. Aegon was in no condition to fulfill his activities, because not only his spirit was broken but his health was deteriorating with each passing day. The health of their King was starting to cause rumors around the halls, servants claimed that he went mad out of his own grief.

His chubby shape soon became a skeletal one. His rosy cheeks were now pale and bony, his cheekbones being too noticeable now. Alicent would go at night trying to make him eat something, but Aegon had lost his will to live the day he lost you. And eventually, the Gods were merciful enough… and they made him sick too.

Alicent knew what was coming, she had witnessed the same symptoms in you a few weeks ago before you took your last breath. She cried herself to sleep many nights as the Maester would only inform her that her son was slowly dying, with no signs of improvement at all. And then, the hallucinations started as Aegon was being slowly killed by the fever.

His already weakened body could not handle that sickness that came upon him. The lack of food, of sleep, along with his lack of will to live were enough to get him seriously ill, to the point when he started to speak to the maids thinking they were you.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he would say with a thin voice, barely audible. Most of his wording would be interpreted as mumbling and nonsense, "can't wait to see our beautiful child growing inside of you."

A few days later… Aegon passed away in the same bed that he used to share with you, grasping the same sheets that covered your body during your last days, and in the same bed where he held you close every night. And even though that was the day his body died, his soul had left him the same day you left him.

Alicent cried for days after the news, but she wasn't surprised at all. No one was. The love Aegon had for you was too obvious for everyone.

"Not even death could pull them apart," Aemond would say as he consoled his mother during the funeral, where Sunfyre was the one lighting the fire that ended up consuming his skeletal body.

Aegon thought he was dreaming when he found himself standing in the gardens, wearing a black suit but feeling light, the anguish that had haunted him for the past weeks was no longer there.

And then, he heard your laugh.

A small giggle that made him feel as if his heart was beating again. A sound so soft and gentle, delicate and blissful, that it brought a rose color upon his cheeks, which returned to be as chubby as they were before.

At first, he was afraid of turning around, thinking that it was a delusion, some trick of his mind making him hear things. But then, he heard it again, and the urge to look at your beautiful face once again was stronger than any fear that might succumb him. He needed to see you… and he did.

There you were, as beautiful as you have always been, wearing a tighter and less pompous version of your wedding gown. Your hair was falling down your shoulders in cascades, your eyes gleaming with pure happiness as you laughed at the pages you were reading. Aegon was enchanted, mesmerized by the angelic sound your laughter would produce.

He walked slowly towards you, as if he was scared you would become a pile of dust and fade into the wind, but you never did. Instead, you looked up at him and your eyes shined so bright that Aegon was sure he saw stars in them. You were so gorgeous, far from being the sick woman he saw before you passed. You were your old self, the woman who would make him laugh and make him fall in love all over again every single day.

"You came," you said with a radiant smile.

"You know I've never done well without you, my love," he replied.

You saw him picking up a flower from the greenest grass he's ever seen; a purple pansy soon was on your hair, and Aegon's heart felt alive once he felt your lips against the softness of his flushed cheeks. A gesture that he had terribly missed.

Aegon cupped your face between his hands, and looked down to you with admiration and pure devotion. Your eyes were full of life once again; a sight that Aegon wished to never forget again. Before you could say anything to him, he kissed you, and your lips felt warm and soft as they always were. Your touch made him feel like a teenage boy, the same boy that fell in love with you many years ago.

He realized then that he finally found heaven, that all his wishes and pleas were listened to by the Gods by sending him back to you; back to where he belonged.

Aegon saw your eyes once again, and right there he realized that the Gods were finally merciful, because now he got to spend the rest of his life by your side without having the constant fear of losing you again.

He finally found peace, because you were there with him.

445 notes · View notes

daegutowns · 6 months

Text

your person (csc)

tags: gn!reader, brother’s best friend!cheol, uni!au, he is definitely in love with you, you had a REALLY big crush on him when you were younger, he was your first love, you work at a cafe, your older brother is jeonghan, cheol is very protective!

💌 thank you for the request, anon!

you were not new to the feeling of danger that sometimes came with working the night shift. you really couldn’t help it. your classes were during the daytime, so it left you having to work weekends and nights on the weekdays. the nighttimes could get crazy — drunk people from the bars down the street, guys who didn’t know any boundaries, and just a lot of unpredictable problems that occurred after the witching hour.

it usually wasn’t a problem. your older brother jeonghan would pick you up on nights you worked late, since the buses around there stopped running around ten o’clock pm. but, jeonghan had an ill-timed meeting with his supervisor at his work. he had started his first paid internship (which was a very big deal!), so there was no way that he could get out of that one scot-free. he was usually good at asking you if you had another ride besides him, but that internship was kicking his ass. he was working even later than you.

and, well, it was nearing eleven o’clock pm. the manager had an unexpected emergency and had to leave a bit early, so he left you with the keys. you were working the opening shift the next day, so he didn’t see a problem with it. but, now, it was just you and your other coworker chan. he lived right around the corner, so he would be walking home.

your apartment wasn’t far from the cafe either. it was only a five minute walk to the subway then a quick 3 stops until you got out and had to walk another 5 minutes to your apartment building. it was not that bad for the city you lived in. the close proximity to your apartment was what drove you to apply to work at that cafe.

in the last hour of your shift, the cafe was closed to the public and you were cleaning with chan. your friendly coworker had offered to at least walk you to the subway station and wait with you, but it was in the exact opposite direction of his apartment, so you declined. just for tonight, you would have to suck it up. you hoped that you could at least catch the last train

as if the universe wanted to prove you wrong, the familiar sound of your ringtone chimed from your back pocket. the contact name ‘seungcheol’ glared up at you. choi seungcheol, the person calling you, was one of your brother’s childhood best friends (the other being hong joshua). he was one of the nicer one of your brother’s friends that included you in their fun. joshua just liked to make fun of you with jeonghan.

holding your phone up to your ear with your shoulder, you answered the phone while you continued to wipe down the tables. (chan was doing the dishes in the back.) “hello? what’s up, cheol oppa?”

“hey y/n, just wondering what you were doing,” he answered.

you couldn’t help the blush that crept up to your cheeks, no matter how hard you tried to fight it back down. yeah, he had been your first love growing up. it was hard to forget about your past feelings that you gave up on as you grew older. it was even harder to forget when he would say things like, “just wondering what you were doing.” ugh!

“i’m still working right now. i’m about to clock out and leave soon, though,” you told him. “i guess you’re really bored if you’re calling me.”

“ah, stop it,” seungcheol laughed on the other end of the line. “i can’t wonder what you’re doing? anyways, tell jeonghan when he picks you up to come over to my place. i made way too much food, so you guys should come eat it.”

you tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “liar,” you said in a teasing voice. “just say you wanted company. anyways, jeonghan’s working late, so he’s not picking me up.”

“who is? did he ask shua?” he asked you.

for a second, you debated on whether or not to lie to him and just say chan or your [nonexistent] manager was taking you home so he wouldn’t worry. you decided against it. “mmm, no. i’m just going to take the subway. it’s not far, and--”

your words were cut off by his. “nope.” you had to pause, wondering what he was talking about. his words continued through the line. “you are definitely not walking alone on those streets at night,” seungcheol told you, his tone suddenly becoming stern and serious. you could hear the rustling on his end and the chiming of his keys. “you wait for me, got it?”

“oh wait, oppa, you don’t have to,” you said to him, panicked. “i’ll be fine.”

“yeah, you’ll be fine, my ass. i’m the one who won’t be fine,” seungcheol grumbled. “stay put, okay? i’m coming.”

the line went dead, and you stood there to take it in for a second. you pursed your lips while you closed your eyes, fighting the grin that threatened to hijack your face. your ears were red hot, and your body was suddenly filled with energy, despite having worked a busy closing shift.

when you and chan locked the doors, seungcheol’s car pulled up to the street right in front of the cafe. he rolled the windows down and said with a smile, “hey, i’m here.”

you completely forgot about chan. your eyes could only gravitate towards him, a soft smile on your face. “hey, thanks for coming. you didn’t have to, you know.” you climbed into the passenger seat, only then remembering to wave ‘bye’ to your coworker. the smell of his cologne surrounded you as you sat next to him. “i could’ve called mina and asked her too.” (mina’s your best friend.)

“it’s okay, you have me,” seungcheol replied, smiling over at you before his eyes quickly went back to the road. “you’ve always had me.”

“yeah, i do, don’t i?” you said, smiling into your lap. you couldn’t fight it off this time.

“y’know, my offer for some food at my place is not off the table,” seungcheol said. “we don’t even have to invite jeonghan.”

“really?” you mused. “you like me that much?”

his car stopped at the red light. his head turned to you, your eyes meeting under the ambience of the city lights and the sheen of soft red on your faces. you almost got lost in them, but the surprise from how serious and truthful he looked brought you back.

“yeah, i like you that much.”

#daegutowns #svt x reader #svt x y/n #svt x you #svt fluff #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x y/n #seungcheol x you #choi seungcheol fluff #brother's best friend!cheol

133 notes · View notes

houndsclaw · 6 months

Text

white rabbit

pairings: ieiri shoko/reader, minor past gojo satoru/getou suguru word count: 2857 rating: explicit warnings/tags: medical kink, extremely dubious consent, yandere!shoko. substance use/smoking, vaginal fingering, vaginal fisting, overstimulation, manipulation, mild/implied somnophilia. notes: this one goes out to @seoafin. unedited and unbeta-ed. That’s how Shoko likes you. Compliant, she says. Helpless, you think to yourself. read on ao3

Shoko keeps her stash of cigarettes well-hidden. It’s important to keep any smoking habits discreet at a high school, even one with a morgue in the budget. Later, as Shoko tells you: you should have known better.

At the time, you had thought to yourself: it's late. Shoko had still been hours from leaving work with you, still busy autopsying the last batch of transmogrified corpses from Satozakura to reveal what secrets they may have held in life for her in death. You had been bored. Worse than that, you had missed her. These days, whatever stolen seconds you can get with Shoko are precious. She’s responsible, dutiful, meticulous to a fault. The morgue might as well be a temple and her a monk. On the busiest days, you wander down to the morgue if only to catch a glimpse of her. More often than not, you're greeted with her hands deep in the pleural cavity of an ill-fated colleague.

Shoko keeps her bay of examination tables clean and ready as a rule, which is a feat in and of itself. The curses are only getting more powerful, and the stream of missions is relentless. Even the veterans have been coming back in multiple pieces, if there's anything left to recover at all. You’ve never seen this much traffic here in your years as a sorcerer. For your own part, you're in the field more often than not. That means you find yourself in Shoko's office on business more and more often these days, citing lacerations and hematomas and sprains. You watch the dark circles wax under her eyes as she erases damage with a spark of cursed energy and a smile for you alone. Shoko likes to be solely responsible for your medical care. Who’s better than me? she says.

There’s a better chance than not you'll be laid out on her table one of these days. It’s something that you two don’t talk about; it’s best to keep that type of curse tucked under the tongue.

Shoko’s old tray had been out on her desk with the last half of something hand-rolled and pungent. In high school, she would lay with her head in your lap before exams and smoke tobacco-heavy spliffs with Suguru until Satoru wrinkled his nose and complain even his infinity couldn’t mask the stink. Just bitter you get anxious, Shoko would tell him. You remember Suguru leaning close, letting smoke flow from his mouth to hers like a waterfall; watching Gojo’s ears go crimson until jealousy nipped him too hard and he stormed off. Suguru was a giggler when he was high; you and Shoko would get philosophical and touchy. Shoko would give you a lazy smile rendered only more beautiful upside-down from the vantage-point of your lap and offer up the spliff like a poorly-kept secret. The best nights were when it was just you and her. You would pass the spliff back and forth, fingers brushing more and more as you burnt it down to the filter. Those nights, you would hope the indirect kiss from her lipstick ring would transfer to your mouth.

Nostalgia is a bitch. It had been late, and you had been lonely. What had she expected, sitting you in her office with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek and nothing but your reports left to do?

The sensation hits like a bullet between the eyes. One minute you’re idly contemplating the report you have left to submit to Yaga. You hear yourself exhale like an echo, the last vestiges of ivory smoke curling out into the small office. Your lips tingle as if someone had just given you a thorough kiss. Heat pours from the top of your head to your toes. That’s where the trouble starts. The room spins around you in slow arcs, the shadows collecting at the corners of the room pulsing as though the lights were flickering. It's not just the smoke obscuring your vision. It feels like a domain expansion rolling out around you, something hungry with you in its claws. A cold weight settles in your chest at the unbidden thought. Had you carried something back with you from your mission?

When you step out of the office, Shoko is nowhere to be seen. A light is on overhead down the bay, haloing a long black bag, but there is no sign of the doctor herself. The morgue is freezing cold; stinks of lemon antiseptic and chemical cleaners. For a wild second, you think of pulling the zipper open, peeling the plastic away to see what pitiable thing took precedence--

You startle at the hand on your shoulder, your name rasped into your ear. Shoko’s breath smells like she’s been chewing gum, or maybe one of those menthol lozenges she keeps promising you she’ll try. As close as she is, her face is half-obscured with purple shadow. It must be that strange haze still swimming across your vision. The heat intensifies with no warning, pooling in your belly, throbbing between your thighs. She’s so pretty.

You lurch closer to Shoko, but she catches you around the shoulders. Her fingers are cold when they catch your chin, lifting your too-hot face up to inspect it. There’s something almost smug about her tone. “Did you smoke what was in my desk?”

“Uh-huh,” you tell her, leaning closer. Maybe she’ll give you a kiss. You can’t stop looking at the sly curve of her lips, the tiny mole underneath her heavy, dark eyes.

Her cold fingers slide over your hand, up your forearm, your shoulder. You can trace the bones with her: phalanges, carpals, metacarpals, ulna, olecranon, humerus. Lingering over the acromion before her nails scratch over your clavicle. It’s impossible to focus on anything except for her touch, a neural pathway going wrong in your brain. You shiver at her touch, almost-pleasant chills going up and down your spine in contrast to the fever. She doesn’t keep her nails long— hospital hygiene and personal preference keep them neatly clipped— but they’re painted a deep purple. She has beautiful hands.

“Now I’m sure the lightweight wants my help,” Shoko accuses, but there’s something fond about the pejorative coming from her. That’s how Shoko likes you. Compliant, she says. Helpless, you think to yourself. You really want her to kiss you.

“Shoko,” you sigh, slurring, already folding to the deceptive strength of her hands as she peers down into your face.

Her nails dig into you hard enough to make you gasp and lean back, but she follows you with a step into your space. “Ieiri-sensei,” she corrects, soft as a dream.

You know that when you look later, she will have left a touch of that deep purple color in your shoulder. She likes to leave artifacts of herself on you. The grey wend of her cigarette smoke in your apartment; a fine scarf knotted around your neck that smells of her perfume; her lipstick on your cheek, your coffee mugs, painting your lips when your own lipstick is smudged at a party. There’s nowhere you can go that doesn’t remind her of you.

“Ieiri-sensei,” you start again. She rewards you with a small smile at her title, a gentle brush of her chilled thumb over your thundering pulse, your hot chin. The world has collapsed away to her and you. Her morgue could be an izakaya, a cafe, a love hotel. “I feel hot.”

“Your pupils are dilated,” Shoko says instead, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I should check you out.” Her hands are blessedly cool on your cheeks. You nod jerkily. Anything to keep her touching you.

The steel exam table is covered in pale lavender paper that does nothing to remove the chill when Shoko helps you up onto it. You’re dizzy. Every brush of her skin against yours sends static fizzing up your dorsal roots. None of the other tables have paper on them. You feel hazy, like someone stuffed your head full of gauze. The shadows from the stark overhead lights smudge. All you can focus on is the slight musk of her skin, the solid warmth of her standing between your legs as she snaps black nitrile gloves on and scrubs disinfectant over them. Even the sting of the rubbing alcohol in your nose does nothing to dispel the stupor you're in. The heat has settled in a blood-rhythm, pulse heavy between your thighs.

“Am I dying?”

Shoko’s laugh rasps. “Silly girl. No one’s died from smoking too much.”

Lung cancer, you would argue if your tongue would move in your overly dry mouth. Instead, you’re fixated on where her stethoscope is warming against your chest. Shoko tells you to breathe in for her, so you breathe in. Tells you to breathe out, so you exhale. Her cool fingers press at your radial pulse. Your breathing quickens the longer her touch lingers. You hope she doesn’t notice, too focused on your vital signs. When she leans over you to put her stethoscope down, her thigh presses between your legs. You arch without meaning to, a low gasp escaping from deep inside your chest. The pressure makes you clench around nothing, rock up against her leg like a creature in heat. The sensation is the cherry at the end of her cigarette; phantasmagorical relief cascades through your body at the solid press of her thigh against your aching cunt. Some dim part of you realizes what's happening, but you can't make yourself stop.

Very near and very far away, Shoko cocks her head. “So it’s like that, is it?”

Your face goes hot; your vision swims in mortification. Your hips jerk into her, desperate for any stimulation at all. “I,” you stammer out, struggling to find words. This is the pharmakos that you need.

In the half-light, you see Shoko’s smile curve like sutures. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

You need her help. You need her. The truth is so simple. Shoko’s hands pull at the waistband of your pants, and you clumsily arch your hips up to help her. The paper crinkles under your clumsy eagerness, but she doesn't seem to mind. The weight of her brown eyes is tangible. She instructs you to lay back, encourages you to shimmy your hips to the edge of the table. You’re so wet that you cringe away from her when you feel her gloved fingers peel your panties away from your slick skin.

“Stop that,” Shoko says sharply, even as she presses your knee back open with a gentle hand. “I can’t perform the examination with you wiggling around.”

You mumble an apology the best you can; do your best to stay still as she takes your panties off your ankles. Then, there you are, bare for her from the waist down. Shoko is silent, contemplating you. You try not to whimper, try to stay as still as you can. You’re sure she can see your clit twitching and swollen beneath its hood, your cunt squeezing and winking without any touch at all. If she as much as breathed on it you think you'd scream. You brace your arms better under your shaky knees. The thin paper crinkles loudly enough that you wince.

“Could be a lust curse if I didn't know better,” Shoko says, although the words are clearly not directed to you. You fight a twitch as nitrile slips down the curve of your dripping labia. “Pulse elevated, respiration fast, febrile. I won’t even need lube.”

You feel your cheeks go hot again.

“You're always too curious for your own good. You did this to yourself.”

When you glance up at her, her eyes meet yours, darkness yawning open. The mole under her eye morphs into a bloody thumbprint. She could blow you away as though you were nothing more than a breath of smoke. One of her elegant fingers slides deep inside of your cunt with no warning. The cut of sensation is intense. You slam back into your too-hot body as though she’s summoned you there. Salt fills up your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, dispelling the crimson vision of her and her scalpel.

“Quiet,” Shoko reminds you, just in time for you to bite down the sound that threatens to escape your throat. There’s that smugness, again, subtle but unmistakable. It hasn’t ever felt like this before. You know your body well, and you usually need someone to touch your clit to make you cum. You can feel the mess between your thighs— worse, you can hear it, the slick sounds of your cunt clenching around that single, perfect finger. You can’t even look at Shoko. It’ll send you careening over the edge. It might already be too late.

“I’m s-sorry, Ieiri-sensei,” you gasp over the roaring in your ears, pinpoints of light wheeling behind your eyes as you shut them tighter. Her face fractures in your mind’s eye like you were looking through a kaleidoscope. You cum with nothing more than her finger inside of you, whimpering as you struggle to hold your legs up.

“Don’t apologize,” Shoko tells you, blood-warm, while colors still split behind your eyes. “I’m taking care of you, after all.”

She shifts her finger inside of you, sending the breath shuddering out of you; introduces the second with nothing more than your agonized whine. She presses right up against your G-spot, hooking the pads of her fingers against the ridge of tissue until you’re trembling open for her again. You’re bruising the outside of your thighs with your grip. Drool wets the corner of your slack mouth. “Please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re asking for except that you need more to make the infernal fever stop. "It hurts."

Shoko hums. Finally, she rolls her slick gloved thumb against your aching clit, a slow pressure back and forth to match her fingers inside of you. Your head drops back on the exam table and sends the paper crinkling again, your voice stuck in your throat. Loose nerve endings light up like red phosphorus matchsticks. She has to have another finger inside of you from the stretch-- maybe two. She doesn't stop rubbing your clit. The pleasure keeps cresting, building until there's nothing but fire and the shape of Shoko's voice talking you through the fever. You could be there for two minutes or two hours. It feels like the edges of the world are wrapped up in gauze, impossible to focus with any sort of clarity, only stitched together by Shoko's tender mercies. She fucks you on her fingers until your legs come crashing down, arms too weak to support them. You know that it should hurt, that you should be trying to squirm away from her in overstimulation. There's something far more important than the signals your body is throwing at you: Shoko likes you compliant.

“Feels like you’ll let my entire fist in,” Shoko whispers into your ear, the hungriest creature you’ve ever let so close. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

The silent question etches itself behind your closed eyes: what would you let her do to you? The answer rushes to your tongue just as quickly.

“Anything—“

She leans down and spits where she has you split open. You haven’t really stopped cumming since she put her third finger inside of you, but your cunt makes another valiant spasm around her fingers. It’s unnecessary, the black latex soaked with your fluids, but finally, as the widest part of her hand slips into you, you drop into oblivion.

You’re still on the table when you wake up. Time has passed, but you're not sure how long; don't really care. The high is still buzzing through your body, but you don’t feel feverish anymore. Your pants are pulled up and buttoned, the space between your legs no longer a sticky mess. Shoko is carding her fingers through your hair, her warm breath puffing against your cheek. Her voice is low and tender. "That's better, isn't it?"

You still don't have a vocabulary, let alone syntax, so you make a sound of agreement. After another slow, syrupy moment, Shoko presses something to your lips. You take a sip of cold water, swishing the liquid around your dry mouth before swallowing gratefully. Shoko keeps caressing you, hungry little touches down your neck and cheek. You've lost the feeling in your toes, all pins and needles. You smell the faint sweetness of tobacco still wafting through the air. She must have just finished a cigarette.

“Why don’t you rest a while? I still have work to finish.”

Your eyelids are leaden. Your cheek touches the wrinkled paper, the steel of the table beneath it still cold to the touch, the stickiness of your spit. You float back to that quiet place, the edges of the world curling soft around you. In a different realm, Shoko is kissing the corner of your mouth, smoothing out your mussed hair.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a soft beep as the recorder starts. “October 1, 2018. 1:16 AM. The body is presented in a black body bag...”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #ieiri shoko x reader #ieiri shoko #shoko x reader #shoko x you #ieiri shoko x you #jjk x reader #percy writes

140 notes · View notes

crushedsweets · 2 months

Note

so I can't find it, but when the proxies were helping clocks, you mentioned that Tim doesn't like it when she screams or cries. Something about it bothering him. I wish I could recall.

OK SO i also cant find the post (cuz of tumblrs tagging system) buuut i'm gonna use this to ramble about clocky meeting the proxies again, since i sorta adjusted it...

in my au, O/S syndrome refers to slender sickness. it usually starts with the operator taking COMPLETE control over someone's body and mind, and then slenderman 'stealing' them and making them do his bidding (clean up operator problems) which results in them having a 'proxy mode' vs their 'normal' mode

so clockys backstory goes as usual, then towards the end she starts slowly getting O/S syndrome. i sort of want her introduction to toby/the proxies to be ALMOST a reflection of how toby and clocky canonically met. (her getting hurt cuz of him, him helping her as an apology)

so around the time natalie replaced her eye with a clock, O/S syndrome fully set in. while sick, she couldn't form memories, she had inhuman strength, an insatiable bloodlust - just became a general menace, and because bodies started dropping all around tuscaloosa with operator symbols slashed into walls, the proxies had to intervene.

it started with toby stalking her while she's stalking her next victim. her and toby get into a huge tussle and she locks onto him as her next victim. he chooses to play cat and mouse and run off to the forest, having her follow. i'm imagining an almost comical scene where she's slashing around branches and stuff with a machete and he's like 'ahhh cant catch meeeee' and she's screaming obscenities. . .

then by time he ends up at the cabin, tim or brian probably knock her out since she's, yknow, a huge threat. a bat to the back of her head.

and she would wake up in their spare 'storage' room thats filled to the brim with boxes, old bikes, massive stacks of newspapers, cds, etc. she'd probably have her wrists zip tied to an exposed pipe and she'd be losing her fucking mind. screaming at the top of her lungs, thrashing around, whatever. "LET ME GO YOU FUCKING FREAKS LET ME GO ILL KILL YOU ILL FUCKING KILL YOU"

the way to slowly heal O/S syndrome is being around slenderman(aka in his forest) for a long time, until the Operator loses grasp. the way to quickly deal with O/S syndrome is to um.. no nice way to put this. slendermans jaw unhinges and he oozes this gross fucking black tar-like goo, and drinking it (or putting it into pill capsules and taking those) makes the operator let go. it doesnt really have a taste, thank god, but it is thicker than water.

so it would be a whole ordeal of toby coming in like heeeeyyyy... lol... and he would think shes REALLY BADASS because he's never met a woman like her (so strong, loud mouthed, violent, etc). plus he's kinda lonely in general so LMFAOOOO . so he wants to befriend her, and is kinda ignoring the fat that she's mad as hell.

but she's in so much agony. from the O/S syndrome to getting hit with a bat, she's screaming and crying and never shutting up. throwing up, trying to literally bite and kick the proxies if they even bring in water. so toby would be 'designated' to her because "well youre the dumb fuck who brought her here, you deal with it"

he'd probably have to trick her into taking one of the pills or putting the sludge into an opaque water bottle or something. after the first bit is ingested, she quickly gains more clarity. he'd try getting a cot or air mattress set up for her. bring a book and drawing supplies. he wants her to trust him. within a day or two, she'd already start feeling immensely better and the operator is letting go - and toby would stupidly trust her, and completely undo the zipties, and she'd run the fuck off, and he'd be like FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK. and not even a week later, she'd come back. because she's horribly sick again. and she'd beg for the stupid pills.

and she'd start to trust toby, and eventually kate. . and a little bit brian. but she would still not fuck with tim cuz it is true, he would hate all the screaming, and would occasionally bang on the door and shout at her to quiet down.

but yeah . . thats how she gets situated with the proxies and her O/S syndrome is healed. :3

#asks #clockwork #creeped #hcs

48 notes · View notes

geesenoises · 3 months

Text

wip snip

thanks to @teledild0nix for tagging me and giving me a good excuse to post this.

i wrote this two weeks ago, in a small fit of inspiration after thinking about one of my favorite movies, Columbus. idk where this thing is going, or if it's going anywhere, but i tried a little bit for the vibes of the movie. cw: mentions of termimal illness in a parent

-----

Draco had no great desire to be at his father’s bedside when he died, but his mother did and he could tell she needed him there. The hospice facility was light, airy, trimmed and furnished with birch and oak. The staff were all quiet and respectful, performing their duties with the height of discretion. And Draco still felt like he was being slowly crushed from all sides whenever he was there. He made sure his mother was comfortable in Lucius’s private room and then escaped outside.

There was a brook on the grounds. He stared at it sightlessly as he collapsed on to a bench overlooking it and lit a cigarette. He’d managed about three drags before some wanker chastised him.

“The designated smoking area is on the other side of the building.” Draco stiffened in recognition but obstinately took another pull from his cigarette.

“Everyone here’s dying anyway,” Draco muttered dispassionately.

Potter came to a stop in front of Draco’s bench and regarded him for a moment before sitting down.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asked tiredly without looking at him. “He’s dying. Another loose end tied up for you.”

“Erm, no, I’m not here to talk about your dad. Or, I am, but only to say—” Potter stammered out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a long time coming. He’s been ill for years.” Draco looked around at the grounds. The clean lines of the building’s architecture and the sunlight gleaming off the brook, softly babbling over artfully placed rocks with lush ferns overhanging it. Every last detail expressed tranquility. Draco waved a hand at it all. “This is all probably better than he deserves.”

Potter didn’t have anything to say to that, probably neither wanting to seem eager in grim agreement, nor able to bring himself to offer a polite lie of demurral. They resolved into silence until it occurred to Draco—

“You too. I’m sorry. Terribly rude of me; it should have occurred to me sooner. Is it anyone I know?”

That seemed to startle Potter into flustered motion again. “Oh! No, er, it’s nobody. I’m not—I volunteer here sometimes. If they don’t have anybody to sit with them, or when their family has to be away. I saw your dad’s name on the room assignments when I was checking in today.”

Of course. Saint Potter, here to bless the dying. Never anywhere out of self-interest. Draco dropped the cigarette butt, stepped it out, and vanished it before Potter could tell him off for littering. He even cast a cleaning charm for the ash. He wouldn’t want to sully the consecrated ground Potter walked on.

“How noble of you,” Draco said, trying for withering and knowing he’d landed on parched at best. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He left without waiting for Potter’s response, heading back to his father’s room to make his excuses to his mother, letting her know he’d come back for her later. They’d taken rooms at a nearby well-appointed bed and breakfast and he apparated there as soon as he’d cleared the property boundaries.

tagging @moonmanatee @oknowkiss @wolfpants @citrusses @saintgarbanzo @basicallyahedgehog if you'd like!

#wip snip #my writing

18 notes · View notes

nine-of-words · 5 months

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Eight)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 7843

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Minor Knife Injury, Blood, Ophidiophobia, Non-Denominational Exorcism, Near Death Experience

Another update, another part that I let get out of hand on the wordcount. A slower part this time, at least up until the end. Just a few more parts to go now, and this story will actually be finished! :’)

The next week is, dare you say it, pleasant.

You don't want to jinx anything… but you think you might even be…

Happy?

It's a strange, foreign feeling, after spending so long licking your wounds and wallowing in your misery. It's just been so long since you've had hope for the future, that you almost forgot how light it felt. How good.

Sure, you're still cursed, but it seems trivial at this point. You've been talking to Carlyle every day like normal, and you even still saw him for his Tuesday work order, with seemingly no ill effects.

You might as well be dating already, really. Maybe that defeats the purpose of not labeling it, to be thinking that way? But it's such a nice thought, you just can’t stop yourself.

You'd just… like to be able to actually call him your boyfriend soon…

You find yourself planning future dates in the back of your mind as you go through the motions of serving your line of midday Saturday customers.

As if summoned by the strength of your daydreaming, the man in question appears at the threshold of your shop with the tinny jingle of the bell, not even a full hour later.

He came to see you? You weren’t expecting him at all today, but it’s certainly a welcome surprise. You feel your skin flush slightly around your cheekbones and ears, your heartbeat picking up at the mere sight of him.

What really catches your eye is the change in his wardrobe. You’ve only ever seen him in- and technically out of- a suit so far. He's comparatively dressed down for the weekend in a pink polo and khakis, but still impeccably neat and put together.

It’s a silly thing to get flustered over, you know it, but you catch yourself feeling giddy over seeing a new side of him. It’s amusing that even on a weekend, he’s still dressed like he’s going to walk into an office and not look out of place.

“I didn’t know you were planning on coming in today.” You beam at him when his position in line finally reaches the counter.

“Ah, I wish it was only for a social call. I’d love to spend the whole weekend with you if I could.” He sighs, the way his lips curl up at the edges making it clear he’s being genuine. “But I’m actually here on business, I suppose you could say. I wanted to make sure I said hi to you first, though. Seems rude to not.”

“...Hi.” You chuckle, nodding to his chest. “Some sort of business-casual business, it looks like?”

“Yes. Am I underdressed for this fine establishment?”

“Lady’s name, no-” You almost purr, your voice dripping with affection. “You clean up so bloody well, even out of a suit. I don’t know what else I expected.”

“Hah, you really know how to make a guy feel handsome.”

You're cherishing the pleased look on Carlyle's face from the compliment, until the sound of a customer who's gotten into line behind your not-quite-boyfriend-yet discreetly clears their throat.

Time to stop flirting and get back to work.

“Anything I could get for you?”

“Mmm. The usual is always appreciated.” He nods towards the table you had your first real conversation at, months ago now. “But I can see you're busy, so take as long as you need. I'll be over there.”

You somehow manage to get back to work, though the distraction makes it difficult, with how often you sneak a glance over at him.

You’re struggling to focus on decorating a cake that’s due later today when another (not unwelcome) distraction appears.

“I’m heeeeeeere~!!!” Kirby waves at you with a wide grin, then turns their attention towards where Carlyle is seated. “Oh good- you’re here already!! Punctual.”

In an effort to get your case finally solved, Kirby has been coming into your shop on Saturdays as well, despite it technically being one of their days off.

Seeing that you’re busy with a line, and clearly having some other pressing business, they take a seat at the table with Carlyle instead of their currently occupied, normal spot at the counter.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel a bit left out.

Thankfully for you, your shop is small enough for the conversation to carry on its own. Not that you’re actively trying to eavesdrop- though, given Kirby's glaring lack of an inside voice, you can't imagine a scenario where you'd have any trouble hearing their side of the conversation regardless.

“If this curse presents so much like poltergeist activity, why not contact a witch for assistance? Assumingly they’d be able to perform an exorcism.”

“Geeeeeez, why didn’t I think of that??” The faun slaps their hand to their forehead with a completely dumbstruck look on their face. “Sorry I just finished my first training lesson yesterday, so I guess I don’t have the hang of all this magic stuff yet, haha!”

“I feel like you’re being disingenuous.” Carlyle smirks, faint enough that you wouldn’t have noticed if you haven’t pored over his face quite a bit so far.

“Of course I tried to get a witch in here! I do actually know what I’m doing, you know. There’s no Bureau-sanctioned Witch Inquisitors available for months for ‘non-essential’ cases. Supposedly exploding cakes aren’t considered, like, a meaningful enough threat??? Exploding. Cakes. SUPPOSEDLY.” Kirby pointedly rolls their eyes. “I can’t just mark this unresolved and move on! There is clearly something wrong here! And there’s just. No. Way. I’m gonna leave him out to dry like that!”

You have to admit, overhearing that puts an instant smile on your face. You consider yourself lucky to have been assigned someone so invested in solving your case, let alone one that has become such a good friend to you.

Carlyle hums in approval as well.

“But HQ is all the way up my ass about this now because of it! The max time estimate for this sort of case is a month! It's been four!"

"That's not that bad of a timeline, honestly-"

"Aaaaargh! You people are all the same!" They grasp their head in their hands in despair, smooshing their ears flat, curls trembling like quivering leaves.

"You people?" Carlyle scoffs incredulously.

"Yeah, buddy! Lawyers!! You say like, two whole sentences to a judge and then go on a three hour recess! Some magi have to do actual field work, y’know!"

“Right, right.” Carlyle chokes back a laugh behind a closed fist under the guise of clearing his throat.

“When I say I’ve looked into everything I could think of, I mean everything. Investigated his ex- nothing. Mana type doesn’t match, and I pulled his bank statements and there’s no questionable activity that could be paying off a witch to do it. Unless he managed to SECRETLY pay someone with a wheelbarrow full of gold that never touched a bank; not him. Ex clients? I went back as far as his records went and then some! Nothing there either. And the exorcism potentially being faulty theory didn’t go anywhere either, all the paperwork’s there, even if the vibe in here is so off. I’m like, fully out of leads. It’s not a normal curse. I’m starting to think it’s not even a curse at all!! And it’s not a poltergeist- or a regular spirit, even- But it’s something. So what the hell is it?”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” Carlyle picks up another set of clipped papers from the table and starts skimming over them. “Two heads being better than one and all.”

Kirby simply groans, setting their forehead on the table with a dull thump.

It goes on like that for a while, with Carlyle reading in relative quiet aside from the odd question, which a deflated Kirby then answers.

“Well, you’re correct about it not seeming to be a normal curse, that much is certain. It could potentially be an unconventional sort of a geas- given the wording of the note it could constitute a very loose contract; But it’s unlikely if you have looked this far in and still haven’t found the source, even if you were looking for a curse at that point. …And I suppose we can’t completely rule out a poltergeist, either, until we get a witch in here. Even if the first ritual was performed correctly, there’s always the chance something changed.”

“Mhmm.”

“I know someone that can do an exorcism. I could call them, but they’re not exactly Bureau-affiliated. They have a license, of course- I suppose you could call them self-taught…”

“At this point I don’t care if their license is written in CRAYON, as long they’re legit!!”

The line is finally non-existent and the decorating is finished, so you swing by the table; sparkling juice for Kirby, coffee for Carlyle in his mug.

"Hey… How's it coming along?"

"Heeeeey." Kirby replies in a dull, muffled facsimile of their normal bright tone, forehead still planted against the tabletop.

"Oh, As well as it can be. Thanks for asking." Carlyle smiles at you warmly over the sheaf of papers he’s holding, loafered foot bobbing restlessly where it's crossed over his knee.

The papers he’s holding don’t even begin to account for the stacks in front of them, the entire tabletop covered with stacks of documents to the point you’re not even sure where you’re going to set down the beverages you’re holding.

“So, I take it the Bureau's taking volunteers now?”

“In an unofficial capacity.” Carlyle smirks and, mercifully seeing your predicament, starts carving out a space in the cluttered hoard of paper for the mug to go.

“I called him, I hope you don’t mind!!” Kirby chirps and finally lifts their head, looking a little brighter as they take their beverage. “I thought the extra help might be just what we need and he’s got just different enough of a specialty to offer some really good insight.”

“Good idea. I can’t think of two people I’d mind less digging around in my business.” You chuckle.

You take a seat and chat a little longer while you can, before a small end-of-day rush comes through and you’re once again forced to actually do your job.

Closing time comes and passes, and Kirby leaves for the night not longer after, with only Carlyle remaining in the front still poring over documents after close, with your blessing. You’re basically finished cleaning up the back for the night when you hear a knock of stone knuckles on the wooden door frame over the music you’ve been singing along to off-key.

Carlyle’s leaning slightly against the frame with a warm smile on his face. You didn’t even hear him walk up- you have to wonder how long he’s been there watching you work.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day.” He gently grasps the back of your neck, pressing his lips to your smile and his waist to yours against the counter.

You feel much the same, but as you kiss him there’s a little prick of anxiety at the back of your mind and the faint weight on your chest is hard to ignore. But you find yourself sinking against his body regardless.

“Aah-” You barely get the words out when he trails across your cheek. ”Should we be doing this…?”

“Nothing’s happened yet, right?” The warm breath against your jaw makes it difficult to think about anything else.

The man has a point, and you steer his lips back to yours with renewed vigor.

Your head’s spinning in his heady familiar amber cologne and you’re losing track of time when you’re rudely knocked out of your bliss by a sudden noise.

CLANK-

Carlyle lurches back, and then there’s a loud metallic clatter on the tile. Your eyes follow the movement, seeing the shiny silver blur of an overturned cooking pot on the floor.

“Blazes- Carlyle!” You push off of the counter and raise your hands, ready to help in whatever way you can. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah- I must’ve caught that hanger with my horn, or something.” Carlyle winces sheepishly, rubbing the crown of his head and looking up at the metal overhead utensil hanger.

“Do you need some ice? Or-”

“No. No real harm done.” He waves the thought off with his other hand.

“If you’re sure.” You furrow your brow, holding his hand when he lowers it.

“Mmh… It is getting late though, so I suppose that’s my cue to make myself scarce. I still have some documents to read to get up to speed with your case, anyway.”

He sighs, rubbing your palm with his thumb.

“Right…”

“Unless you want me to stay. You know all you have to do is say the word.”

“...No, as much as I’d like that, you probably shouldn’t. I have a lot of orders going out early tomorrow morning and I’ll be too distracted to sleep if you stay, I think.”

You smile as you see him out, but you can’t help but feel lonely when you go to bed by yourself that night.

You need this curse to be lifted, so you can really be together.

A few weekends into this new routine, Kirby shows up early on Saturday morning, within minutes of your switching the open sign on.

“Morning. You’re here early! Not that I mind.” You quip happily, finishing the icing job on the last cupcake from the current batch for the case.

“Yeah… Hahah… About that- Okay. Soooooo. Don’t be mad... But I have some bad news.”

“Bad news…?” You wipe your hands on your apron in more of a nervous fidget than anything. “...Cupcake level bad news?”

“Uh-huh. I didn’t want to break it to you over the phone, y’know?”

You fetch two cupcakes from the case- one of each of your preferred flavors. Sure, it’s before noon, but you think you’ll both need it, if the news is that dire.

“So, I just got out of a meeting with my boss and I’m… Sorta kinda…” They wince and twirl their lowest hanging curl around their finger, stalling. “Maybe… Officially no longer working on your case? Because it's closed?”

They then immediately shove their cupcake into their mouth, taking nearly an entire half of the baked good off in one stress-fueled bite.

“...What?” When you manage to break your stunned silence and plop down onto the stool behind you, your voice is barely more than a hoarse croak. You nearly drop your cupcake, instead deciding to set it back down on the wrapper, any appetite you had suddenly gone.

You can feel tears starting to prick at the back of your eyes, not just from sadness but the pure embarrassment of being this affected by this news. You manage to hold them back, barely, but it’s difficult.

But what are you going to do now? You’re simply doomed to stay cursed forever? Nothing you tried on your own fixed it, and now even the professionals are leaving you out to dry, too?

Just accept you’re unfixable?

Now, when you actually have something to lose again?

“Aw, don’t look so sad!! I… I kinda knew this was coming. I couldn’t convince my boss to keep it open any longer since the investigation wasn’t going anywhere- But I’m NOT giving up on you! I’m still going to work on your case on my off time! I’m not stopping until this is fixed, I promise!!”

“Are you… even allowed to do that?” You say, only a hair's breadth away from sniveling.

“Pfft, who cares?! What’re they gonna do, fire me for working MORE? For FREE??” They shake their head, laughing and shrugging. “Nope! I’m too valuable for that, trust me!”

Any signs of worry that were showing through the cracks when Kirby first came in have been immediately banished, but you’re familiar enough with them now to notice that they’re merely squashing them down to support you, rather than the doubt being completely gone on their end.

“You don’t have to do that for me…” You laugh and wipe the corner of your eye, trying to maintain some of your composure. “I wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself because of me…”

“Haha- Yeah I do! That’s how this friendship thing works, if you’re not familiar! Sorry, not sorry.”

They’ve managed to cheer you up to the point of near-normalcy, distracting you with all the details of their most recent disastrous hookup, when your first real customer of the day comes in.

Devin walks in with her typical dreamy smile and if she notices the lingering vestiges of despair in the room, she’s acting blissfully unaware.

“Good morning!” She greets you as she approaches the counter, giving Kirby a friendly wave.

“Morning, Devin! Did you have an order in? I know you normally like to put it in beforehand, and I haven’t heard the order chime go off.” You double-check the datapad to confirm, but there’s nothing there.

She looks at you like a deer in headlights for a moment.

“...Oh, duh! I knew I forgot to do something before I walked here-” She exclaims, pulling out her device out of the pocket of her flowy, oversized, open-knit sweater. “I’ve got the list right here though. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Sure. It’s no problem.”

Luckily for you, after you’ve introduced them, Kirby manages to mostly keep her distracted while you package the order, in their typical social butterfly fashion.

“So I heard you’re getting married! That must be sooo exciting!!”

She goes on to talk about the wedding preparations, at great length and wandering detail.

“Oh- Oh- While I’m thinking about it! On your RSVP, you checked the +1 box, but you didn’t write a name down. I wanted to make sure I checked in so I can send the finished list to the calligrapher! I don’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“Sorry- it must've slipped my mind.” You try not to wince as you slide her order across the counter to her. You meant to ask Carlyle, who you’re beyond sure would escort you, but you’re too worried that would be too obviously dating for whatever arcane laws dole out curse-based punishments. “I’ll message it to you after work, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine.” She gives you a wide, radiant grin, the pink boxes of cupcakes practically vibrating in her hands from the wiggling. “Ahhh, I’m so excited! It’s not far off now.”

“Nope. Looking forward to it!”

“Me too! You know, you’ve got such great taste, I can’t wait for you to see the flowers we picked. They’re like, the absolute cutest.” Her smile’s replaced with a look of shock, before she checks the time. “Oooh! Here I am gabbing when I’m already running late to set up this party!! Sorry, but I’ve gotta run. See you next time! Nice meeting you, Kirby!”

With that, she scurries out the door, as elegantly as one can scurry holding a box of cupcakes.

“That’s her?” Kirby slaps the countertop in disbelief, tilting their horns towards the door where she just exited..

“That’s her.” You confirm, a bemused smile settling on your lips. “But she’s my friend now, I think? So be nice.”

“I’m always nice! I mean- She’s very pretty and she seems sweet and all but SPIRITS, like-! Really? Your ex has a suuuuper specific type, huh???”

You snort.

“I’m. Just. Saying!! I’d be… very concerned… about mixing up names at the worst possible moment. Y’know?”

You can’t help but let out barely contained string laughs, finally covering your mouth with your hand.

“...You don’t think I’d look better with a septum piercing?”

“Oh honey, NO. No way- Absolutely not! Nothing against them but If you wanna rebel we can get you a different piercing that suits your whole look way better! Or maybe even a tattoo-” Kirby’s giggling transforms into an excited gasp. “We could get matching tattoos!”

“Absolutely! After the wedding, haha- Right now, I’ve gotta focus on what I’m going to do about my plus one situation…”

“Oh yeah? I figured with how well things are going with your dream man that wouldn’t even be a question.”

“Yeah. I want to ask him, but… the curse…? Wouldn’t that be defining things too much? It seems like dangerous territory, doesn’t it?”

“Hhhmm. If it was me, I’d ask him anyway, curse be damned. I’ve told you that from, like, the very beginning.” Kirby props their chin on their hand in thought. “But if you insist on being cautious, I can go with you instead, if you want. I just hate the idea of you having to sit through that alone!!”

“You would?”

“Yeah, of course!! We’ll go and quietly make fun of your ex all night, drinking elven wine on his parents’ tab!” They beam mischievously.

“That sounds like it might make it all bearable. Fun, even.”

“Doesn’t it???”

“Yes. But I do doubt your ability to do anything quietly.”

“Hehehe- You’re not wrong~”

You get back to work feeling a lot less anxious about attending this wedding. If you won’t be taking a date, at least you’ll be there with a friend in your corner.

Carlyle shows up not long after, and as usual, it’s like the weight of the world evaporates momentarily when you see him. This time he’s brought an overnight bag, because you’ve directly asked him to stay over tonight.

This particular Sunday is busy, but that’s expected. You do manage to get drinks out to your volunteer investigators, but you simply don’t have the time to sit and chat today. You’re relieved you already asked Carlyle to stay, at least- you’re sorely in need of some comfort and quality time after today’s blur of activity and emotional drain.

“Need any help?”

You smile at him from your place at the dish tank scrubbing a cake pan, reaching up to wipe your brow on the sleeve.

“No, I should be able to manage on my own. What did you have in mind for tonight?” You ask the gargoyle man as he approaches, trying to mask your weariness.

“Well, the plan was to make you dinner and then we can relax together, if that’s agreeable to you.” You feel his clawed hand gently press to your upper back in support, and you can’t help but cringe internally, knowing how damp with sweat your shirt surely is. “I hope you like pasta.”

“Oooh, that’s agreeable to me, alright. You don’t have any idea how agreeable that sounds.”

“Hahah- I thought you might say that. I’m going to walk to the corner store for the ingredients. Would you like anything specific?”

“No. I should be done tidying up by the time you get back.”

You shake your head and smile, then press a soft kiss to his lips. His hand squeezes the nape of your neck slightly before letting you go.

Conveniently, he's back right as you're finishing your last tasks- or at least the things you can't put off until you're back in the shop.

“Hmmm, it’s been too long since I’ve been up here.” Carlyle remarks happily as he follows you up the stairs to the living floor of your building, holding the brown paper bag of ingredients in one arm.

“I agree- Will you be okay on your own? I’m going to take a quick shower, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. I’m not a professional, but I’m sure I can navigate around a kitchen.”

You rush a bit through your grooming routine, but instead of the usual stress relief, you can’t help but fret about your situation. Is inviting him over too much? He seems so confident that the full wrath of the curse isn’t going to be raining down on you from continuing on like you have, but you get a knot in your stomach every time you think about the potential negative repercussions.

Somehow, you still manage to cleanse yourself of the day, if not your worry.

Renewed dread begins to set in when you begin to rummage through your closet- you’ve been so busy lately and putting off laundry, that all of your clothes that would be acceptable for a casual evening-in are dirty. You consider just wearing your last set of work wear, but that seems uncomfortable. It’s still a bit early to fully kit out in sleepwear…

You can already smell aromatics cooking in the kitchen, so you don’t have much time to deliberate. You swallow your pride and regrettably pull a set of your silk pajamas on.

You walk out into the kitchen to the sound of a pan sizzling and the sink running.

To your relief, Carlyle’s face breaks into an expression of genuine appreciation rather than judgment about your choice in attire when he slightly turns towards you from his place at the sink.

Strangely, he keeps his hands under the water. The scent is a tell-tale acrid compared to before, so you assume that perhaps he needs a hand with the task load. You tilt your head in confusion as you approach, then peek into the pan on the cooktop, seeing that the contents have hopelessly scorched.

“Ah, I wouldn’t-” He abandons the sentence with a bemused sigh, seeing that you’re already picking up the handle and looking into the pan’s contents as you give it a shake. “I’m not usually this incompetent at cooking.”

The knife sits discarded on the cutting board at a haphazard angle. Next to it is a cluster of some sort of foreign object, and the knife has a similar looking coating on the edge. You squint slightly, trying to make out what it is.

It almost looks like tiny shards of glass- pink glass.

Trailing from the cutting board to the sink.

It takes a moment to click in your mind, but when it does, it hits you like a truck. You’re looking at Carlyle’s blood that has solidified into small, ragged gemstones the same color as his horns upon being exposed to the air.

An alarm bell goes off in your mind. You can recognize this now. After making a fool of yourself about his horns, you’ve made a point of reading up on gargoyles since.

“Oh! Carlyle, you’re hurt?!” You immediately remove the pan from the burner completely and turn off the heat, rushing to focus all your attention on him. “What happened?”

“My hand slipped- It’s only a cut. I’ll live, I promise.”

“Here- Let me see.”

You find a clean hand towel. Once he's pulled his hand out of the stream of water, you dry his hand and inspect the damage. A short but deep cut has broken the skin between the base of his index finger and first knuckle. He winces as you put pressure on it to finish stymieing the bleeding.

“How did that knife even cut through your stoneskin? It shouldn’t be that sharp…”

“No idea. But It's not that big of a deal, really.” He says, exasperated- but given the tone of his voice, you think he might actually be enjoying all the doting. “It’s not even that deep.”

You ignore his statement, continuing to fuss over him as you put the butterfly bandage on, even after confirming yourself that it’s only a minor injury.

“So. Takeout?” Carlyle smoothly suggests, patting down his dreadlocks while you kiss the bandage you’ve meticulously placed on his hand.

“You want to stick around after my curse almost chopped off your finger? You’re a mighty brave soul.”

“It’s not your fault. Accidents happen.” He shrugs. “Realistically, we don’t even know if it’s related…”

“...Yeah…” You agree, but you don’t believe it yourself. You’d be gnawing every fingernail you had down to nubs if you were alone right now.

His non-bandaged hand comes to rest on your jaw, gently tilting your head so your sightline is on him.

“I get the feeling you don’t believe me. That’s okay. But even if it’s the curse- I’m not afraid of it.”

Despite his reassurance, you can’t help but feel responsible. How can he be so confident in his safety when there’s this black cloud hanging over everything you touch? When it’s something that’s obviously- at least to you- threatening his wellbeing?

Maybe if you were present it wouldn’t have happened?

…Though at this point, you’re starting to suspect it might’ve been worse if you were present.

You just hope if it is a side effect of your curse, and not your imagination, that nothing more serious happens.

About another week later, it’s a slow Sunday evening for your shop and it’s finally the day Carlyle’s witch contact is due to show up. It’s just after close and only you, Carlyle and Kirby are still lingering around the counter- waiting for this mystery woman who may or may not be able to provide some better insight about what’s afflicting you, even if it’s only by ruling out what it’s not.

Finally, a figure shows up on the other side of the shop window, testing the door before finding it unlocked and letting themself in. In walks a pink-skinned Elven cambion in a bell-sleeved black tea dress and heeled booties, complete with slouchy, pointed hat, and a near-bursting bag slung over her shoulder. The spade of her tail looks like a heart.

That’s a textbook witch, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Rosario.” Carlyle smirks at her playfully in greeting, confirming your suspicion.

“Carlyle."

“Nice hat.”

“Bureau typically doesn’t like it when you perform witchcraft on the public without the fitting uniform.” She frowns deeply, pointedly looking at Kirby. “So. Hat it is.”

“Well, at least someone besides Carlyle cares about regulations!” Kirby giggles, letting the potential slight glance right off them, and producing a business card that they hand to her. “Kirby. Cursebreaker. Bureau apologist.”

She takes the card and her nose scrunches up in disdain.

“You’re not going to be insufferable about this, are you?”

“Hhmmmm. That compleeeeetely depends on what you define as insufferable!” They grin brightly, and with their tone you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw them start batting their eyes next. “I’m here to support my friend. So, as long as your methods aren’t going to do harm and you don't do anything I'm like, super-duper mandated to report? Probably not. Though I've been told my voice can be very grating~!”

“Thank fuck.” She whips the witch hat off her head, leaving her crown-shaped horns and deep magenta braided-up hair uncovered, then shoving the offending black fabric into Carlyle’s hands.

“Right, I'm glad you've both decided to be adults about this and we’ve cleared that up before it could become an issue.” Carlyle nods in diplomatic approval, holding out a hand to direct Rosario's attention to you for a proper introduction, which he gives with such an unabashed tone of pride in his voice when he says your name that it makes your knees feel like they’re suddenly made of jelly. “This is your client for today.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosario.”

She hums in response, not even trying to hide the subtle pink glow in her eyes as she magically assesses you and the shop around you. Then, she gently brings her fingers to her brow in bewildered vexation.

“Well, if the horrible miasma permeating this whole place is any indication, I have a lot of work to do.”

“First, er… Would you like a cupcake?” You say, a bit more shakily than usual as you engage your typical ploy in endearing people to you upon first meeting.

“...Sure.”

She selects a blackout cupcake, which you have to admit, suits her whole aesthetic quite well.

She eats it in the most expressionless way you’ve ever seen a person eat a baked good in all the time you’ve been baking professionally. Thankfully Carlyle and Kirby are chatting in the background, otherwise the weight of the silence mixed with Rosario’s completely unmoved expression might make you actually go mad.

You briefly consider changing the name of the cupcake flavor she’s selected to ‘horrible miasma’, but ultimately decide against it.

“So, how do you and Carlyle know each other?” You crack under the pressure and attempt to make small talk.

Her eyes dart to Carlyle for a moment, but he’s caught up talking to Kirby about prepping the space for the ritual, and so she makes an executive decision on how to answer herself.

“Similar interests. Multiple.”

She does not elaborate.

“...Right. Thank you for coming, by the way, you’re really a lifesaver.” You move towards the till. “What do I owe you, by the way? Carlyle didn’t mention payment.”

“He already paid me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah, I was worried you’d say that.” You say sheepishly. “He’s so hard-headed. Here, I’ll pay you and you can refund him, maybe?”

“No- That’s not necessary.” She makes a noise in distaste. “Look. What he paid me with is intangible anyway. It wasn’t gold.”

You look at her quizzically. You’ve decided to let it go, but after she chews a bite of cupcake in thought, she seemingly decides to answer to dispel your curiosity.

“Furniture set.”

“Pardon?”

“He had a furniture set I wanted. A limited one that doesn’t get released anymore. The full set.”

For the first time since she’s set foot in your shop, Rosario almost seems vulnerable on this topic.

“Oh, the game he plays- You play it too?”

“...Game? Right. Yes. The game. Creature Crossroads. Do you play?”

“No, but I’m thinking about buying one of those little boxes so that Carlyle and I can play together.”

“Cute.”

As she finishes the treat up, you do see a faint smile form before it fades away just as fast. So, you’ll take that as a win.

“Thanks. Let’s get this show on the road, then. …No one’s afraid of snakes, right?”

You and your companions clear the counter, making space for Rosario to set down her bulging bag full of supplies. A pinkish-hued corn snake slithers out of her long sleeve. It doesn’t take long for it to slither up the guardrail of the stairs and out of sight.

In a few minutes, a makeshift altar has been assembled on your shop’s counter, giving you a massive feeling of dissonance, even if it’s charming in its own way. Though, you could perhaps do without the carved animal bones…

Rosario draws a large chalk circle in the middle of the shop floor, punctuating the points of the star with different herbs, crystals, bones, and the like.

Your shop becomes a stage for Rosario methodically going through the steps of a smoky ritual- resin incense burning in a wide, flat ceramic holder in one hand; a dark, shiny blade being sliced through the air in succinct movements in the other. She stops every few steps, clearly severing things you can’t see. She occasionally says something in a firmly projected voice, in a language you don’t know, but sounds sort of like Elvish- not quite though.

Carlyle and Kirby assist within their ability, which mostly involves holding things or moving things, or pointing out areas that are still problems. It’s a painstaking process, and you simply try to stay out of the way while they work.

Magic is such a foreign and slightly intimidating thing for you, being something you don’t have the capability to fully experience. You didn’t even know more magic users than the fingers on one of your hands before you left your home village. Queen’s Isle isn’t known for its plentiful abundance of the magically adept, after all.

Despite that, you find that it has quite a lot of beauty to it. It’s hard not to appreciate the process like you do baking, or any other creative method that still has its rules.

Rosario starts from the top floor and meticulously covers the perimeter of every room, until she’s back at the shop’s front door nearly a full 40 minutes later, assumingly escorting the last of the negative energy out.

“Good news and bad news.” She says in her flat tone, pushing her thick-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose as she brings her equipment back to the counter. “Which do you want first?”

“I think I could use some hope first.” You decide quickly and reply.

“Your problem does seem to be spiritual in nature. And your shop is cleansed. For now.”

“And the bad news…?”

“It’s not going to stay that way as long as you’re here.” Her familiar returns to her, slithering off one of the shelves and onto her arm, where she strokes the snake’s head. “Because it’s not just on you. Whatever it is, it’s weird, and it’s coming from you.”

“But like, how is that even possible, though? He’s a numan. It’s not like he could be a budding sorcerer!!”

“And he’s not shown any signs of possession, either…” Carlyle adds, holding his chin in thought. “I’m not an expert, but if this were a typical possession, you’d think one of us would’ve at least observed the offending spirit by now.”

“Honestly? No clue. Never seen anything quite like it on a blank. But if the source isn’t removed from his person, it’s only going to keep building back up.”

“What does that entail, exactly?” You ask weakly, already feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Personal Exorcism. I can do that too, if you want. But FYI, it’s not what I’d call a pleasant experience. Extra bad if it’s a demon. And you’ll have to be restrained, in case whatever it is tries to take over and cause issues.”

“...Will it hurt?”

“It’s not supposed to. Not corporeal pain, at least.”

Somehow, that does not make you feel better.

But you keep the thought to yourself, instead glancing at Carlyle and then Kirby, seeking reassurance.

“It’s worth a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Yeah! And we’ll be here with you the whoooooole time. Nothing’s gonna hurt you with us here~!”

“Then yes, let’s. I just want this curse gone.” You say, letting out a long breath and harnessing the resolve while you have it.

Rosario nods, and begins renewed preparations by touching up the large chalk circle on the floor in fresh lines, while Carlyle and Kirby find one of the only chairs in the shop that has arm rests and bring it out to the middle of the tile floor, inside the circle.

You enter the chalk circle with Rosario and sit down in the now suddenly ominous chair, your stomach already fittingly tying itself in knots from the building nerves.

You watch intently as Rosario’s hands firmly knot the manila fiber rope around your wrist and to the armrest, one after the other. You can’t see it, obviously, but there’s something else there. You can feel a tingle pricking your skin as her magic is undoubtedly imbued into the material.

Kirby discreetly feels the newly-enchanted rope with their fingertips, and you can see their eyes glow slightly. They’re checking behind her magic, you realize, when the glow dissipates as quickly as it appeared, and they wink at you knowingly.

“Looks good!” They say to Rosario in glowing approval as they leave the circle and head to a safe spot by the counter. “You really know what you’re doing!!”

She simply scoffs in response, stepping away to gather the rest of her tools from the counter and leaving room for Carlyle to step in.

“Not exactly my personal taste…” Carlyle smiles, speaking softly enough only you can hear and clearly trying to break some of the tension by making light of the situation. He tries the rope at your wrist, making sure it’s not too tight. “But I suppose I can still appreciate it.”

It works, and you snort out a laugh, unable to muffle the unflattering noise with your hands incapacitated.

He squeezes your shoulder and leans over to press a kiss to the crown of your head. Then he moves over to join Kirby where they’re standing nearby.

Then it’s just you and Rosario in the circle; you, seated and bound; and her standing in front of you with the dagger that at this point you surmise to be her focus in one hand, and her snake familiar in the other.

Then she starts speaking again, just as firmly and in the same commanding tone as when she was cleansing the space..

It’s a small thing, at first.

Barely a small buzzing in the back of your head.

But it quickly grows into an almost unbearable roar. You screw your face up, turn your shoulders in- anything to try to protect yourself from that horrible rumbling sensation.

An impossible wind picks up in your closed shop, whipping through your hair and buffeting against your face.

But you can’t, because it’s coming from inside.

Even lacking a sense for magic, you can feel the bolts of energy crackle in the air around you.

They were right. It doesn’t hurt, exactly.

But it is a deeply unpleasant sensation.

It feels like something’s being ripped out of you, from the inside. Like velcro being slowly and forcefully parted. That familiar weight in your chest, pressing at your rib cage as it’s pulled from you like a magnet’s on the other side.

Everything’s shaking- the stools at the counter vibrating across the floor, the dishes on the shelves rattling against the secured doors. Even the light fixtures are swaying back and forth, the lights themselves beginning to flicker.

You can barely hear it at first over the sound of arcane activity all around you and Rosario’s frankly booming voice, but somewhere in the maelstrom there’s the piercing sound of metal whining. You’d be plugging your ears if you could, instead grinding your molars at the noise.

Even you can feel it now; the threads holding whatever it is in your chest are starting to fray. All that accumulated magical tension in the air nears its breaking point.

Rosario’s chanting reaches a fever pitch.

Just a little farther. It’ll be over. If you can stand just a bit more-

The rest happens so fast.

A groan of thick metal bending, then a loud-

SNAP-

Your eyes snap open and there’s a blur in the corner of your vision, something of considerable weight falling at speed off to the side, then the sound of glass shattering and metal crunching against the tile.

KKRRRSHH-

Rosario immediately falls silent, and the wind and buzz dies down immediately.

You’re stunned still, but it’s clear what has happened when your brain catches up.

One of the massive overhead industrial lights hanging from your shop's ceiling has fallen, specifically where Carlyle was standing mere moments ago.

You can see Kirby now, unhurt- they’re scrambling to their hooves where they dove out of the way.

…But not Carlyle. He’s nowhere to be seen.

A sense of panic fills you, crushing your heart in a vice grip. The only thing that matters to you is laying eyes on him.

“CARLYLE!!” You all but screech, violently and unthinkingly tugging at the rope, not even noticing the physical discomfort in your desperation to get to him. You’ll gnaw the ropes off yourself with your teeth, if you have to. “L-Let me out!”

Rosario comes to your aid, her expression grim.

“Fuck-” She gets one of your wrists free, then struggles with your bindings while you try to wriggle out of them in a panic. “Hold still, dammit! You’re going to hurt yourself- Ggh-”

Rosario finally manages to get the blade between the rope and your skin, to slice you free. You spring out of the chair and push past her (as politely as possible given the circumstances). The chair overturns and clatters against the floor behind you moments later. Glass shrapnel crunches under your shoes as you run over, but you don’t care.

You reach them just in time to see Carlyle wincing on the floor flat on his back, where he's barely cleared the path of the broken light. His clothes are crumpled, covered with ceiling dust and tiny shards of glass, and one of his horn caps swivels loosely on its base.

Kirby holds Carlyle by the elbow, helping him get to his feet.

Unharmed.

“Good, you're okay too!!” Kirby says. They have a small, superficial cut dotting a line of blood droplets on their forehead, no doubt from the flying shrapnel.

He’s okay. He’s okay. Thank the Lady.

You immediately feel yourself release the breath you’ve been holding, and throw yourself into his arms. You squeeze him so tightly you might bruise yourself against the rigid nature of his body, but you don’t mind. You barely manage to keep from sobbing into his chest, instead grasping the sides of his jaw and peppering kisses onto his face.

“What a fucking mess.” Rosario gripes, rubbing her forehead, her makeup beginning to run at the outer corners of her eyes from sweat.

“Hahah- You can say that again!” Kirby grins at her, but it just makes her grimace harder. There’s a small tremor in their voice despite their calm facade, and they’re probably not fully experiencing the feelings from the event quite yet.

“Ugh. Come here. I have bandaids and disinfectant in my kit.” She says, motioning to her forehead. Kirby then touches their own forehead quickly, smearing the minuscule amount of blood in a streak. “Ugh.”

Rosario and Kirby's conversation continues as they approach the counter and start discussing how to proceed, leaving you to look over Carlyle more closely now that you’ve released him from your vice grip.

He’s screwing his horn cap back on straight by feel, smiling like nothing even happened.

“You did well- kept it together beautifully.” Your eyes meet his. They're warm with affection, even when you can see a few new light scratches gouged into the stone material of his face. “Even if the results weren’t what we hoped.”

Your affliction almost just got him killed.

And yet, he still seems so pleased with you, all the same- Looking at you adoringly like this- Praising you, even!

Such a wonderful, kind person, potentially snuffed from the world just like that, in a freak accident that didn’t even need to happen.

And it would've been your fault.

…The thought makes you sick to your stomach.

“I can't keep doing this- This was too big to brush off-” You blurt out and shake your head wildly, your hands coming to rest on the shoulders of his button up. “I can't let you get hurt because of me!”

“But I’m not hurt. I'm fine.” He says in a soothing voice, squeezing the fingers on one of your hands in an attempt to comfort you. “It's okay.”

“It’s not okay!”

The welling tears threatening to spill over finally breach. Shaking, you force yourself to say what you're thinking before you talk yourself out of it.

You can't be the reason he gets hurt, or worse.

Your tone is deathly serious even as you struggle to choke out the words.

“Carlyle- We can't see each other anymore.”

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mlm #mxm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

13 notes · View notes

willowser · 2 years

Text

you feel like home (you're like a dream come true)—

bakugou x reader

wc: 3k+

tags: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 359+, explicit language, angst, this is trash garbage but it's how i'm coping

Dynamight wins the For-All Selfless Service Award.

A wet, cement-like dread fills your belly at the sound of his name echoing across the atrium, thunderous and so powerful that, for a split-second, you fear it will shatter the glass ceiling.

It's like the awakening of an old God, one that wanted to be left well enough alone; summoning him is a swarm of night-black clouds, filled with ample rain to drown all those that dared disturb his slumber. Not a breath is spared as you all wait for the downfall.

Beside you, Masaru shifts, turning in his chair to peer out over the sea of well-dressed tables and shining Heroes, as if he's lost his own. It's not until Red Riot shuffles sheepishly across the lit stage, waving shyly as he accepts the golden FA Best Jeanist is cradling gently in his hands.

There's a hint of hesitation before the retired Pro relinquishes it, a small exchange that's lost to the low blooming chatter across the ballroom. Kirishima beams a signature smile as he takes it and has to lean down into the mic, like the gentle giant he is.

Almost in unison, the room heaves a collective sigh; disaster avoided.

"I know Dynamight is so honored to receive this…honor,"

It's been a long time since you've seen him.

"So on his behalf, I want to thank everyone that has supported him all these years—"

Been a long time since anyone has.

Bakugou's been out-stationed for a half-decade, maybe more, but you can still remember the tension lining his face in the flat light of the train station. In public, with his parents and friends and their ready goodbyes.

All he'd given you was an insincere glare, half a hug, and a gritted demand to call him later, once he'd arrived at his new agency. It seemed a silly request; he's always been terrible about voicing how he feels, maybe a little smoother on the phone and out of sight, but just as stilted and unsure as ever.

On the high definition screens above the stage, photos of him shuffle, too reminiscent of a memorial to settle your upset. Stills from recorded footage of his takedowns and captures, of his rescues. The same ID picture on his Hero profile, from when he was 22, and his graduation photo. A smile haunts your face; he's never been one for cameras.

Masaru settles back into his seat, straightens his tie and shrugs at the team, who are all watching him with crest-fallen faces. You try to stay neutral, avoiding all their gazes as you fiddle with an eloquently folded napkin on the table.

Like a child, some giddy part of you hoped to see him take the stage, accept the award in all his glory. Unashamed and confident as ever, not so disheartened by his loss, because that's always been Bakugou.

But a small part of you is relieved; he's not a stage monkey and it wouldn't be Bakugou either, to give a rehearsed speech of false thanks. Blowing it off, a fuck you to what remains of the Comission—that's more like it. You want to believe it means some things haven't changed.

The show plays on without another hitch, something that bothers you, and when your coworker leans in to whisper a harmless "I wonder where he's at", you are up and abandoning the table, set on a mission of unknown expectation. The wants in your body are all coalescing into one another—to find him, to never see him again, to come clean about how you feel, whatever that may be—becoming a resounding overlap of voices that set you to autopilot.

You heard his voice last nearly six months ago, when Masaru called his number on speakerphone so the team could sing him a happy birthday. It was met with ill-tempered complaint, irritated at his father blowin' up my phone for nothin', but Masaru was smiley as ever, unaffected.

How jealous you were; if only the tone of his voice could mean so little to you.

It's something you remembered often in the middle of the night, when you would turn to the empty space of your bed and recall how pliable he was, whenever he worked up the courage to stay with you. Bakugou would let you kiss his cheeks or poke at his stomach or hold his hand—little affections he was too resistant to in the daytime. He would always claim to be half-asleep and unaware, but you'll never forget the red gleam of his eyes as he watched you through his long, dark lashes.

When you come into the open lobby of the hotel, you find it astonishing to see his solid figure at the bar-top, suit jacket haphazardly draped over the chair he's in; it's rare that he drinks, only on few occasions with Masaru and the requisite glass of champagne at events such as these—though he doesn't attend many. After everything that's happened, all that's been said in his wake, to see him now is—

Not Godly. Just a man.

You sit to his left, without a word. Maybe if you were a better person, you could say that it was for his benefit, that you're offering the space for him to reveal himself at his own choice—and while those things aren't untrue, the matter of the fact is that you don't think you're ready to see it just yet.

There's only a half-empty glass of water in front of him, and he's drawing lazy, mindless doodles into the frost with his left hand. His right arm is still entirely bandaged, wrapped up in a sling he's keeping close to his chest.

If he recognizes you at all when you sit down, he acknowledges nothing, minutely raising a shoulder as if to curl further into himself. The bartender takes your request for a glass of water, too, and at the sound of your timid voice, Bakugou stills completely.

For a long time, you've thought about this moment. What you would say upon seeing him again. There's a script somewhere in the ridges of your mind that's been perfected, one you've poured over and over again on sleepless nights, when you felt alone and angry and hated him.

The last full conversation the two of you had was set up similarly; chock-full of tension, trying to hide from the obvious as it made space between you. How unfair it felt, to be mad over something that hadn't gotten the chance to blossom just yet.

No point in tryin'. Gonna be gone for, shit, I don't know. Should just find someone else.

You felt ashamed for loving him so badly. For wanting him more than anything and being unwilling to voice it.

All you care to say now is, "It's so good to see you again."

It directs him to you immediately, though when you dare to look up, he turns, ducking his chin on his right side. The very notion of it makes you sick; not the wreckage itself, but what it's done to him, how it must make him feel if he can't even look at you.

To be so afraid of it initially wells a guilt the size of his tight fist in your chest. How selfish. How vain.

Bakugou tries to speak, but has to clear his throat once. "You—got some weird thing with my dad, or what?"

You let out a sudden spark of laughter, bewildered at the question. You make a face, considering, and take a sip of water. "I mean, he is pretty handsome."

"You're disgusting."

A balloon of relief airs in your lungs as you laugh again; some things never change. From the corner of his eye, the sound draws his attention again, gaze jumping from your face to your dress and back to the safety of his glass.

"No," you tell him, "I'm on his team designing costumes, and stuff."

A wave of embarrassment washes over you that he didn't even know about your career. With as much time as your work squad spends with the Bakugou family, you would think that you would have been mentioned, at least once.

In fact, you're certain it must have been brought up; Masaru cares too much. Buys you special edition mugs on your birthday and brings coffee for everyone on those early mornings, is the last to leave some days. On the news that morning, when they'd broadcasted the battle—Dynamight's Downfall?—you were the first person he'd looked at before rushing off to find his wife.

Either Bakugou never wanted to hear about it, you, or he's just scrounging for conversation.

Silence settles as you ponder. When you come back to the here and now, you take in what you can of him; the smooth plane that he allows you of his face, the few faint scars that have appeared in the time since you last were together; his hair is a little shorter now, albeit just as ashen and wild, not tamed in the slightest; the top two open buttons of his shirt, and the tie that barely hangs around his neck. You're surprised he even put it on.

It dawns on you how much he must have changed over the years, even before all this. How much you've missed. Traitorous tears sting the backs of your eyes and you have to sniff to keep a handle on your composure, and not a second of it goes unnoticed by Bakugou; you become aware of the anxious jerk of his leg as he bounces it, how he shifts and curls and clears his throat.

Begrudgingly, he murmurs, "'m not takin' that damn award."

You hum with assent, leaning forward to cross your arms on the bar, prop your chin in your palm. "I don't blame you, it's like," you shake your head, thinking, "'Thank you for your service. Sorry you almost died.'"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he takes a drink of water. "For fucking real."

You'd said it carelessly as a joke to ease the tension, settle the nerves bubbling in your stomach, but now that the words are out, the mention has you feeling ill again.

It's all anyone has been talking about for days: Bakugou’s damage, how much he must have suffered, how he'll never be the same again. To hear it, and then to speak of the calamity to the man himself—it adds weight, that slow-drying cement.

Selfishly, you think of him before, when you were both young and standing at the precipice of something neither of you knew how to handle. If you'd known what you know now, you wouldn't have let him walk away. You wouldn't have agreed quietly, broke your own heart because you were afraid.

Another wave of emotions swallows you, and no matter how fast you blink or how far back you tilt your head, the tears rise and fall.

If you speak any louder than a whisper, you'll crack. "I was with your dad that day, we all were, because he always leaves the news on, you know? Keeps it—keeps it muted in the workshop, and when he—when the volume went up and we all looked and—" you frown, hard and dissolving, and hate how it must make you look. "And all I could think about was all the things I never said to you that I—"

In a flash, Bakugou shoves away from the bar, grabbing his jacket as he rounds the chair and mutters, "I can't listen to this right now."

You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hold back the sob that threatens to ruin you, but the fissures run deep, echo down to your bones.

Some things never change; he's always had one foot out the door with you, ready to run at the first sign of that all-encompassing feeling he didn't know how to escape. On the rare nights he allowed himself to spend with you—even then he wore a deep frown, tucked his face into the crook of your neck as if he wanted to stay buried there. Held you tightly, enough to leave little reminders long after he was gone.

The first time he'd kissed you, he shouldn't have and you both knew that. After graduation, waning in the shadow of his looming departure. The shitty studio apartment you rented, that cost more than it was worth; Kirishima and Bakugou agreed to help move what few things you had at the dorms, what was left over at your parent's house. It wasn't much, but the process went much smoother with the two of them.

You'd spent most of the summer together, by chance, and all of your efforts went into diverting the feelings that threatened to grow under your surface. Most everyone that you knew was quick to issue a warning: Bakugou wasn't interested. In all the time they'd known him in school, very little of his attention went to girls and dating, and setting your sights on him was a doomed task.

At that point, you'd refused to acknowledge that's what you'd done; Bakugou made sure everyone got home safely and not just you; he got lunch with Kiri and Mina just as often as you two did; he didn't look at you in the dark any special way, so close on the couch as a movie danced on the TV screen.

It must have been an accident—that's what you tried to tell yourself for a long time.

After the boxes were moved in and Kirishima was gone, he stood in your tiny kitchen and claimed to hate it. Opened the cabinets and poked at your oven and tested the temperature of your freezer, looked through the narrow window that offered a view of—nothing: the back of a small pharmacy.

You asked him what was wrong and his face twisted up, like he was going to be sick or cry and then he grabbed you. Hands trembling against your face and tangling in your hair, lips clumsy and harsh, furious like always. Like it was his last chance.

Half a decade later, more than, and you still swell at the thought of him.

You wipe a hand under your eyes gingerly, wary of your airbrushed makeup, before sliding off the chair. The rest of the team has probably conjured up all manner of conspiracies as to where you are, and perhaps you should tell Masaru of his son's state.

When you turn to retreat, however, Bakugou is standing there. Not ten feet from you, like he meant to run before thinking better of it. Fully open. Bare.

Human.

The right half of his face is still tender, shiny and raw, and his eye is ringed in red. It's jarring; Bakugou has always been a pretty boy, despite his animosity towards the label, and the tabloids stay littered with mentions of him and his dangerously good looks.

There's been nothing but speculation about how he's come out and you'd been admittedly nervous, because you were afraid to find that you were more vain than you'd ever known, unable to look upon what remains of the boy you knew.

But to see it so blatant; the untouched side of his face in comparison to what's been war-torn.

All you can think is—

"I'm so glad you're still here."

You don't miss the shine that waters his left eye or how hard he swallows, averting his gaze even further. When you step up to him, he doesn't resist you, only lets out a breath you feel as you run your hands across the marble of his chest.

Despite everything, you waver with a watery laugh that captures him again, because you mean it. All the years and anger and hope and terror and silence and waiting—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking at you as he did in your kitchen that day.

Carefully as you can, you wind yourself up in him, around his sling and neck and pressed as close as you can be, and it's not until you nose against his throat that he wraps his arm around you. Tight, like it might be his last chance.

"You," he murmurs, and you can feel how hard he's clenching his jaw from the way it digs into your cheek. "And the shit you didn't say?" Bakugou breathes in sharply, unaware of how deep his fingers dig into the skin your dress exposes. "All I could think about is what I did say, how fuckin' stupid—"

I'm leavin', so don't—I can't—just, don't expect anything from me.

All the long nights and dropped calls and heartbreak and distance—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking down at you through his dark, wet lashes.

You slip up onto your toes and kiss him as you've wanted to for years, as you were too afraid to; fingers gentle against his cheek, thumbing the edge of his jaw, passing all that you've kept from him through slow and purposeful lips.

It takes him off guard, which you expected, but only a moment passes before he's gripping you with intent, melding into you as his trembling hand goes to your neck. You can't help the smile you curl into, one he feels, and Bakugou huffs, annoyed, before slanting his head, parting your lips with his own as he dissolves.

It's foreign now, to what it was years ago. Unhurried, no longer afraid, giving instead of taking all that he could hold in both hands. Half a decade later, maybe more, and you swell at the promise of him, the thud of his still-beating heart as it echoes in your chest.

And then there's a loud roar of applause from down in the award show room and you freeze, suddenly put back into place as the sound of glasses clinking and heels on the tile and murmured conversation surrounds you.

"Sorry," you gasp, trying—and failing—to pull away as his hold tightens. Insistent, like it will never slacken again. "We're in public."

"Don't care," Bakugou rasps, gently butting his forehead against your own as he sighs, great and lax and slow. Just before he goes to kiss you again, he says, "'m just glad I'm still here."

#JUST TO BE SAFE i'm adding #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou angst #bnha x reader #it's been so long since i've posted an actual Thing (TM) that i don't remember how to tag anything LOL #anyway do not perceive me #i just miss him LOL #i wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the other half in the morning and i feel like there is a disconnect and you can tell bu #but oh well #uh i think that's it #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

338 notes · View notes

blorbocedes · 2 years

Note

Would you be willing to share a crumb of that WIP? For you less imaginative anons who love you very dearly?

this wip is called Projection looool. it'll probably never make it the light of day, but because you love me dearly 😘

cw: undiagnosed mental health issues, mild suicidal ideation, Cambridge the institution

Rock bottom for George looks like this: he's healthy, he's on a new vegan diet Lewis swears by, he has a lemon water first thing in the morning for antioxidants or whatever, he's going to the gym 4 times a week and a run in the morning, his grades tread that A minus curve 3.7 GPA carefully, and he's in charge of Student Relations -- practically asked to throw parties every other week he disappears from. By all measures and accounts, every professor who is impressed, every casual acquaintance who pats him on the back, his parents' monthly cheque depositing in his account -- he's doing fucking swell, he's leading a charmed life. If a bus hit George on his way to campus, he'd probably thank the driver and apologize for bleeding out.

Sometimes he feels like the world's most successful actor, running a one man production on the West End -- like he's not constantly tearing apart at the seams, terrified he will shatter if someone sees through the act. There's also creeping resentment, at his professors' buying his flimsy excuses for an extension without probing why, at his friends he grabs lunch with and never wondering how come he never seems to eat anything except a green juice, at his parents -- for not noticing. How could anyone see him and not see a man falling apart, the people closest to him, the people who were supposed to love him.

George feels like a man on the run, constantly, as if he's getting away with something he shouldn't -- that if he stops for one second too long, someone will notice there is something fundamentally off about him, and no amount of perfection on paper could erase the big ugly mark on his psyche. He googled signs of multiple mental illnesses before he went into his yearly mental health check up -- telling himself, it's kind of like studying for a test, knowing what to avoid, even if he identified painfully with them. Getting a clean bill of health only affirmed that he passed, with only a note stating he should sleep more.

He's at a party, the Student Body organized it -- he shows up, smiles at the people who know of him, makes sure he's in some of the pictures that will get tagged and storied -- a, "We have to hang out soon! After midterms, yeah?" that he fully intends to not follow up on, and leave, obsessively keeping track of people's socials later that night, in case he misses some next big thing the campus will be buzzing about. George was h there, right? Surely, you remembered seeing him around.

George is holding a beer, shitty pop music blaring, going over to hi and trying to tune out the multiple conversations -- who got broken up with, which team won which match, the food at the cafeteria sucked today -- the most mundane shit that left him bitterly jealous that all these people were out here living life. Like, really truly being alive. He can't remember the last time he didn't feel like a marionette puppet, he had thought getting into Cambridge would've been it, his father saying he's proud of him. But as George had held the acceptance letter, scanning it over and over again, he had felt nothing. He couldn't even remember why he wanted to get into Cambridge so badly, his one goal that would justify it all — all the sleepless nights and A'Levels hell and the extracurriculars he didn't care about to polish his application — and then, here he was; living his childhood dream, a hell of his own making.

Lewis had forwarded him an article about vegan beer and how most alcohol filtration process has gelatine or some animal based product, so George wasn't touching his -- out of principle. Not that he really cared, his parents had a mountain lion mounted in the living room his father shot during a conservation charity trip, so pretty sure that disqualified any animal activism from George's end. But it was one less thing to think about, if he wasn't supposed to drink the beer, so he clutched on to it tightly like a lifeline, unsipped. Despite not a drop of alcohol in him, his head felt dizzy, cheeks hurting from smiling at the people going, "Russell!" like it meant something, a girl trying to prolong conversation with interested eyes that George has to politely step out of; and almost tripped over someone.

"Hey, got you." The hand on his wrist that kept him from falling was attached to a body, a handsome tan man with brown eyes looking at him with genuine concern. Albon, Alexander George's memory supplied, aerospace engineering major, and George remembers because he's also in the rugby team -- recalls him taking his shirt off after a win, running to his team. He's bloody fit, and even though he's in loose fitting blue knitwear jumper now George can't help but look, know the hard, defined lines underneath, can feel the strength of just one hand easily holding George upright and is immediately ashamed of himself for knowing, for looking. He's glad the party is lit low that his reddening face isn't as obvious.

George catches himself, grateful he didn't spill any of the beer, and mumbles a thanks, the hand of his wrist which had practically branded him -- or how it felt like -- letting go easily. He was readying himself to engage in proper noncommittal small talk, to be a normal human person — congratulate him on the game, how's he enjoying the party, to see him around campus and maybe they can hang after midterms.

Alex catches him off guard before he can launch into his well practised rehearsed lines. "You doing okay, mate? You look like you could use a breather." He says it without a tone of judgement, easy eye smiles.

No, George wants to say. There's a breath caught in his chest. He could use a breather. He's been holding a breath inside for so long, his lungs threaten to burst.

What the fuck do you see, perfect Alexander Albon from CUED, in the rugby team and the 12 pets on Instagram.

Who the hell are you?

George's 15 minutes are up. He feels like Cinderella after midnight, being caught in his ruse, and if Alex and his big brown kind eyes look at him a second longer George might start crying, or twist and turn not knowing what to do with himself, using his intestines as a rope to choke himself with.

"I'll see you around." He says in a rush, knows how disparaging and impolite it comes across and makes a mental note to actually say hi at campus when he sees him next to make up for it, before he shoves Alex aside to leave.

#galex #George Russell/Alex Albon #my fics #f1 rpf #galex uni au #also known as George has Problems #preslash #cw: passive suicidal ideation #i don't think this is very good it's a bit too raw

93 notes · View notes

draguta · 1 year

Text

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty-four.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, oral (f receiving)

chapter word count: 3133

🩸 series masterlist 🩸

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

🩸 tip jar 🩸 🩸 tag list 🩸

The Bench

Jasmine tea, as Alis said rather determinedly, cures all ills. This one, however, you weren’t sure could be cured by a simple cup of tea.

The pain subsided almost as quickly as it had come, only after you told it to stop, to leave.

Leave me alone, I don’t want you here. Leave me alone, I don’t want you here. Leave me alone, I don’t want you here.

You repeated it over and over, even after that ache had dissipated from your chest and the nausea had all-but left your stomach. But you could still feel its power, feel its draw in the very pits of your soul, hiding beneath your skin. Pushing you toward it, telling you to embrace it.

Let me give you power. Let me help you. Embrace me. Touch me. Touch me. Touch me.

“What can I do?” Alis asked, concern written across her wood-like features. You hadn’t left the fireside since they’d dressed you, nursing that tea in shaking hands, that woollen blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. “Do you want me to go and find Master Lucien? Or Lord Tamlin?”

“No!” You said, perhaps a little too quickly, catching her off-guard. “Sorry, I think-I think I just need some food.”

Alis narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Carla got there faster. “Breakfast will be ready by now. You should go down and get a plate.”

You glanced at her in surprise; she hadn’t said even one word to you since before your trip to the Day Court, no doubt terrified of the power that you wielded. You didn’t blame her - you were rather terrified of it too.

Alis helped you descend the stairs, and for a moment you were thrown back to your very first day in the Spring Court. To your first meal with Tamlin and Lucien, to Alis helping you down the stairs, your form shaking and aching. Who knew that five years later you would come full circle.

The dining room was empty besides Lucien sitting in his usual seat. He looked up as Alis and you approached, and as soon as you saw him you let go of Alis’ hand, leaning against the wood of the tabletop instead, hoping to play off your fragile frame as tiredness. You hobbled along toward him, and one glance over your shoulder told you that Alis had already disappeared through the door and back upstairs, likely to clean the floor of your washroom now that she knew you were in good hands.

When you found yourself beside him, about to perch in the seat next to him, his hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you down so that you were sitting in his lap. You tried to ignore the ache that it brought to your weak limbs, not wanting to worry him.

“Where are Tamlin and Feyre?” You asked quietly, voice a little croaky, although Lucien didn’t seem to notice. “Surely it’s not a good idea to be so open around them?”

“They’ll be down shortly I’m sure,” he said around a smirk. “But they’re not here yet.”

“Yes, but-”

“I don’t see them,” he said, humourlessly glancing around the room as if searching for the couple that he could not see. “Do you?”

Even with your hazy head, you couldn’t help but chuckle, and Lucien laughed loudly, pulling you closer to him. You let him, relishing in the feeling of being so close to him, of feeling so safe despite everything. You nuzzled close to him, your face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck, inhaling that scent, the one that you never wanted to forget.

Your mate.

Not that he seemed to know that yet. You wouldn’t tell him though, not yet. If it was meant to be - if he really had been made by the Cauldron just for you - then he would work it out himself. And he deserved, as much as you did, to feel that bond snap into place when it was ready.

He reached forward, plucking a strawberry from a plate on the table. “Open up,” he said quietly, and you did without question, allowing him to plop the strawberry into your mouth. It burst between your teeth, coating your tongue in sugary sweetness. He watched you with a smirk, but that smirk fell quickly as he studied your face, saw the paleness of your skin, the slight sweat on your forehead, the rings under your eyes from the strain of the morning. “Are you ok?”

You shuffled in his lap so that you were sitting upright, looking at him. “I’m ok,” you said softly - a lie. You weren’t ok, not even a little bit, but he didn’t need to know that. You had seen the worry on Alis’ face that morning, had seen the twinge of fear from Carla when she had told you about breakfast. You couldn’t see that from Lucien too. Not from him. “I’m just not feeling so well this morning.”

His brows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes flashing with a moment of anxiety. Perhaps of something else. Something akin to panic. “Was it…Was it because of last night?”

Your eyes widened. “No,” you assured quickly. “No, not at all. This is something else. I’m sure it’ll go after I’ve had some food.”

“Are you sure?” He asked again, and you nodded slowly. “Well in that case, maybe I can make you feel better myself.”

He smirked again, leaning in and pressing his lips against your own. Every worry that you had vanished in that second - every thought of those terrifying powers was dulled as his lips, soft and sweet, moved against your own. The taste of breakfast tea mingled with that of his usual flavour, and you couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, giving him everything that you had.

You both pulled away for a breath, and Lucien moved to lean in once more, but a pair of hurried footsteps began to sound on the stairs, and both of your heads snapped to the door. In an instant he was pushing you off his lap, and you were brushing your dress down with your shaking hands, just as Tamlin and Feyre appeared in the door, making their way to their seats.

Tamlin’s emerald gaze glanced to you first - at your flushed cheeks against pale skin, and your rumpled skirts - and then snapped to Lucien, narrowing tightly. But if he suspected anything had happened, he didn’t say anything. There seemed to be something else on his mind, anger seemingly radiating from him.

“Tamlin, I don’t think we’ve finished talking about this,” Feyre said sternly.

“We have,” Tamlin replied, throwing himself into the high-backed wooden chair at the head of the table. Feyre huffed, taking her seat at his right.

“I only want to go to the village and see if there is anything I can do to help,” she breathed out, clearly frustrated, if the way she clenched at her cutlery until her knuckles were white was anything to go by. “I don’t see why it’s such an issue.”

“It’s an issue,” Tamlin grounded out, “because I already said no. Drop it, Feyre, please.”

Neither Lucien nor you stepped in to say anything. You knew that Feyre had wanted to leave the grounds - she wasn’t the only one. Weeks had passed since you had both been put on house arrest, and it was clear that it was taking its toll on Feyre. She looked…broken, almost. The colour had slowly seeped from her face, and those glowing smiles that she used to give were few and far inbetween these days.

She craved her freedom. So did you.

Instead, you slunk down into your chair, trying to blink away the fogginess in your brain, to command your hands to stop their trembling enough that you might be able to eat. You were scared, but at least you had Lucien, there beside you. He was there, and he always would be.

You all ate in almost silence, Feyre and Tamlin clearly mid-way through an argument, whilst Lucien allowed you space to deal with your growing sickness, although you had to admit that the food did seem to help. If only he knew exactly what the reason was behind it - but you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell your friends, your love, your brother, what was happening to you. If Tamlin found out he would likely have you ordered to bed rest, or worse, to be chaperoned at all times.

And Lucien would be so worried…

No, you’d keep it to yourself for the time being, and if you really needed something, you could go to Alis. She would help you as best she could.

The thought occurred to you that perhaps you should contact Rhysand again, but you knew exactly what he would say. He would tell you that you had to go to the Night Court, and you couldn’t bear the thought of that, to leave Lucien behind and go to a place that even the thought of terrified you so much. You wouldn’t do that unless you were really desperate.

“Well, I should be off,” Lucien declared as the plates were cleared from the table, rising to his feet, a hand falling to the sword on his hip. “Border patrol today.”

Tamlin lowered his head in a dismissing nod, and Lucien turned, throwing you a small and fast wink before leaving the room. It wasn’t long until you too left, citing a headache as the reasoning, dipping out of the dining room and turning to head back up the stairs. But as you stepped up onto the first step, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to the side. You yelped, loud enough that had Tamlin and Feyre not begun arguing again in your absence, they might have heard you and come looking.

But as you glanced up and found who it was that had grabbed you, his hair golden orange in the morning sunrays that danced their way through the open window, you were thankful that your brother hadn’t heard.

He leaned down, tasting your lips once more, this time more fervently, more adventurously than he had in the dining room, without the looming chance of being caught hanging over you. And when he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye, one that you could almost be forgiven for being so sure you had seen reflected in his golden eye too.

“Run with me,” he whispered. You frowned, and opened your mouth to question him, but his hand slipped into yours, and he said again, “Just run with me.”

And then he was off, trailing through the halls of the Spring Court manor, shoes hitting the tiles with a sharp ‘smack’ at each footfall, trailing you behind him. And despite the aching of your body, despite the splitting headache that radiated through your skull, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Your skirts floated around you as you ran, and your hair bounced against your back, and you couldn’t help but smile, laughing aloud as he pulled you down hall after hall, skidding around corners. He glanced over his shoulder every now and then, hair whipping around his face as he beamed back at you.

This right here. This was pure happiness.

Lucien seemed to know exactly where he was headed, and you didn’t question him. You didn’t stop until you were stood outside a large wooden door in a darkened hall, one in a part of the manor that you had never stepped foot in before then. You almost crashed into him when he came to a stop, and your lungs wheezed desperate breaths as you slowed to a halt.

“This, my love, is my favourite place in this entire court,” he whispered quietly, looking down at you with such a soft smile that it almost melted your heart. One push at the door had it swinging open, and you found myself stepping into what could only be described as the most beautiful room you had ever been in. The walls and ceiling were entirely glass, and across the stone-tiled floor were flower beds, filled with every plant and flower that you could imagine. Even trees grew upward toward the glass roof, their very tips seemingly brushing at the sky beyond.

“What is this place?” You asked, whirling around to Lucien, eyes wide. He leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest, and a smug smile plastered on his lips.

“I told you, this is my favourite place in the entire court,” he chuckled. “It was built by Tamlin’s mother, I believe, as a place for her to be alone with nature, to have a minute to herself. I found it in my first month here. I don’t even think Tamlin has ever stepped foot inside.”

“B-But the plants, they’re so green,” you said. “How could he not come here to tend to them? Is it the gardeners?”

“It’s the magic,” Lucien said, his voice smooth and soft as he pushed himself off the wall and came to stand behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on the top of your head and drawing in a deep breath. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful,” you said quietly, looking around in awe. Even the smells of the flowers, lingering in the compacted air of the indoor garden, was enough to overwhelm you, to forget about everything that had happened that morning and simply be.

“Just like you,” he whispered into your hair, planting a fleeting kiss to the top of your head. “Didn’t I tell you I would make you feel better?”

He rounded to your side, holding out an arm for you. You gladly linked your own through his, and you began a slow stroll through the gardens. With each flower bed that you passed, you allowed your fingertips to trail over those fern and juniper green leaves, over the velvety petals of the flowers, sighing contently.

“I thought you had border patrol this morning?” You asked as you came to a stop at a little wooden bench in the very heart of the gardens.

“Oh, I do,” he said, pulling you toward him. “But I can spare an hour first to spend with you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t deny that you already felt much better, just from being there, with him. You reached up on your tiptoes, arms snaking their way around his neck and pulling him down to you, savouring his unique flavour, the way his hands came to rest on your hips, the feeling of his silky hair between your fingers.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you could already feel his length hardening in his trousers against you. “You are insatiable.”

“Me?” You choked out through a giggle, pulling away from him and turning to the bench, your finger still curled around one of his, pulling him along with you. You glanced at him over your shoulder, batting your eyelashes, causing him to smirk. “I don’t think it’s me. I do believe that’s you, Lucien.”

“Is that so?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side as you lowered yourself onto the bench. “Well, you see the thing is that when I’m around you, I simply cannot help myself.”

Slowly, and with enough intent to make your heart pound within my chest to the point that you worried it might burst through your very ribcage, he lowered himself to his knees before you. His hands came to land on your thighs, rubbing up and down once, before carefully pushing them open. They slid down, past your knees, over your calves, until they reached the hem of your skirts, and in a second they were bunched up to your waist, revealing your underwear to him. He shot you a satisfied smile, fingers brushing at your navel and eliciting a small gasp as he hooked his fingers around the waistline and slowly - at a frustrating space - pulled them down.

“I think it’s time I finally have a taste, don’t you?” He said, voice so low and gravelly that it almost made your heart stop then and there on the stop. The anticipation was almost too much, and as he reached forward, running a finger through your folds, you couldn’t stop your body from arching against the bench. “So wet for me already. Do you like having me on my knees for you, my love?”

That finger dipped inside you unexpectedly, and you cried out his name.

“So sensitive,” he chuckled, but you knew that he was enjoying every second of it. Especially, when you felt the strands of his hair tickling at your inner thighs, as he leant in, head secured between your legs, and licked one strip through your folds. You gasped, fingers wrapping tightly into the roots of his hair. He let out an appreciative grunt.

He lapped at you as if you were his last meal, as if he hadn’t just had breakfast, as if he had never tasted anything as delicious in his entire life. Long, languid licks from your entrance up to that bundle of nerves to begin with, before he began to move his finger, pushing it in and out of you, curling it and hitting that spot inside you that had your toes curling.

The tip of his tongue began to nudge at your clit, teasing it with every stroke, and when you were a mewling mess above him, he finally took it into his mouth and sucked, the flat of his tongue lapping and massaging it. You were sure you could see stars.

He looked up, eyes locked with yours, and he smirked against you as he added another finger. And you knew, as soon as your eyes met his, that you were done for. Your entire body convulsed, and a stream of curses mixed with his name slipped from your lips as you reached your peak. Lucien lapped up everything that you gave him, and when your body collapsed against the bench, he sat upright on his heels, chin glistening with your wetness and grinning happily.

“Sweeter than I had even imagined,” he said, crawling forward slightly to lean against the bench. His hand reached up, brushing sweat-coated hair from your face. “Still with me, my love?”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you let out a loose breath. Your hand found its way to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “You’re incredible.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that,” he chuckled, running his finger along your jawline, coming to a stop to grip at your chin gently. “I adore you.”

“I adore you, too.”

50 notes · View notes

traumadumpwriter · 8 months

Text

Heavy trigger warning! This story includes heavy themes of ab*se, r*pe, self h*rm, mental illness and violence.

Check out every part by going on the tag Freedom on my page cx

Freedom: A John Shelby mini fic

Chapter four: 3924 words

The next morning, both John and Alice had woken up in a good mood despite their slight hangovers. Alice had awoken earlier than John so, unable to ignore her headache and go back to sleep, she decided to get a head start making breakfast for everyone.

Polly was the first to come downstairs, then Finn and then Arthur. The four of them sat in comfortable conversation as they ate, Arthur poking fun at Finn whilst complimenting Alice's cooking. When Tommy came down, he only grabbed a slice of toast before going straight into his office, earning an eye roll from Polly.

It was about five minutes later that John finally stumbled in, yawning and doing a big stretch. Instantly, his eyes caught Alice's and he sent her a quick wink before anyone else would turn and see him. The girl nearly felt her face go pink, watching the outline of his toned body through the white vest as he stepped over to the table.

"Smells bloody delicious." He smiled. "You're a real good cook you know?"

"Yeah. I know." Alice replied back with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the brothers.

"I see you're still humble." Polly scoffed, trying to poke light fun but the comment irritated Alice, seeing Polly was the person who suggested sending her away in the first place. To the younger woman, it almost suggested that the matriarch didn't feel enough guilt for her role in the suffering she'd endured and she felt an annoyed pit festering in her stomach.

Nonetheless, knowing not to challenge her authority, Alice let out an awkward laugh and forced the feeling to go away - as she'd unfortunately had to learn to do so. John's lingering gaze caught her attention anyway and her brain was soon again a flurry of excitement and affection.

As they all ate, John and Alice kept exchanging glances and smiles across the table - something that Polly noticed but kept quiet about. A part of her still saw Alice as the untameable teenage menace she once knew, a glint of trouble appearing in the girl's eyes every now and then.

She remembered how Clara would cry into her lap, not knowing how to stop her daughter from the constant self destruction she engaged in. She remembered Andrew, Jamie or even Arthur and Tommy having to physically restrain her on many occasions from either attacking someone, smashing something or hurting herself. She remembered the times that Alice would spit and scream and shout with rage before grabbing the nearest object and somehow harming herself with it, no matter how much anyone tried to calm her down.

Overall, Polly wasn't keen on the thought of one of her nephews - who were already engaged in so many problems - getting soft for a girl like Alice. A girl who had been nothing but chaos from the day she was born, a raging fire now seemingly dampened by an awful event. Polly was sure that her flame would be relit again though, it was just a matter of when, how and the size of the flame.

—————

Two weeks later, Alice found herself busy at The Garrison, as she had been since her first shift - only taking one day off to spend with Ada and Karl.

Following Harry's instructions, she'd quickly learnt the routine of pouring drinks, cleaning tables and chatting to the drunkards. It kept her mind comfortably busy and made her feel good, being treated with respect by most customers since being associated with the Shelby's. Some of the patrons had even known the woman back in her disastrous younger days and were almost shocked into sobriety upon realising who was serving them.

"Perhaps it takes them some time to realise because these long sleeves cover my arms." She thought to herself, remembering the simultaneous horror and fascination most of the neighbourhood had with her self inflicted scars. "Or maybe they're just blinder and stupider than I remember."

However, when her mind did have time to wander it would generally drift to either thoughts of Jones or John depending on her mood. On the bad days, she'd be snappy and rude to any customer that was even slightly annoying, her mind racing with cruel memories that put her on edge and made her angry. On the good days, she'd be full of laughter and energy, a general delight to anyone around her as she filled her spare moments with daydreaming about the Shelby brother.

They'd not spent another full night together since that one dancing in The Garrison, John and Arthur being busy in London with important business. When they were around, they had engaged in casual conversation but never being alone, the words meant little. Alice knew not to ask what exactly the business they were conducting actually consisted of, but she had a pretty good idea and had prayed for their safe return.

She didn't really believe in God, nor did she have doubt in John's own survival skills. But having seen the worst of men, she couldn't stop the worry from creeping in occasionally.

Every evening, she secretly hoped to hear Arthur's loud voice followed by John's laughter as they slammed open the Garrison doors. Instead she would end up listening to the ramblings of old drunks for hours and then stay up late, crying and cutting herself when got home; still struggling to deal with her immense trauma.

The exposure to drunken men had been both good and bad for her recovery; partially healing her fear, partially triggering it.

Today was a slow day; only a few regulars popping their heads in for a pint and a chat. One of the younger ones called David had taken a particular liking to Alice, sitting at the bar and making conversation with her for hours whilst she did her duties. He would occasionally make flirtatious remarks but the woman always laughed him off, enjoying the flattery but having no real interest.

It had now hit ten o clock and Alice had been chatting in the pub with David for a few hours since Harry asked her to close up by herself. There were three other men sat in the corner of The Garrison drinking and chatting to each other and although they payed the pair no mind, Alice was glad that they were there - slightly scared to be left completely alone with a man she hardly knew.

He'd gone to the toilet, finally giving her a moment of peace as she could stand in silence whilst she scrubbed the taps, letting her thoughts wander back to John and how badly she missed his touch. It was a confusing feeling for the traumatised woman: partially being terrified of intimacy and sex, ashamed by the way her body had been painfully ravaged. But there was also comfort in it; the girly crush made her feel like a teenager again, giving her back those years of innocence that she'd lost.

Those thoughts were cut off shortly though, as David returned from the toilet, drunkenly swaggering back over to the bar with a grin on his face.

"You know Alice, I look at you and think you ought to be a bloody movie star." He announced, slurring his words. "Another drink please m'lady!"

Alice scoffed as she poured his drink and took his money.

"What makes you think that? It's not like I can act." She smiled, sliding the drink across the bar before continuing to clean the taps, scrubbing them harder than they'd ever seemingly been before.

"Ladies don't need to be good at acting! They just need to be good to look at! And you Miss Alice are very good to look at!" His words made her cringe a bit and she awkwardly laughed, brushing it off as drunken idiocy.

Moments later, the three men in the corner stood up and left, leaving Alice with a sudden intense stroke of anxiety. The air went thick and silent.

She walked over to their table to take the empty glasses, her heart beating heavy as she had her back turned to David and felt extremely vulnerable.

His eyes were drilling holes into her, his gaze so intense that she physically felt it on her body, suddenly giving her gut an extremely uneasy feeling. She heard the sound of the stool scraping and his feet stepping towards her.

"He's going to attack me in any minute now. He might even know Jones and he's come here to get me." Her thoughts sprung with paranoia as she slowly turned around to face him again. "Do I run or do I fight?"

But before she got to decide if her thinking was rational, let alone make the decision, the front door swung open and in strutted Arthur and John, both bloody and bruised but seemingly in good spirits, halting David in his tracks.

"Where's Alice? I need a bloody pint!" Arthur immediately announced, looking to the bar and not seeing her in the dark corner on the other side of the room.

John did notice though, picking up on her uncomfortable posture as some mystery man eyed her up like a piece of meat. The man didn't even turn to face the boys as they walked in - meaning he must've not been from around there as he had no clue of the trouble he was getting himself in. That or he was a rival, purposely showing disrespect to get under the Blinder's skin.

Either way, John instantly paced over to him, Alice's eyes lighting up and posture relaxing upon seeing her knight.

"She's over here with this stranger watching her." John replied loudly, causing Arthur to spin his bar stool around and eye up the scene.

The younger brother put his arm around David's shoulders, a menacing grin lacing his lips.

"You look like you're really enjoying the company of our fair bar maiden here." John scoffed, looking David up and down in the most intimidating way possible, but the shorter man kept a brave face.

"So what if I am? She's a lovely young lass.. You don't mind me, do ya Alice?" David grinned back before settling his eyes on the girl again. "I can see you'd rather be left alone though. So I'll be going."

He pushed John's arm from his shoulder, sending Alice a wink before picking up his coat. Arthur and John's eyes stuck to him, sending harsh glares to the seemingly unbothered man.

"Lovely place you got here. I'm new in town, been trying out all the pubs and I have to say, I think The Garrison's the one for me..." He said casually to the boys before turning to Alice with a smile. "I'll see you soon, doll!"

Once the door was swung shut and he was finally gone, the boys gazes immediately averted to Alice. Internally, she was recovering from her moment of panic before the boys had arrived, trying to collect her thoughts and convince herself that the man meant no harm. A flurry of bad memories had hit her like a a tonne but she had to push them away. She couldn't break down in front of the brothers about her fear of men, especially Arthur, as surely that would cost her her new job. Her new job that she needed in order to stop being scared of men.

Perhaps the distress was visible on her face as John quickly rushed over and pulled her into a hug. In the time that he'd been away, he had been completely obsessing over the girl; dreaming of her every night and then spending his spare moments in the day thinking of her.

"She is bloody beautiful." Arthur had agreed whilst they were in London, being able to read his brothers anxious mind when it wandered to such things. "Always was the prettiest the girl in the lanes, even with all those stupid bloody scars."

Now that John had her in his arms again, the anxiety was fading and instead he was concerned, seeing true fear in her eyes when he'd first stepped into The Garrison.

"You alright? He didn't bother you or anything did he?" He asked as they pulled away from the hug.

Her eyes were back to their usual emptiness now as his voice had snapped her into reality and she was determined not to be weak.

"I'm fine, he was no bother." She smiled, brushing off her dress and heading quickly to the bar. "Now Arthur I'll get you that pint, sorry for the wait."

Her sudden mood change sent John's head into a spin, not knowing wether she needed protecting or fearing. Possibly both.

"No need to apologise to me dear. Pour John and yourself one too!" Arthur chuckled, oblivious to the jealous anger coursing through his brother that had just sat down beside him.

"What does she mean he was no bother? She looked like a terrified lamb when I walked in. Has he been here all day? Did she actually like his attention?" He found his thoughts going wild as they had been all too often lately.

Alice slid them their pints before grabbing the keys from behind the bar and heading to the door to lock up.

"I'll count the cash and then join you for that pint." She smiled, earning an impressed chuckle from Arthur.

"I see you're a hard worker, already learnt the routine. I'm sure the customers love you too, matey just then certainly did." He beamed at her. "Don't be afraid to tell them off though, you know you got that Peaky Blinder authority."

"I don't need no Peaky Blinder authority to tell a drunk bastard off." Alice teasingly scoffed with a smile as she opened the till. "Trust me, there's been a few."

Her sass made the men smile, snapping John from his negative thought spiral and back into his doting one.

"Oh yeah. Like who?" John chuckled.

"Some stupid git had the gall to offer me three pounds for a blowjob. I told him to fuck right off and he fucking left straight away!" Alice said with a grin, earning more laughter from the brothers.

"Well I'm sure he'll be back, as will every other cretin, anytime soon! So be prepared, on the big days the blokes can get real drunk, real confident, and they'll offer you a lot more than three pounds I'll tell you that!" Arthur snickered with a slur, unknowing of the uncomfortable effect his words were having on both Alice and John.

She chose not to respond, not knowing what to say and instead changing the subject, perhaps riskily.

"Anyway, you both look like you've stabbed a couple people. None of that blood is yours, right?" She nodded towards their shirts before starting to count the money, quietly muttering numbers whilst she intently listened to their responses.

"Well I don't think none of this is mine but who knows I did bump me noggin a bit." Arthur chuckled. "Wasn't anything too bad now was it John boy? Just some rough and tumble with the Turks, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about."

Arthur's answer was exactly what she expected from him, it was the younger brother that she was truly curious about.

"And you John? You're being awfully quiet. You sure you're not slowly bleeding out on us?" Alice raised an eyebrow at him before focusing back on the money.

He almost crumbled under her momentary gaze before clearing his throat and sending her an equally confident stare.

"Yeah I've got some cuts, nothing major. Like Arthur said, just some rough and tumble."

Alice didn't reply for a minute, finishing up her counting and proclaiming the final number before closing the till and turning back to John.

"Well I'm glad to hear that." She smiled, finally pouring herself a drink with a relieved sigh. "It's been a long day, wouldn't want an injured Shelby to top off the list."

"Why's the day been so long? You already sick of pouring pints?" John teased as Alice took a gulp from her beer.

"No, nothing like that. In fact I prefer it when it's been heaving, keeps me busy... Today I had almost no one to talk to except for David-"

"What the guy that I just kicked out?" John interrupted her, his jealous irritation finally slipping out and causing a sudden tension in the air that even Arthur picked up on.

Alice was initially confused as to why he cared so much until it too struck her that he was jealous in some way for whatever reason, which made her secretly excited.

"Yep, that's the guy." She answered nonchalantly, taking another sip. "Said I ought to be a movie star cos women don't need to act, we just need to look good. I thought how ridiculous. It's a shame really, alright looking fellow but a huge ego. Started trying to impress me with war achievements and such."

Arthur seemed to sense where things were going and slid his empty glass across the bar whilst his brother silently watched the woman, every word she spoke feeding his testosterone fuelled jealousy.

"I'm gonna leave you two to it. G'night to the pair of ya!" Arthur interrupted Alice with a chuckle, before heading out the door.

"See you in the morning!" Alice called but John didn't even acknowledge his brother's exit, feeling embarrassed by their emotional duel being so visible to him.

"That was rude John. Not even a goodnight to your brother?" She teased, leaning across the bar and resting her head in her hands. "You sure you're okay?"

He eyed her up and down, his lips remaining puckered in the irritated fashion they had been for the the last five minutes, although there was now a smirk developing in the corners.

"You still play mind games, just like you always did." He said, surprising Alice.

"What makes you say that?" She looked up at him with seductive eyes and a cheeky grin.

There were so many things he wanted to say; to rant about David, his creepy gaze and how Alice felt the need to compliment the man purposefully just to make John jealous. To the other creeps that hit on her daily when she could have picked literally any other job. But he chose to stay quiet, downing his drink before standing up from his seat, instantly towering over the girl.

"You like the attention of men like that? Whatever happened to you, has your worth really been stripped down that low?"

Now he was playing her game, trying to regain his upper hand. He was a Shelby after all, nothing was off limits to him.

"Wow, what a nasty thing to say." Alice scoffed, actually slightly offended by that jab although she played it off. "Guess you really are jealous."

"Jealous of what?" He stepped towards her, now also slightly offended. "I'm a fucking Shelby, I've got everything I could ever want!"

The vicious edge to his tongue reminded Alice of just how much he'd changed, just how much she wasn't a kid anymore, like her. Maybe if it was someone else, a different man, she would've been scared, but Alice wasn't afraid of him or his attempt at intimidation, moving so that they were only inches apart.

"You don't have me though, do you?" She grinned, running her eyes up and down his body for a second, earning a frustrated growl before he suddenly gripped her waist and pressed her lips to his.

She was shocked for a second, but quickly warmed into the kiss as she'd been dreaming about doing so since last time. This one was a lot more intense than the one they'd shared before though, both pushing against each other in a game of domination.

John ran one hand through Alice's curly hair and placed the other on her ass, gently groping her as she ran her hands along his chest.

"Mmm bloody hell Alice, your body is fucking amazing." He quietly moaned. "But you already know that don't you?"

In truth, although Alice had always acted as if she were the top dog; bigger and better than anyone else, that defence mechanism had sprung from a true self hatred, harboured deep inside since she were a little girl. His complimentary words actually meant the world to her and she wanted to giggle and go "you really think so?" somehow still retaining some girlhood innocence in amongst her ravaged brain.

Instead of revealing that though, she chose to remain cool, shoving John backwards into the bar and shooting him a glare.

"You make a lot of assumptions John." She scoffed. "I can't tell if you think I'm an injured sheep or the hungry wolf."

"I made two assumptions." He scoffed back, starting to enjoy the game that she was playing. "Both of which I think are fair to make."

Alice finished her drink and then immediately started to pour another one as she spoke.

"They were two completely contradictory statements. Do I have such low self esteem that I enjoy the attention of drunkards? Or do I already believe myself to be 'amazing' as you so put it?"

John took a moment to respond, unsure of his answer. There were so many answers he wanted to give but they were mostly just consisting of more questions. He lit a cigarette while he thought, a comfortable fifteen seconds of silence passing before he finally answered.

"I think that somehow, you're the injured sheep and the hungry wolf... You play these games and act mean to feel powerful and most people fall for it... but deep down you're terrified."

His answer left Alice in shock, never having been outright read so well before. She knew that John was smart, but she didn't know that he was that perceptive.

"You know, I knew you were going to come looking for that letter opener, because even though you're so fucking strange and usually I have no idea what the fuck you're gonna say or do next.. for some things you've always been predictable." He continued, a smug gleam in his eyes.

Alice took a big swig from her drink and then answered with an equally smug gleam.

"You talk like you know me so well. A lot has changed since we were kids. Why don't you take me out and actually get to know me?"

John liked that answer a lot, chuckling and instantly formulated a plan. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed her a note.

"Take the day off tomorrow, go shopping for a nice dress with Ada, here-" he pulled out another note "- tell her to treat herself n all, God knows Freddie ain't doing it. I'll pick you up from hers at seven."

Alice edged her hand over to the money on the counter, slightly surprised by the amount peaking out of John's wallet.

"And take me where?" She questioned.

He chuckled, her defiance - no matter how slight

- always lit a spark in his belly. Every woman he'd ever courted would've say yes with no questions, desperate to please the Shelby. It always bored him and in the end, the woman would wind up heartbroken whilst John would feel nothing.

This girl was completely different, filling him with too many emotions at times and as she said - he hardly even knew her yet.

"I mean we could go anywhere you want. I was thinking some place nice to eat, we can even dance if you'd like."

That brought a grin to her face and she put the notes in her pocket.

"Sounds perfect."

9 notes · View notes