#instead i just get imminently closer to a panic attack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tippedbykreider · 3 years

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i just want you to be sure | c. kreider

Word count: 1.4k Warnings: Anxiety, implied panic attacks, self-esteem issues Author’s note: I brought this back because even though it’s not the longest thing in the world, it’s incredibly special to me and it’s the kind of thing I know I’d want to read in those moments where I feel myself slipping. I hope it brings you some comfort too. Fic title is from Yours by Ella Henderson.

It’s late. Late enough that you know you should be tucked up in bed and fast asleep next to Chris, but it won’t come easy and so that’s how you find yourself leaning against the railings of the balcony with a blanket draped across your shoulders, staring out at the city skyline. It’s loud tonight and not necessarily on the streets below but you know that this is nothing new either. It’s been loud in your head for a few years now, long before Chris and you’ve done this dance long enough to know that laying in bed and staring at the ceiling isn’t a good idea, it only makes the cruel voices louder. You need to center yourself, you need to be able to count the things you can see and hear, you need to feel the cool night air prickle your skin until the storm inside your mind quietens and the tide recedes.

You’re not entirely sure what it was in particular that had your brain doing somersaults in the dead of night. Maybe it was the thought of Chris going away on a ten day road trip, maybe it was the massive project you had going on at work or maybe it was meeting Mika’s new girlfriend who was petite and beautiful and perfect. You knew this was a dangerous game to play and that nothing good would ever come of you comparing yourself to her but it was a game that came so naturally to you it was borderline reflexive at this point. You knew it was absurd too, to compare yourself to another woman, especially given that this woman had nothing to do with you or your relationship with Chris, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Chris was settling, as sure as you were that he could have a woman like on his arm in a heartbeat.

It was something you’d stuffed away at the back of your mind and you did a good job of ignoring it, or at least you usually did. But there was something about tonight that had you dragging it out and flogging yourself over it like you’d committed a cardinal sin and the only reasonable course of action was penance. It was frightening really, the ease in which it was to tear yourself to pieces and rattle off every single flaw and imperfection that meant you could never be loved by a man like Chris and soon he would realise this and find himself someone new, someone better. It was like living in a state of perpetual dread, even if it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind every second of every day, it was there. It was always there.

You sighed into the chilly air, watching as the exhaled breath plumed in front of you before disappearing into nothing, almost like it had never existed at all. It’s late and you know you should be in bed.

It’s late.

You force your eyes to the first street you find and begin to count the parked cars. One. Two. Three. Four. What if Chris wakes up one day and realises that he’s made a terrible mistake? Five. Six. Seven. What if this is all just some cruel trick? Eight. Nine. What if he’s just waiting for someone better to come along? What if I end up alone? What if I’m alone for the rest of my life? What if-

A touch. Stillness.

It’s a flicker at first, a small spark of warmth on your lower back but it catches and soon it’s spreading across your skin and through your veins, burning away the fog that clouds your mind until all you can focus on is the gentle weight of Chris’s palm flat against the small of your back. It’s his voice you hear next, low and gentle, coaxing you back to the here and the now.

“It’s okay… You’re alright… Deep breaths with me, yeah? In and out…”

You follow his voice, breathing with him until your grip on the railings you hadn’t even realised you were holding on to slackened and the city lights came back into focus.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Nice and easy.”

His hand had slipped under the hem of the tank top you were wearing and you began to fixate on the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns against your skin while the tightness in your chest melted away like the harsh cold of winter thawing at the first rays of spring sunshine. Chris waited until your breathing had evened before he spoke again but his voice still remained low and quiet and soft.

“Talk to me, baby.”

You’re not sure what to say to that because now that the rational part of your brain was back in the driver’s seat, it all seemed a little silly and saying it out loud would make it seem even more so; but you forced yourself to remember that this was Chris and above the fact that you’d never be able to pull the wool over his eyes by even attempting to convince both him and yourself that you were fine and it was nothing, he also deserved the truth, no matter how ridiculous it seemed now.

“You want this, right?” You hadn’t meant to blurt it out but now that it was out there, you couldn’t stop yourself. “You’re not just, I don’t know, waiting for someone better to come along?”

“Babe,” Chris started, the worry clear in his eyes even in the low light.

“I know you say you love me, but don’t you want someone better? Like a model or something?”

Chris’s hands landed at your shoulders and turned you to face him but he didn’t drop his arms, instead he kept his focus fixed firmly on your eyes and the worry had been replaced with something that looked a lot more unyielding.

“Have I ever given you a reason to think that you’re not what I want?” You looked away from his unwavering stare and shook your head slowly, suddenly unable to speak. “So where has this come from?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter, face suddenly hot with the embarrassment that you’d gotten him out of bed and had him worrying over something that was so irrational and fallacious.

“I bet it’s not.” He cupped your face then to bring your eyes back to his, the softness and the love harboured there and giving you all the safety of a port in a storm. “Try me.”

You take a settling breath, exhaling heavily while you steel yourself to speak but instead of the sure and steady delivery you were hoping for, it came out quiet and meek.

“Mika. Mika’s girlfriend, specifically.”

Chris’s brows furrowed as he processed the crumb of information you’d offered. “Did she say something to you? Because if she did that’s the kind of thing I need to know.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No she didn’t.”

“I feel like I’m missing the memo here.”

“She’s beautiful, Chris.”

“I mean, I guess?” Chris offered, still a few beats behind and looking at you for any further clues to get the penny to drop.

“Don’t you want a woman like that?”

There we go.

Chris chuckled lightly, immediately backtracking and shaking his head upon seeing the hurt that rested on your features.

“No,” he said simply. “No, I don’t want a woman like that. I want you and that’s all there is to it.”

“But-”

He kissed you softly, silencing the imminent protest that was about to come out of your mouth.

“I want you. That’s it. I’m yours and you’re mine and nothing and no one is ever going to change that. So I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

His forehead was resting against yours while his hands cradled your face gently, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks slow and sure and while his touch felt light on your skin, the gravity of it settled all through your body and anchored you right there in front of him.

“I’m here, babe. I’ll always be here and I will spend every single day of my life showing you and maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll believe me.” He kissed you slowly and softly while his hands moved to your back to hold you closer to him, his next words murmured against your lips. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.”

#chris kreider #chris kreider fic #chris kreider x reader #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey blurb #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #my writing

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

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I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 9:

As it turns out, being told there’s an imminent threat on your life, does not lend itself to a relaxing day at work. No, what it lends itself to, is a day of looking over your shoulder, of flipping the lights on in every room- of creeping quietly around furniture, trying to get the jump on whoever is hiding behind it.

Except, there’s never anyone behind it. There’s never anyone behind anything, and all you have to show for it is a heart beating far too fast. All you have is a ribcage, strung together with dental floss, little bits of string pulled much too far and much too tight. What’s left is a person one surprise from a panic attack, and one loud noise away from a mental breakdown.

It’s the weirdest anxiety you’ve ever felt; a dripping, acrid, paranoia lining your bones with electricity and your muscles with shock. The strangest part of all though? The way you’re counting the minutes. Watching the seconds pass by with each moment, trying to be patient until you could see Bakugou of all people.

You’re not sure when you started to associate him with safety, but it’s almost a lost cause at this point. His attitude was pretty much irrelevant to the issue, and even if he wasn’t very soft or reassuring, you know he’d rather die than let you get taken. His ego just wouldn’t allow it, and for some odd reason, you think that’s the most comforting part of all.

You walk out the backdoor, dragging your feet and hardly even jumping in surprise when you see him. Bakugou is leaning against the back wall of the alley, disinterest coloring his face. He’s in his hero gear, but thankfully he’s got his mask in his hands- being unable to fully see his eyes made him much harder to read.

“No bruises, scrapes? Blood?” You ask, looking him up and down twice over. You can’t help yourself as you near, eyes squinting as you study him closely. “No injuries, right?”

“No- ‘m fuckin’ fine. Stop fussing, woman.”

You see the red on his cheeks, just barely for a second, before he’s quickly sliding the mask onto his face. So much for seeing his eyes, then- apparently he wanted to keep you guessing all night. Not that you wouldn’t have been anyway.

"I'm not- actually, yeah, sorry. Maybe I was fussing a little bit." You laugh under you breath, taking a step back. "It's not my fault though, alright? Usually I only see you when you’re exhausted or bleeding out."

"Yeah, because bein' around ya is fuckin' torture, leech. Why the hell would I see you if I didn't have to?"

You turn, balking at him. Under the glow of the streetlamp, something sly and mischievous lines his smile. You watch him glow for a moment, yellow streetlamp luminescence casting his pale skin in shades of glimmering gold. He’s almost unrecognizable like that, unable to help himself when he shakes his head.

“I told you, leech.” He laughs. “You’re too easy.”

“No- you’re an asshole. You know that? You have to know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“And, what, you’re proud of that?”

He just shrugs, kicking off the wall and brushing past you. His shoulder knocks into yours, and you feel a little unsteady at the impact. Bakugou laughs. Then he picks up speed, walking briskly towards the end of the alley, looking behind him to make sure that you’re following.

“That’s not an answer, you know.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Not even a little bit of an answer.”

“Who the fuck said I gotta answer all your questions, hah?” He replies, petulance coloring his words. He turns back to look at you, snapping his fingers to urge you on. “Now c’mon. Faster. Pick up the goddamn pace.”

“Jeez, you’re pushy tonight.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer you, just leading you out of the alley, and into the street. He slows suddenly, falling behind you with watchful eyes scanning every shadow. There’s no one out that night, there almost never is at that time, but Bakugou still seems keen on keeping up his vigilance. Turning back to look at him, you’re almost shocked by the concentration on his face.

It’s a look you’re not especially used to seeing on him. You’d never realized how much time he spent just messing with you, but the foreignness of his expression made that apparent. In that moment, all you can wonder is why villians even bothered in the first place- it was obvious they weren’t going to get away with anything under his watch. Not at least if Bakugou’s fists had something to say about it.

“You look pretty guard-dog-like back there.” You comment with a coy smile. “Super scary.”

“Shut up.”

“Mhm, that’s what you always say isn’t it.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You say lightly, spinning to look at him for a moment. He’s confused, head tilted slightly to the side. He looks like a dog all over again and you have to hold back a giggle. “Just means you’re short with me all the time. Well- when you’re not being mean that is.”

“You pickin’ a fight?”

“No. No. I’m not.” You laugh. “I almost never am, or at least not intentionally. You always think so though.”

Bakugou speeds up then, his strides matching yours. He’s close then, way closer to you than he’d usually walk. You’re not particularly curious about it, but you’re sure that if you reached out, just barely extended your fingers, you’d brush right up against those giant gauntlets of his. And probably get those same fingers blasted right off- but that’s neither here nor there.

“You look tired.” He gruffs, changing the subject suddenly. He’s looking away, eyes trained down every dark alley you pass. “You somehow sleep worse than me or somethin’?”

“No. Just lots of people coming in and out today. Lots of patients to see.”

“Mhm.” He nods. “Any weird injuries?”

“No? Why?”

He just looks at you then, eyes squinting slightly.

“Oh. Those villians you can’t tell me about. I get it.” You say, and Bakugou nods. “But no. Not that I saw- sorry. Strange influx of elderly people, though. But that’s probably just a coincidence. Probably unrelated.”

“It is.”

“Huh? How would you know?”

“Just do.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “You suck at explaining things, you know- just like, the worst conversationalist.”

He shrugs again, and at the movement you feel the edge of his gauntlets against your arm. The metal is cold, even through the thin material of your jacket, and you shiver.

“Damn, you really that fuckin’ scared of ‘em?” He scoffs, looking at you a little weirdly. “Chill the hell out, leech. ‘m not after you.”

“No- it’s not- I’m not scared of them. Well, I am, but not of you. Or them.” You rub at your arms, trying to avoid accidentally elbowing him as he walks next to you. “The metal was just cold. Didn’t expect it, is all.”

He nods, grunting something under his breath. Then he’s side-eyeing you. For way too long to be normal, even for ordinary person standards. Hardly another breath passes before he smirks, jostling his shoulders and pressing the gauntlet directly into your arm. It hits against your jacket, flooding ice through the material and into your skin.

“It’s cold!” You squeal in surprise, almost stumbling as you pull away. You take another step to the side, just to increase the distance between you and him- just to be safe. “I literally just said that! You’re a dick.”

Bakugou just smothers his laugh in his shoulder.

“No! Don’t laugh- what you think this is funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, trying to get you with the gauntlets once more. You flinch away, which just makes him laugh more. “I do actually.”

“It’s not! It’s cold out, you asshole! Don’t make it any worse!”

He just laughs at you, eyes crinkling around the edges. Bakugou doesn’t laugh much, not around you at least, but now you’re sort of wishing he did. His eyes look a lot brighter when he laughs. Happier.

“Okay, okay, chill out already.” He smirks, shushing you like a child. “Won’t happen again.”

“You sound like you’re lying.”

“Nah. ‘m not.”

“I don’t trust you.” You counter, eyeing him with suspicion. “Not at all.”

He just shrugs, like your answer doesn’t surprise him, nor does it make any sort of difference. You suppose that’s about right. Bakugou pretty much only cared about pushing your buttons- making you feel comfortable wasn’t even a thought in his mind.

“You’re such a baby.” He comments, eyes scanning down another dark alley. “Seriously. ‘s not even that fuckin’ cold outside.”

“Says you.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re absolutely not.” Drawing your jacket tighter, you fight the shiver that threatens to crawl up your spine. “You know, for a guy who gets so mad about me “picking fights” all the time, you sure do like to argue a lot. You sure you’re not actually the one picking fights?”

“I don’t gotta pick ‘em, I just finish them.”

There’s no way- there’s no way in hell a fully grown hero, a pro hero just opened his mouth and said that to you. It’s inconcievable, or, it should be, but then you look at Bakugou and the absolute sincerity of his expression.

“You’re a barbarian.” You can’t help but laugh, pinching the bridge of your nose with faux annoyance. “Seriously. I just gagged on all the testosterone in that sentence.”

“So? ‘s not my fuckin’ problem.”

“It is. It definitely is.” You tell him, hardly restraining your urge to knock him right off the curb.

From where he is, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and closest to the road, all it would take is a little nudge- he’s walking so very close to the edge. But knowing him, Bakugou would probably take you with him. So you refrain, changing the subject instead.

“So, you see any bad guys yet?”

“Bad guys?” He snorts, eyeing you like you’re stupid. “No. I haven’t seen any villains, yet.”

“Good, just checking. I don’t actually know what I’d do if you did.”

“You don’t do shit. You stay the hell out of it.”

“Okay, but what if you-”

“No. You run the other direction and go fuckin’ hide. That’s what you do.” He orders, seriousness lining his features. “Don’t go tryin’ anything. You’ll only get in the way, leech.”

A part of you bristles all over at that- at his insistence that you’d be nothing but useless weight in a fight. It makes you uncomfortable because as it stands, he’s right. You’d never be able to hold your own, much less defeat anyone.

You felt weak. Vulnerable.

“Don’t be a goddamn baby. I can see you panicking.” He says, kicking at a rock on the sidewalk. “I told you- ‘m not plannin’ to let any of those fuckers get you. ‘s a hypothetical, so don’t go cryin’ over shit that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“It’s not that.”

“Fuck is it then?”

“It’s just- I was thinking, you know, about what I’d do in a fight.” You start, rubbing at your elbow mindlessly. “And you’re right. I’d be entirely useless. I can’t hurt anybody. I don’t think I ever would, even if I had the skills to.”

You hardly see it from the corner of your vision, but Bakugou scrunches his nose. Your words must’ve upset him because then he’s huffing like a bull, curling his fingers closed into a fist.

“Don’t say it like it’s a fuckin’ bad thing. Don’t be an idiot.” He mutters lowly, voice pinched and tight. There’s a flush on his cheeks, just barely visible in the dark. “People getting fuckin’ hurt is never a good thing.”

“No, it’s not. I guess you’re right. But, still, I guess what I’m saying is I wish I was a little less soft, you know? Stronger.”

He cuts his eyes toward you, something guarded lining them. You can hardly tell, and you wish he’d take his mask off, but Bakugou almost looks..... offended?

“Bein’ soft doesn’t mean you’re fuckin’ weak.”

“You’ve literally called me weak before!”

“Yeah- when you were playin’ all fuckin’ nice when you didn’t mean it.” He flares his nostrils. “That’s weak.”

“Oh, so you’re saying- actually, no, I have no idea what point you’re trying to get at right now.”

“Jesus, you’re stupid.” He mutters on his breath. “I’m saying, don’t do shit just because you think you have to. That’s stupid. That’s weak.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t fight anybody?”

“Do you want to fight anybody?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then why the hell are we even fuckin’ talking about this?” He asks, simple and plain like it never even mattered to him in the first place. “If you don’t want to fight then don’t fight. It’s that fuckin’ easy.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” He says, finality lacing his tone. “Besides, it’s not gonna fuckin’ matter anyway. I’ll skin ‘em before they even get anywhere near you.”

Bakugou seems to realize his words- and the weight behind them at the same time you do. Where you’re blushing and looking away, he’s straightening in place next to you. His spine goes ramrod, feet stuttering like the pavement is shooting electric shocks through his heels.

“That’s- I think that’s the only sort of nice thing you’ve ever said to me.” You utter out, entirely shocked. Then you’re slapping a hand against your mouth, breathing a gasp out between the gaps in your fingers. “That’s- that’s the only nice thing I get? A threat against somebody else? That’s ridiculous!”

You can’t help the giggle that tumbles out of your mouth then, something small and tiny quickly growing louder. It makes you feel light- weightless on the street, like the pavement below you is bolstering you higher with each step. When you look over, Bakugou’s not laughing, but he’s smiling, something pinched and shy as he looks back at you. A he stares at you, blinking slowly, tipping his head to the side like he doesn’t understand.

“It’s- I’m sorry.” You laugh, biting down on your lip. “It’s just so funny! You being nice isn’t even you being nice- it’s just you being mean to somebody else for once!”

“If this is what you’re like when I’m fuckin’ nice, then I’ll never be nice to you again.”

“Don’t grumble.” You smile, trying to cover your smile with an errant palm. “Even if I’m laughing, I’m not necassarily laughing at you, you know? I guess what I”m saying is that it helps with the panic- to know that somebody capable is looking out for me, you know?”

“Yeah, I bet.”

His tone leaves something sour, sarcasm and cynicism left behind on his breath. You look over at him, but his eyes are trained forward, shooting between every dark crevice and shadow. He’s relentless, shoulders constantly drawn forward, stalking and prowling like he’s just waiting for somebody to challenge him.

It makes you wonder who’s looking out for him. If anybody even is- or, more specifically, if he is letting anyone.

“Hey, Bakugou?” You ask suddenly.

“What?”

“I appreciate it, you know. This. You walking me home.” You find yourself unable to hold his intense gaze any longer. Eyes trained at the ground, you continue. “I know you didn’t have to, and even if it’s not for me, it still makes me feel a lot better. Less scared. So thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really even react other than straightening a little beside you. It makes you want to take the words back, to fluster, make excuses maybe- but you don’t. You steel yourself and you don’t apologize because you meant it. Meant every word.

“Jesus, you really are soft, huh.” He mutters quietly, voice hardly carrying through the cold air. “Really fuckin’ soft.”

“Yeah. I am.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he does walk a little closer. From where he is, right up next to you, Bakugou looks a lot different. It might just be the low light, but you could’ve sworn he was all soft angles then; all smooth skin covering a gently sloping nose, delicate lips curled up into the smallest of smiles. You think he’s beautiful then- like somehow, all of his blistering strength had gone molten instead of igniting.

There’s not much left to say, and you’re out of jokes, so the rest of your walk is spent in silence. It’s a weird kind of quiet, something that sits heavy in your chest, warm and fluid- almost like it’s lulling you to sleep. There’s still a little anxiety rolling in your stomach, but that’s softened now too. You’re sure Bakugou would laugh at you if you told him, but he really did make you feel safe. If only in an belligerent and begrudging sort of way on his end.

Another few minutes pass and you’re at the entrance to your apartment building. He hovers close behind you as you swipe your keycard, eyes watching the same way they’d done all night. He really is diligent when he wants to be apparently.

“Are you coming in?” You ask, lingering in the door way.

“Nah. I’m on patrol for a few more hours.”

“Oh- yeah, okay, that makes sense.”

“You scared or somethin’?” He asks, squinting at you. “Go inside already.”

You curl your fingers a little tighter around the handle, shifting your weight onto your other foot. It frustrates you a little- how he seems to see right through you when you can hardly ever tell what he’s thinking.

“No- well, yes, but I get it, you’ve got other priorities.” You say, gently. “Go, I’ll be fine. Don’t let my weird paranoia hold you up or anything.”

He just nods, adjusting the mask on his face as he turns away. Bakugou only makes it a few steps, just barely secluded into the shadows beyond the complex lights, before he’s turning around. Hand itching at the back of his neck, he plants his feet, regarding you with familiar red eyes.

“It’s not weird.” He says. “I’ll be back later. Don’t do anything fuckin’ stupid while I’m gone.”

Then he’s turning around before you can say anything, his dark costume melting into the shadows. The air somehow feels colder when he leaves, empty almost, and you rush into your apartment complex as a result.

When you’re finally unlocking your door, and quickly relocking it behind you, the exhaustion nearly bulldozes you. You’d been so careful that day, not using your quirk just like Bakugou had advised, but in the end you figured it didn’t really matter- you were scared, absolutely terrified about some villian it didn’t seem like you could even prepare for. That would make anyone tired, weird quirk or not.

Collapsing on your couch with a sigh, you can’t help yourself as sleep quickly takes over.

--/--

You’re jolted awake by the sound of knocking, and, even in your sleep-drunk haze, you know who it is. You’d never known anyone else in your entire life who knocked as loudly as he did. It was like miniature bombs were going off against the glass.

Bakugou is standing outside in normal clothes, thankfully shucked of both his hero costume and mask. He’s clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, tapping his foot impatiently as you approach the door. You wonder how he’s not cold, how in the world he’s not freezing his ass off out there. You’d ask, but the exhaustion is still creeping in, piloting your body with hardly a quarter of as much energy as you would normally have.

“You look tired.” He says, taking in your appearance when you slide open the door. He lets himself in, brushing past you when you apparently take too long. “You fall asleep or somethin’?”

“Yeah- yeah, I did, sorry.” You yawn, rubbing away the sleep in your eyes. “Couldn’t help it. Was tired.”

“Oh.”

Bakugou seems a little stilted, hardly even looking at you, and when he does, it’s with a flush on his face. You just shrug his weird behavior off, not having the energy to ask nor the care to even remotely get to the bottom of it. As it was- you were dead tired. His weird mood wasn’t going to trump that apparently.

“You all good?” You yawn again into your hand, then stretch your arms high above your head. “No injuries or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good. That’s good.” You trail off, turning away from him to gather your purse and coat off of the couch. “How was it?”

“I didn’t find them yet. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“No- well, that’s sorta- but not really.” You’re fluffing the pillows for him before you realize, gathering a blanket from where it was tucked away too. “I meant- like, everything go alright? Just general checking up stuff.”

“Why- you decide to care now or somethin’?”

“Don’t be difficult. I care. Wouldn’t- wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care to know the answer.”

“Fine.” He grumbles, cheeks going pink once more. “It was boring. Nobody was out tryin’ to pull anything.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear, actually.”

You continue making up his pseduo bed, spreading the blanket over your cushions and folding it back neatly. It’s almost subconscious, the way your hands move even through your sleep-fog. Bakugou just watches, looking at you a little strangely. His red eyes flicker from you, to the pseduo-bed you’d made up for him, and then back again several times over.

On the couch, there’s the normal blanket, but this time you’d also sacrificed one of your real pillows too. You figured that if he was going to go through the hassle of making sure you were safe, then the least you could do was spare him a good pillow. Still, the gesture seemed to stump him, and Bakugou just stared blankly at it. Then his eyes flicker back to you, something unsure in them.

You’re not used to seeing him like that. Apprehensive. Almost timid.

“Hope it’s alright.” You tell him, passing him to flick off the bright overhead light. “Thought it was about time for an upgrade. Take it as a show of my appreciation.”

“Whatever.” He flusters a bit, but shakes it off quickly. “Glad you finally realized how shitty your throw pillows are.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“You really that tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry. ‘s pretty hard for me to function after I’ve just woken up. ‘s really embarrassing.”

“No, it’s-”

Bakugou seems to suddenly seize in place half way through his words, spinning the other direction like someone was puppetting his strings. You really start to wonder what had gotten into him in the few hours since you’d seen him last.

“Well, if that’s all,” You say, hiding another large yawn behind your gloves. Then you’re pulling at the material, freeing one of your hands. “Then I’d really like to go back to sleep. So, c’mon, hand out already, yeah?”

He nods tightly, his whole face red. He won’t look at you, eyes hardly flickering up to yours for a second before he forces them back down. Another loud yawn escapes you, and that only seems to worsen whatever problem he’s having, because then Bakugou is dragging a hand down his face- stretching and pulling and tugging at heated skin like he’s in physical pain. Still, he holds his hand out anyways, refusing to meet your eyes.

That same subtle warmth floods you again, solid and sure where his hand meets yours. It’s muted now, a little softer, but still there. You’re half asleep, barely functioning, and you absentmindedly rub the back of his hand with you thumb, once, twice, and then pat when you let go.

He just looks at you, absolutely bewildered, and honestly- you’re not sure you have an explanation. There is no explanation. All there is, is your bone-deep exhaustion and the apparently uncharacteristic things it makes you do. Like shushing him when he starts to speak, which only seems to stun him more. Then you’re waving him off, beginning to walk towards your bedroom without hardly letting him get a reaction in edgewise. You’d apologize, but honestly, you’re sure you’d fall asleep half-way through the words.

“Goodnight.” You say absentmindedly, head lolling over your shoulder to look back at him. “Have a good sleep or whatever. See you tomorrow.”

Then you’re stumbling down the hall, just barely remembering to flick off the overhead lights. You hit the bed, flopping down boneless and sated.

You’re sure it must take all over 10 seconds until you’re out again. Maybe even less than that.

hope u enjoy lovelies :)))

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#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bakugou fic #bakugou series #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha fic #bnha fic #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine

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skiller0dani · 4 years

Text

Commands | Kylo Ren

M A S T E R L I S T Star Wars Masterlist

smut requests info

I just adore this little squishy violent man with all my heart. also ouch my heart :( not sure if I like this. could be better. could be longer. I’m sorry don’t leave me please keep reading my stuff D:

137 days.

You counted the tally marks littering the walls of your cell aboard the Command Ship for the First Order. You leaned your head back against the wall, in all your time here you hadn’t been in contact with anybody other than the Stormtroopers that guarded your cell. You’d caught a quick glimpse of the Supreme Leader- Kylo Ren. His helmet was cracked, welded together but the cracks glowed an ethereal red. He was clad in black, like he always was and he barely threw a glance your way as you were hauled to your cell.

Since then you’d never seen another soul except for the single Stormtrooper stood outside the cell door. You’d assumed they took you because of your brief affiliation with the Rebellion. You’d been a pilot with the Rebellion before you decided you’d watched enough of your friends die at the hands of the First Order. You couldn’t take it anymore, so you did what cowards did. You ran. You weren’t proud of what you did, and it seemed the Universe had a fit punishment for you as you’d been taken by the First Order not long after running.

Something about Kylo Ren both intrigued and unsettled you. He had a presence to him, like a dark cloud that clung to his very being. You weren’t sure if that was because of the darkness looming in his soul, or the physical sensation of the Force all around him. Either way, it made you want to run to him and away from him. Whatever it was, it was completely intoxicating.

But if there was one person on this Ship that unsettled you more than any other man had before- it was General Hux. He didn’t unsettle you in a curiously dangerous sort of way, not in the way Kylo did. No, he unsettled you in the way that made you feel sick in his presence, he unsettled you in a way that led you to believe you were in imminent danger any time you were near him.

Kylo unsettled you only because of the affect he had over your body without even looking into his eyes. Just him being around you took over your every coherent thought and filled the empty spaces in your mind with nothing but him. Hux made you want to hide from him, hoping he would just go away. You watched the way Hux’s eyes undressed you, the way his fists curled into his sides upon seeing you, and you definitely noticed the tent form in his trousers as he would linger outside your cell. It made you feel gross all over your body, as if he was touching you without laying a single hand on you. The only hands you wanted on you were Kylo’s, which upset you for an entirely different reason.

Kylo was an enemy to the Rebellion, he’d killed thousands of innocents. Your mind logically knows what kind of man he is, but your body betrays you in its lust for his skin on yours. You shouldn’t want him, yet you do. You should hate him, you want to hate him but you don’t. You feel pity for him, even though it was his actions that led him down this lonely road. He did this to himself, but your heart doesn’t seem to care who’s fault it is. You just want to help him.

“You’ve been summoned.” The Stormtrooper’s voice cuts into your thoughts. You blink up at him before scrambling to your feet. Feeling handcuffs secure around your wrists you’re hauled into the hallway and stood in front of the man you were least hoping to see. General Hux. You swallowed a thick lump in your throat at the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He said nothing as he took your arm and led you off towards the elevator. Your mouth is dry as you step into the elevator after him. As soon as the doors are shut he turns, his eyes look hungry as they scan your body. Your body tenses as he takes a step towards you.

Hux’s hands press to the elevator walls on either side of your head, your back hitting the wall hard as your heart races in your chest. His lips brush against your neck and you feel a shudder of disgust run down your spine, and you release a sigh of relief as the doors open and he is forced to pull away from you. Hux takes your arm and begins to pull you down the hallway when you begin to dig your heels into the floor. Panic settles in as you approach a door at the end of the hallway, and you begin to tug against his grasp. You thrash in his tight grip, as he continues to drag out to the door.

The door slides open and your panic is sent into overdrive when you see it’s his bedroom. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you slam your knee up into his crotch. Hux doubles over in pain, and you turn and sprint down the hall, not knowing where you’re going. This shuttle is a labyrinth. Your heart hammers against your chest as you take turns, hearing his boots slamming against the ground behind you. You turn your head to glance back at Hux, and this is when you slam into a solid wall of muscle. When you turn your head to look up at who you bumped into, your heart stops. Kylo Ren.

His eyebrow cocks at the sight of you, in handcuffs, heaving for breath, panic laced in your eyes. Kylo feels his blood run hot when he sees who chases you. “S-Supreme Leader.” Hux heaves, struggling to catch his breath. You feel frozen in place as Hux stands rigid, his eyes on you. “I was just escorting this prisoner when she attacked me.” Hux hissed.

You have no clue what compelled you to do it, and you have no idea why you blindly believed it would work. You threw yourself into Kylo’s chest, your cuffed hands reaching up to grab at his black tunic. Your body quivered in fear, “please don’t let him take me.” You whispered softly, so that only Kylo would hear you. Kylo says nothing, but he doesn’t remove you from his body either.

“Escorting her where?” Kylo asks, one of his hands coming down to rest on your arm. Gently, he pries you off him and maneuvers you to stand behind him. Hux flinches, scrambling to come up with a suitable answer.

“T-To questioning sir.” Hux lied unconvincingly. A dark look crossed Kylo’s face.

“Where was he taking you?” Kylo asks, his question directed at you. You stand trembling behind him, “t-to his quarters.” You stammer, watching as the color leaves Hux’s face.

“You were going to question her...in your quarters?” Kylo asks, the anger now beginning to seep into his tone. Hux stands stock still, his eyes wide and pointed straight ahead, his arms folded behind his back. Your eyes trail up Kylo’s back, and it’s just now that you realize he isn’t wearing his helmet. With nothing more than a twitch of his hand, Kylo sends Hux slamming against the wall. “You are not to go near her again.” Hux nods feebly, sliding to the floor when Kylo takes his gaze off him.

Kylo turns to you, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before gently taking your arm and leading you down the hallway. Your heart rate slows as you follow Kylo through corridors before he leads you to what appears to be a plain bedroom. “From now on, this is where you will be kept.” He explains, your eyes widening in surprise. He reaches down, taking your hands in his gloved ones before unlocking the handcuffs. “T-Thank you.” You stammer quietly, and your eyes lock for a brief moment. Kylo nods curtly, and you swear you see a blush prickle at his cheeks before he turns out of your new ‘cell’.

165 days.

You hadn’t seen Kylo since that day, but your heart fluttered whenever you heard his name. When the sun would go down, your hand would disappear between your legs- imagining you and Kylo in lewd scenarios. With his head between your thighs. Him bending you over the bed. Him whispering sweetly into your ear as he drives into you again and again. You feel a heat sear through your body at the thought. You look out the window into the galaxy, your mind not drifting far from Kylo. If he’d fallen to the dark side, then why did he protect you? If he was pure evil, he would have let Hux have his way with you but he didn’t.

Kylo. Kylo. Kylo. Kylo. His name bounces around your head as you cum on your fingers, your chest heaves as the shame settles in your chest.

You hate the empty feeling in your chest when Kylo isn’t around, you hate the way you’re letting yourself feel for him. He’s not a good person, and you desperately try to remind yourself of that. Whenever you get lost in remembering the way his gloves felt against your skin, how it felt for him to hold onto you, you remember Han. You remember seeing Han with the lightsaber through his chest, you remember that it was Kylo who was holding the lightsaber. You try to remind yourself who he is, but you’re not sure you know anymore. You lean back against your bed, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

You hear footsteps approaching your room, but you’re not worried it’s Hux. He hasn’t even looked at you since that day. You were grateful for that, but you didn’t know why you were still here. If Kylo wanted something from you, he would have gotten it by now and if you were useless to him he would have killed you. But instead for the last 165 days you’ve been a prisoner, barely speaking to anybody. You don’t know what he wants with you, and you’re not sure you ever want to leave if it means being away from him. The thought scares you.

When the door swings open, you sit up immediately with a blush on your cheeks. “Kylo,” His name slips past your lips before you can stop it. His eyes meet yours as the door slides shut behind him. Kylo’s chest is heaving as his eyes remain locked on yours. There is a thrumming coming from him, sending waves of vibrations through your body as he steps closer. “Every night,” He starts, his voice hoarse as his fists curl at his sides. Your heart slams against your ribcage as you realize he is only wearing a simple black tunic and trousers. “Every night I have to lay in bed and pretend I don’t hear you calling for me in your mind.” Your eyes widen in horror, he heard you? How?

Taking a few steps, Kylo reaches the end of the bed. “Take off your shirt.” His voice is low and demanding. It makes your mouth go dry.

The logical part of your brain shuts off the second those dark eyes look into yours, with that air of dominance practically pouring out of him.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head. Your breasts are bare, and Kylo’s pupils widen as he sits back in a chair at the foot of your bed. Your expression falls when you notice that Kylo isn’t going to approach you. He sees your forlorn expression and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Were you expecting me to touch you?” His voice is cocky, as are his eyes.

“Lay back.” Another command leaves his lips and you immediately obey.

You lay back against the soft mattress, your entire body buzzing with anticipation. You can’t see him, your gaze pointed straight at the ceiling. You feel a warm sensation tingle up your legs, across your stomach and finally to the underside of your breasts. You glance at Kylo to see him sitting in the same position he was before. Your mouth falls open as you feel something brush against your nipples. The Force. You feel your nipples being rolled and pinched by the tendrils of the Force that Kylo is manipulating to pleasure you. A soft moan escapes your lips as the sensation curls around your chest, and then suddenly you feel nothing. Your chest is heaving when you open your eyes, you see Kylo hovering over you.

“For weeks, I’ve had to listen to you pleasure yourself while calling out for me. Do you have any idea how maddening that is?” Kylo’s voice is soft, and raspy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours as his hands dance down your sides. “Let me feel you,” You whisper, whining as you writhe under him. Kylo grinds his hips down into yours, creating delicious friction. You moan softly, watching as he yanks his black gloves off. “More Kylo.” You shamelessly beg, head spinning as he softly grinds his hard cock against you, both trapped in the confines of your pants. His hands find the band of your pants, and he’s quickly yanking your trousers down your legs.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” You ask through frantic breaths as your hands pull at the black tunic he’s wearing. Kylo yanks the fabric off his body, revealing his toned and muscular chest. The sight of his exposed skin sends a wave of hot, wet arousal between your legs. Kylo’s pupils widen when he sees the wet patch on your panties, throwing your pants somewhere behind him. “I don’t know.” He says honestly, his lips finding yours then. Your lips move in tandem with his, hands grabbing at him anywhere you can reach. Kylo’s hand dips into your panties, his fingers sliding through your wet folds. He groans against your lips before you feel tendrils of the Force sliding up your inner thighs, licking gently at your clit.

“I need you inside me right now Kylo.” You beg wantonly, your hips grinding up into his as you moan again. Kylo says nothing as he reaches down to tear your panties from your body. Your hands fumble as they frantically push down his pants, watching with eyes alight as he kicks them off. One of Kylo’s hands plants itself firmly on the mattress next to your head as his other hand grasps his cock and leads the head to your entrance. Gently, Kylo pushes into you and you throw your head back in ecstasy. Your fingers grip the bed sheets tightly as Kylo begins to rock into you, his head hung low and his lips pressing gently to your neck.

Kylo leans up to look into your eyes before pulling his hips back only to slam himself into you again, setting a quick and brutal pace. He holds your hips with a bruising force and you feel the Force groping your breasts and sliding around your body. You feel the coil in your lower belly winding tighter as you look up at him and he looks beautiful. There is sweat perspiring on his forehead causing his damp hair to stick to his face. A vain protrudes from his forehead as his hands grip tightly at your sides and when his eyes meet yours, you feel the Force all over your body. You cum without warning, your entire body tightening around him, sending him over the edge.

“Tomorrow, you’re leaving.” Kylo says unexpectedly causing your eyes to snap open to look at him.

What?

#kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #kylo imagine #ben solo #ben solo smut #ben solo imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars smut #adam driver #general hux #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo x you #hux x you

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alrighttevans · 3 years

Text

evermore

but if the world was ending you’d hold me, right?

inspired by this prompt

Ao3 link

The tight grip over her heart was no stranger to Ladybug.

In fact, as much as she loathed the fact, it had grown into a very much familiar sensation for her. When she was Marinette, she felt it when she was on the verge of an anxiety crisis. When she was Ladybug, she felt it every time she watched an akuma take her partner from her right before her eyes.

On a few occasions, it was a spell she could manage to break. More often than not, it was some kind of possession that would turn him against her until she managed to capture the akuma. Yet, sometimes — too many times, for her displeasure —, it was murder, what took Chat Noir from her.

She felt deeply distressed every single time she lost her Chaton in battle, even though it had happened several times already — the stupid cat always had to put himself between her and any dangerous threat, being the great foolish hero that he was —, it always brought a sharp and incessant pain into her chest, like it was the first. At the pace that a little corner on her mind that archived the multiple occasions in which Chat had heroically and selflessly and kindly sacrificed himself for her had only grown larger, so had the hurt that each event left on her. She was not ready, when Timebreaker had taken him from her, back when they were still very young. She was not ready, when he had jumped from the gameboard, back at the time they fought against Gamer for a second time. She was not ready now, when the Polished Avenger had erased him from existence, so she could now control who was anybody and who wasn’t.

When Ladybug hadn’t been quick enough to dodge the akuma’s attack and Chat Noir refused to let her pay the price for that mistake.

She was not ready.

Ladybug still found herself shaking, as she ran for her life, unwilling to allow her partner’s sacrifice to go to waste. She still felt her whole person being filled with a mixture of both fear and despair, as she gasped for air, leaning back on one of the walls of the narrow alley she had converted into her current hiding spot. She still had a growing overwhelming need inside her telling her to sit in a corner and cry, as she attempted to stop the tears that threatened to fall off her bluebell hurt eyes.

It was not supposed to happen, him being taken.

They were Ladybug and Chat Noir! They were complements of each other! There was no creation without destruction! She became unbalanced without him; lost, even, to a certain extent — even though you wouldn’t hear her admitting to that —, because she wasn’t supposed to do this without him! She didn’t want to do this without him, but she had to, if she ever wished to see him again.

No, Ladybug couldn’t allow herself to drown in the sorrowful taste that rose through her throat. She couldn’t give herself the benefit of the doubt; Paris depended on her, her sanity depended on her, her kitty depended on her and she had only one chance to capture the akuma and make things right again — one misstep and she would be doomed.

So she ordered herself to stop stalling and do her fucking job, because the clock was ticking and she couldn’t fail. Keep yourself together, she chastised, as she wiped her tears away and blinked a few times, trying to regain the focus she needed to think clearly and win this battle — and bring him back —, even if the weight over her shoulders kept pulling her from her objective.

Just… Why did he keep doing that? Didn’t he realise what a mess she became once he was gone? She loved him for all the qualities that made Chat Noir who he was, yet she still hated him for it, since those same qualities were the ones driving him into taking a hit for her again and again. Had he no sense of self preservation? Honestly. The boy could use some.

She tugged her pigtails, sliding her fingers through her long dark locks.

Focus, Ladybug.

Throwing her hand upwards, she called for her lucky charm, hoping her luck wouldn't abandon her, and a red and black candy apple fell into her hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She frowned, before carefully poking her head out of her safe area to see if she could find something that would snap the solution to all of her problems in her mind. Ladybug’s eyes ran through the perimeter and she was able to see the Polished Avenger searching for her, calling for that “pesky bug”, as the akuma so kindly nicknamed her; an idea forming in her head.

Feeling the ever so familiar adrenaline of a risky fight taking charge of her, Ladybug dashed back to the battlefield, only daring to go as close to the akuma as her plan demanded to. “Looking for me?” She called, before a frown took place in her face. Polished Avenger wasn’t there. Where had she gone to? Oh, no. Her frown was replaced by wide eyes at the realisation; it was a trap.

Panic ran through her veins, as she looked around her, alarmed to find her opponent coming from only God knows where and jumping on her. She gave a last minute back flip, that prevented her from disappearing right that second and quickly occupied herself with putting as much distance as she could from the akuma. She couldn’t afford sloppy tactics, otherwise she would lose, lose him. She couldn’t let his faith in her to be misplaced.

As she watched the Polished Avenger getting closer and closer from the corner of her eye, trying to touch her with her bloody duster, she threw her yoyo on the balcony of a nearby building and pulled herself out of the akuma’s way.

“You can’t run forever, you annoying little pest.” The akumatized woman snarled, watching her carefully.

“Trust me, I don’t plan to.” Ladybug replied, more to herself than to her opponent, and threw her yoyo onto a farther building, one in which would give her enough time to land on the ground without being hit at the pace that the akuma chased her on foot.

The Polished Avenger was just a few yards away when Ladybug prayed that her aim wouldn’t betray her and threw the candy apple in her opponent’s direction, as she held her breath. The akuma caught the sweet in the air, before it could hit her, and stretched her hand open to toss off the candy as she followed her way, only to stop when she noticed the apple candy was still on her hand. The woman tried to shake her hand like a loon, glaring at the offending sweet and sneer in frustration, but she couldn’t get rid of the apple candy. Lastly, she let go of the duster to try and remove it with her other hand, and Ladybug wasted no time and snatched the duster with her yoyo. When the akuma realised what she was doing, it was already too late; she broke the object and freed the familiar black butterfly from it. Quicky, Ladybug captured the akuma and cleansed it.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.” She said, as she dashed to the very confused woman standing before her and took the apple candy from her hands, without either a ‘please’ or a comforting comment to her; Ladybug was yet too exhausted, too shaken, too anxious to think about anybody else. She had won, it would have to do for now. “Miraculous Ladybug!” She called while she threw the candy into the air, feeling the bittersweet taste of her victory on her tongue.

Chat Noir blinked, feeling the familiar sensation of time loss and confusion after an akuma possession flow through him, trying to evaluate as much as he could from his surroundings, however, he couldn’t assess much, for the first thing he put his eyes on was the red and black blur that was Ladybug running in his direction and throwing herself in his arms.

Even though his eyes widened, his arms immediately found her back and held her, just as tight as she pressed herself to him. It took Chat a second to realise the soft, subtle sound of his lady sobbing, as he felt shock run through his body.

“My lady?” He called, as quietly as he could when he was full with concern.

She didn’t answer, at first, but buried her head in the crook of his neck and kept shedding her tears, and the only thing Chat could do was to hug her close, as she took her time and his heart filled with fright with whatever had got Ladybug this distressed.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Her question came as a whisper, one in which he wouldn’t have caught, if it wasn’t for his heightened senses, causing his brows to meet in a frown.

“That what?”

“Dying for me.” Ladybug’s voice broke with her answer, and his jaw dropped.

She was crying because of him?

He was the mindless prat that had made her cry?

“I… I can’t help it. The thought of you—” Chat shook his head, refusing to verbalize that dreadful thought that haunted him every time his lady was caught in imminent danger, and it was his duty to prevent it from happening. “The world doesn’t end when I get hit by an akuma.”

“Mine does.” He felt his heart break as she pulled her face away from his neck, allowing him to see the painful watery gaze on her pale blue eyes. He was hurting her, and he couldn’t bear to see her heart break.

“It’s okay.” His hands found her face, as he cupped her cheeks, and Chat, touching her softly, carefully wiped her falling tears, that led a melancholic thread behind them. “I’m okay. It’s just temporary, everything always goes back into place.”

“What if someday I can’t fix everything?” Ladybug prodded, “What if I lose you forever?” She whispered, as if she was afraid that, if she spoke too loud, some superior force would listen and shape her nightmare into reality.

It was like having a knife being continuously stabbed into his chest, to watch Ladybug drowning herself in the ocean of guilt about his safety. She shouldn’t have the weight of his actions making her sink faster. Couldn’t she see that it was all for the best? For if she was the one that was gone, Chat Noir would break. He wouldn’t be able to think clearly and come up with a smart solution, as she did every time. He wouldn’t be able to focus on studying the akuma’s weaknesses, but instead he would fall into a deep cliff of despair and nothing and no-one would have the power to bring him back. Paris would be doomed; stuck with a hero too unstable to do his job. However, even if he managed to overcome his distress, he didn’t have a Miraculous Ladybug Cure to make it all right again — he would never be able to recover from losing her forever. How could she fathom the idea of him not preventing this catastrophe from happening?

Well, he wasn’t the one that was going to ask her that.

One task at the time, and the present worry was to take that sorrowful expression off of her lovely features.

“Do you really think you can get rid of me that easily?” He inquired, with a cocky smile, hoping his light comment would bring a smile to her lips. “I’ve told you, my lady, you have a life sentence to serve for stealing my heart.”

“Chat! This is serious!” She chastised, hesitantly removing her arms from his neck to cross them over her chest. She still was a bit worried he’d vanish again if she ever let go of him.“You-you have to stop it. I can't watch you disappear before me, because of me ever again.”

“It's okay, Ladybug. It'll always be okay.”

“No, it’s not! Promise me you won't do it again.” She was inflexible; Ladybug had always been stubborn, but this, oh, she definitely was not backing down from this argument. He could see it on her eyes — they burnt with determination and fury. In usual circumstances, he would be intimidated by the glare she was throwing his way. Normally, he would soon agree with her, for she generally was right, especially concerning serious matters. She was a brilliant girl, after all. He would be a fool not to listen to her. But this? This wasn’t something he could give her. He would rather be forever gone than to live in a world where she didn’t. “Please.” Her tone was somewhere between demanding and begging.

“I can't, my lady. I'm sorry.”

“Stupid cat.” She scolded, before burying herself on his chest again and his arms immediately wrapped her close — it seemed that they never were close enough, even though the space between their bodies was none.

They remained there, in silence, longing for more of something they couldn’t name, until the sound of her earrings beeping was what broke them apart and both their eyes grew wide with the realisation of what that meant. Chat Noir sighed, feeling a sudden exhaustion and all the weight that came with his duty settling over his shoulders. They could stay hours, days, years, there, in each other's arms, if it wasn’t for the alarm that dreadly announced the end of their timed moment together — the curse of desire and responsibility that kept chasing Chat, despite his best efforts.

He was the first to let go, knowing all too well that if he dared to wait for a few more minutes, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do so. As soon as she felt the absence of his hands on the small of her back, Ladybug slowly untangled herself from him. Her pale blue eyes shone with the words that were stuck on her throat, as she raised her fist to him, with a bittersweet smile on her face.

Chat bumped into her fist with his own, without ever taking his gaze away from hers, as he wondered if she could read the I love you he tried to communicate to her with his cat-like eyes.

However, “Pound it.” was the only thing they both said, in unison, before forcibly parting ways.

#evermore #mari writes miraculous #mari writes something #ladynoir #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #love square #chat noir #ladybug #ml love square #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml fanfic #mlb fanfic #ml #mlb

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

Text

Down, boy! || Eddie & Bea

TIMING: Current-ish

PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze & @specterchasing

LOCATION: Illusions of Grandeur

SUMMARY: Eddie literally runs from his problems and Bea talks some sense into him.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideations tw, sibling death tw.

The shops and faces lining ‘Freak Alley’ flew by in colorful blurs as Eddie’s feet slapped against the sidewalk. An over-the-shoulder glance let him know that the hellhound he attracted at a nearby cemetery was gaining on him. Its size led him to believe he’d somehow lucked out and stumbled upon a runt, or perhaps a pup if hellhounds underwent adolescence. Eddie didn’t know and, in the moment, he frankly didn’t care; it could clearly still breathe fire.

Wicked heat kissed the soles of his shoes and Eddie’s next step became more of a leap. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he chanted as he darted across the street. Panic set it, but it wasn’t the sole cause of Eddie’s heart beating at break-kneck speed. A laugh erupted from his chest. He liked the threat of imminent danger. No thrill on earth matched the anxious euphoria of knowing his next breath might be his last. A hellhound would make for an interesting obituary, at least, even if the local paper reduced it to an errant wolf.

Eddie skidded to a halt in front of a building, he didn’t bother to stop and read any signage that might tell him the name of his safe haven. His hand gripped the door and flung it open. Once inside, he pressed his back against the entrance to hopefully stop the hellhound from entering with force. Unfortunately, the dimwitted beast didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t welcome and launched its body against the door with considerable vigor once, twice…

Members of the crowd turned their heads toward the commotion. Apparently, Eddie was interrupting some kind of show. His eyes snapped to the stage, landing on an unexpectedly familiar face. “Nell’s sister? I thought she was in—”

Three times.

Eddie’s thoughts were interrupted when the impact of the hellhound's small, but dense, body threw the door open. The force sent him forward and into the crowd, albeit face-down on the floor. Eddie scrambled to his feet as a few of the crowd members shrieked at the sudden introduction of a wild beast. Chaos ensued as people scattered in search of an emergency exit. Eddie whipped around in time to see flames billowing from the dog’s mouth. A few seats, recently abandoned, caught fire.

In an attempt to rectify his mistake, Eddie bolted in the direction of a fire extinguisher. A moment later, the sprinkler system kicked on, drenching everyone in sight. Eddie marched closer to the hellhound and attacked it with a stream of white froth. “Fuck off!” he commanded as the beast caught a mouthful of foul chemicals. It reared back, whining as its head thrashed from side to side. But Eddie’s bright idea didn’t deter it for long. The hound stumbled forward and prepared for another attack.

Freedom was a nasty concept to Beatrice. As a child, picking flowers and stealing moments with Leah was freedom. Teenaged Bea had found parties she snuck out to were freedom. Before she died, freedom had been her secrets, she had held freedom in clenched hands, hidden from her coven and family. Now, she had died and come back, her secrets revealed and discovered. Her freedom was not her secrets any longer, so what was it?

She had thought the stage was freedom until death and rebirth. It became a cage, a spectacle that could be used to see how different she had become. Deciding to reclaim it, to allow everyone to see who she was now, that tasted like an early summer morning. It had the stillness before a busy day, it had a moment of peace in it. It tasted like the beginnings of freedom, a taste she had begun to remember and enjoy in New York.

It did not taste like smoke, a flavor that had snuck into her mouth as she performed. Smoke had no place in her show now, not now that she couldn’t control the flames. Her element was no longer fire and smoke was no longer a flavor she could feel safe tasting. She was off the stage and stalking forward to the Hellhound as people rushed out of the theater.

She recognized the man in front of the hellhound vaguely, though she had no idea how. He was trying to smother the beast with a fire extinguisher and Bea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course this is how her first performance since Adam would be.

Her shadows leapt out, tightening around the beast mouth, clamping it shut as others worked around it’s paws. “What the hell were you thinking bringing this into my business?” She’d have to call Nell to help her with this.

Eddie watched in startled wonderment as shadows turned themselves into shackles around the hellhound’s paws. A muzzle of the same making wrapped around its jaws while it struggled against its newfound restraints. Smoke seeped out of the muzzle, but the fire was contained for the time being. Magic, he figured. Not cheap illusions, but actual magic.

He jumped at the sound of Beatrice’s voice demanding his attention. Eddie already felt guilty before she spoke, now the feeling consumed him. He turned to face her with an apologetic expression. As far as he could tell, they were the only two people remaining inside the venue. No one would be around to see him be reprimanded, at least.

“It chased me,” Eddie explained with a helpless shrug. “What was I supposed to do, die in the street?” For someone who wanted to say he was sorry, the words didn’t come to him. He hated that about himself, the way he instinctively took a defensive stance when he felt cornered.

The crashing realization that Nell might still be too ill to handle this hit Bea hard and fast. It was like a softball to the stomach as she remembered how grief could hurt a person’s magic, Nell could struggle to control this Hellhound and who was Bea to ask her sister to try to after everything happened? She would have to attempt to deal with herself and if it was too much, then she would call Nell.

The face of an apology with defense on their lips was something Bea was intimately familiar with. She had been that way, she occasionally was still that way, and while the familiarity softened her, a scowl had already found its way onto her face. “That is not at all what I said or implied.” Her arm swung out behind her, “This is the place you decided to run in. Did you see how many people were in here? What would the plan have been if I wasn’t here? Let the people here burn and hope for the best?” She didn’t know this man, but that didn’t stop her scolding tone. “How did you even get chased by a Hellhound?”

With each question Bea asked him, Eddie’s guilt worsened. He never meant to hurt anyone, but he seemed to be paving the road to hell with his good intentions as of late. Regardless of what he did, it usually turned out to be a wrong move. For the moment, he elected to put his pity party on the back-burner. Bea didn’t know him and she likely wouldn’t harbor much sympathy for a grown man who nearly cost dozens of innocent people their lives. For that, he couldn’t blame her.

“I was, uh, at the cemetery down the road apiece,” he answered her most recent question, pointing his thumb in the direction he came from. “It was just kinda hanging out and didn’t like that I was too.” Eddie failed to mention that he tried to film it, and that he whistled for its attention in an attempt to get a clear shot of its face. The camera he used wound up as a substitute chew toy after it slipped out of his hand mid-sprint.

“I tried to hold the doors shut,” he ventured. “If you weren’t here, I—” Eddie’s gaze fell to the fire extinguisher in his hand. What a joke. “Yeah, I probably would’ve been the reason someone died tonight.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at Bea again. “Thanks for not letting that happen.”

A noise of frustration left Bea’s nose as she turned back to the Hellhound in front of her. Nell had a soft spot for them, it would be wrong if she just called Kaden here to kill it. It was a monster that could kill people, but her littlest sister liked them. It would hurt her to know Bea killed it without an attempt at some humane solution. She wasn’t particularly sure how to be humane to a monster, but she would figure it out.

“Are you new to this whole thing?” Bea asked tiredly. He had to be around Adam’s age, but he had none of the experience that had let Adam survive as long as he did from what she could see. Not that had done much in the end, had it? He was still gone. “Sometimes when you see something like this the best thing to do is give it space or call someone who is trained to take care of things like this.” The hunters she trusted in this town were struggling to survive or gone.

Bea leaned against the back of the seats nearest her, her exhaustion hitting her all at once. “There won’t always be someone like me there. What will you do then?” How will you survive?

Bea seemed to be at the end of her rope, and a sneaking suspicion told Eddie he wasn’t the sole cause of her weariness. He thought about Nell and the contagiousness of grief. All at once, he became less concerned with self-pity. Compared to the Vurals, he had it easy. Eddie wished he could share that with them instead of dragging Bea down with his inability to make good decisions. He kept saying he would start being better for the people around him, when did he plan on actually doing it?

“No, I’m not new to this,” he answered truthfully. Whatever he said to Bea had a chance to get back to Nell. Eddie couldn’t afford to lie to her even if the lie was easier to hear than the truth. “Tonight just sucked.”

He considered her next question carefully. “I used to know.” Again, Eddie chose honesty. Until recently, he didn’t care what happened to him in situations like what happened tonight. Live or die, it didn’t matter. Part of him, and it was a big part, still felt that way, but now people cared about him. That made things murkier. “I guess I’d die if that happened.” Despite his inner turmoil, he sounded shockingly nonchalant. “I’m trying not to be okay with that.”

For a moment, Bea almost laughed. Waves of optimism had carried her afloat that last few days, but now she felt the current shifting beneath her feet. There were only so many times she would claim that things would get better. She was exhausting herself carrying everyone else’s hope on her back, but she had tried it the other way before. She had seen what it made her and she refused to go back to that.

“You should know that you shouldn’t be doing stuff in this town alone, then.” Adam should have known, they should have forced him to take someone. Bea shook her head, trying to lose the ‘what if’ questions that did nothing but worsen her guilt.

Bea’s eyes snapped toward him, her exhaustion shoved away by the fire that entered her. She pushed herself away from the chairs, taking a step toward him. “Death doesn’t just affect you,” She whispered fervently. “When you die, you change something in everyone around you. They will never get back to who they were.”

Bea had a point, Eddie realized that. White Crest sunk its teeth into anyone who dared underestimate how brutal it could be. Anyone except him, it seemed. For all his recklessness, he couldn’t get the town to live up to its reputation. Death didn’t want him back. “Yeah,” he quietly replied as his gaze fell to the floor.

Nex thing he knew, Bea seemed more vibrant than before. As she moved closer, he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. Eddie glanced at the hellhound’s shadow-made shackles before locking eyes with her. Bea’s warning shook him. The part about his death affecting more than just him sounded a lot like similar words of caution given to him by both Nell and Morgan. But the rest, no one had ever phrased it like that before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Eddie said firmly. “But I don’t wanna hurt either.” He knew how selfish he sounded. For years, he relied on that selfishness when no one else bothered to prioritize him. “And no one can seem to tell me how to manage both.”

“Everyone thinks I’m perfectly content not caring whether I live or die, and I guess I can’t blame them. I even put on a good enough act to fool myself sometimes, but it’s bullshit.” His throat tightened as the truth poured out of him. “I hate feeling this way. All it does is make me miserable and piss everyone else off, which is kind of exhausting.” Eddie let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m bleeding out and everyone around me is yelling about how I’m staining the carpet.” He choked back the tears trying to form in his eyes.

“No one can tell you, because you can’t.” Bea’s voice shook as she said it. There was no reason for her to lay things out for this man, yet here she was, because someone had to. “We hurt people, they hurt us, and we hurt ourselves.” She had been hurt by countless people, she had hurt countless people, and she had hurt herself. “It doesn’t make us bad people if we can learn from it.” She swallowed, “It makes us better if we learn how to forgive ourselves for the things we do.”

Bea closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. That feeling he was talking about was something she understood well. “Sometimes people don’t know how to fix your bleeding, so they find something else to focus on. Blaming you isn’t fair, but it’s how they cope.” How many people have felt like this around here? How many people did she not see or help? “I think you might want to go to therapy, if you aren’t already,” She said with a shrug. “It can help. I go sometimes.” She went a lot in New York. She still went at least once a week, when the flashbacks were bad, she went twice.

Nothing Bea said relieved Eddie of the ache in his chest, but he appreciated that she said it anyway. He was beginning to learn that, try as he might, he would never find a mystical cure for the pain of living. But, if he listened, he might learn how to cope with it. He forgave others easily, but turning that kindness inwards proved more difficult. “Does that… get easier with practice?” he asked.

For the past ten years, Eddie had been going to therapy. When Bea offered it as a suggestion, he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it makes things a little easier.” But he couldn’t be completely honest with any of the professionals he’d seen, not about seeing ghosts or anything else related to the supernatural. It felt like wearing a muzzle. When they asked about his YouTube channel, he told them it was purely for entertainment. They were always impressed by the special effects.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing himself to shift gears. “Didn’t mean to, like, trauma dump or whatever” He never did, but it was becoming harder to keep it to himself. “Is there… anything I can do to help out around here? With the mess, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does.” Bea wished there was a way to prepare people for the life that White Crest was leading them down, but there wasn’t. All you could do was tell people the truth and pick them back up when they fell. “It’s like any skill though, we all mess up eventually and you’re going to kick yourself for it. Sometimes things are going to happen and you won’t even be able to remember how to do it, but it’ll come back. It always does.”

There was a part of Bea who knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to take someone else on, but here she was pulling someone else’s hope onto her back. Someone had to keep it safe and until they were able to, she would nurture it and treat it as though it was her own. Maybe this was her fatal flaw, the thing that would put her in the ground permanently, but until it proved as dangerous as it felt, she would flirt with it.

“Yep,” Bea grinned at him, nodding at the storage closet. “Go grab a broom. I’m going to call my sister to figure out what to do with this beastie and then I’m going to call my crew to help.” She went to walk away before pausing and looking over her shoulder, “Some days there will be too much to keep in, find people who can handle you at your worst and learn to help them too. Those people will always be with you, as long as you love them as much as they love you.”

#c: bea #wickedswriting #down boy!#suicide tw #sibling death tw #// FIONA IS A TREASURE AND I LOVE BEA WITH MY WHOLE HEART

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set-wingedwarrior · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Bumbleby; Yang running on a treadmill while connected to a heart monitor as part of a stress test, the stress proving too much for Yang's heart, resulting in a massive heart attack/cardiac arrest and Blake must revive her. Feel free to tweak this to your liking.

I'll be honest bud, when I got your prompt it kinda drove crazy. How was I supposed to give Yang, strong healthy woman, a heart attack because of a run??? So, long story short, I deserve a medal for this xD It's a little forced maybe, but I made it work. Hope you'll like it!

AO3

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

“No!”

“Blake, please-”

“No Yang, I won’t let you do this!”

Yang sighed.

The situation in Mantle was tragic, but Dr. Polendina wasn’t the only scientist who enjoyed to work down there. After Ironwood’s martial law, and Salem’s imminent arrival (That giant Grimm whale was as scary as it was slow), he got in touch with some other great minds, friends of his.

There was only so much they could do, and the priority at the moment, considering how Atlas was abandoning them, was to somehow restore the heat generators.

The only way they found was somehow connecting their auras to a device that supposedly would generate heat and get everything back functioning again, but they soon found out that it wasn’t enough; it needed a powerful semblance to link to that.

That’s where Yang comes into play.

Someone so powerful and with a fire-based semblance? It was perfect, a miracle! But the procedure had its risks, and they were mindful to warn and give her a choice.

Predictably enough, Yang accepted the risks and responsibility in a heartbeat. The same couldn’t be said for Blake though.

“You heard them, they need a powerful aura and semblance to have a chance for it to work.”

“Then why don’t we send Nora?” Blake wasn’t proud of herself for being willing to sacrifice another friend above another, but it was Yang they were talking about “Who better than someone with a electricity-based semblance to reactivate a system!?!” she couldn’t lose her.

“Because they need heat, not electricity.” Yang calmly explained. She understood Blake’s feelings, she would’ve acted the same in her place, so she didn’t hold her offering of Nora against her “Plus, Nora conducts electricity, she doesn’t produce it like I do with my fire.”

“I still don’t want you to do this.”

I don’t want to lose you.

“Blake.” Yang carefully approached her, gently taking her hands in hers “I don’t know what else to say. But it might save hundreds of lives: I have to do this.”

The Faunus knew from the beginning that she wouldn’t have been able to change her mind, not when Yang already made her decision, when it was about everyone’s wellbeing, hers included. She just hoped she would.

“I’ll be fine.” Yang added, hoping to soothe at least some of her fears, even if she was in no position to make any promises.

Blake carelessly dropped Yang’s hands, worrying the blonde for a moment, before settling hers around her waist in a crushing hug “You better be.”

Yang hugged her back, holding her around her shoulders and close to her chest. Blake was able to listen to Yang’s heartbeat from there, and she focused on the calming regularity of her beats as if it was the last time she would hear them, yet praying with her whole being that it wasn’t.

They stayed like that until later, when the scientists came to retrieve Yang, informing her that the device was ready. Blake stubbornly followed them, refusing to leave her side; she had a promise to keep after all.

“…this is going to work, right?” Blake asked Pietro, but her real question was clear; will she be safe?

“We took all the available precautions; this is as safe as it can be.” Pietro answered honestly. He learned quickly how much the group valued honesty.

Blake nodded, worryingly looking over Yang. The blonde was on a treadmill, a lot of suction cups with cables connected to a monitor stuck on her chest.

The plan was to slowly trigger her semblance, keeping it under control and using fatigue (aka running) instead of a brutal beating. Yang wasn’t really sure if it would’ve worked like that, but she never tried either. She could even gain a new way to use her semblance out of this, which was good.

“Are you ready?” Piero asked. Yang answered with a thumbs up and an encouraging grin made specifically for Blake.

The scientists turned the device on, and Yang started running, taking it slow to release her semblance power. The monitor lit up with all the data about her aura, semblance, power, and heartbeat. The latter somehow reassured Blake.

After more or less ten minutes they could see it was working. Their machine was taking up on all the energy, storing it until it would be enough to try and reactivate the heat system for the whole city.

Yang was panting and sweating, not much for such a short time run, but under the effort to control her semblance to such a gradual buildup. She now had shiny hair and red eyes, but instead of her usual explosion of fire and power it was like a little flame that she was trying to keep at moderate measure, not too much to burst into a fire and not too less to burn out.

It seemed to go and work pretty well, but the moment Blake started relaxing something went wrong.

The monitor started beeping, Yang’s heartbeat went crazy irregular while the girl gripped on her chest in pain, yet still stubbornly keeping running.

“What is going on?” Blake demanded out of the scientists, but didn’t even let them open their mouth “Yang, stop!”

The blonde did stop, but not because of Blake’s order; her heart abruptly stopped functioning and the girl fell ungraciously to the ground.

“YANG!” Blake screamed, and immediately ran beside her partner.

Uncaring of everything and everyone else, she detached all the devices from Yang and gently laid her back to the ground, checking her wrist and neck both for her pulse. There was none.

Slightly panicked, Blake tried again leaning her hear to her chest, just to get the same answer.

“Yang!” Blake cried again, with tears in her eyes, but refused to let panic and fears control her. No, if she wanted to help her, she needed to stay calm.

Blake took a deep breath, then got immediately to work, straddling Yang’s hips and leaning her hands to her chest. Summoning all the first-aid knowledge she got both from Beacon and the White Fang, she started the first thirty compressions series.

Blake paused, pinched Yang’s nose tight and leaned down to join their lips and blew. She then leaned down to find pulse: there was none.

She tried again and again there was nothing.

“Yang, please!” Blake was fully crying now, but that didn’t stop her from continuing the CPR. “You can’t leave me!” She wouldn’t stop until Yang opened her eyes.

Minutes went by and Blake was getting more and more desperate. She was about to lose hope, when Yang abruptly opened her eyes with a choked gasp.

“Yang!” Blake sighed as the greatest relief she ever felt washed over her. She never thought to say that, but not even their past encounters with Adam scared her like that.

Blake took place beside her, gently pulling the blonde up to help her breath, and only when she was certain Yang was out of risks did she pull her close to her chest.

“…Blake?”

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again! You heard me?” Blake cried in her hair, holding her closer. Yang nodded subtly and hugged her back.

Blake never was a controlling person, knowing from personal experience how bad it felt, and always let others free in their choices. But, as sure as the moon was scattered, as long as she was breathing, she would never let Yang put her life at risk like that ever again.

#rwby #bumbleby #bumbleby fic #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #request #heart attack #my fic

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starlightinhumanform · 4 years

Text

The Light and the Obstacle that Casts It

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Anxceit

Summary: Deceit and Virgil are forced to reconcile for the first time since Virgil left to join the light sides. They realize that they missed each other more than they thought.

Warnings: Description of Panic Attack, Description of drowning used as an analogy, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Mild angst with a happy ending

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write something for this fandom for months and I’m super happy I finally got to it! I have a lot of other fics planned, so please tell me if you want to join the taglist. Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info Normally Virgil would have welcomed the clicking rhythm of the clock. At least it filled the silence. Now, however, it seemed daunting- a constant reminder of just how painfully slowly time was passing in the mindspace.

By some cruel twist of fate, he and Deceit found themselves alone together for the first time since Virgil had left the dark sides. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, both refusing to look at the other.

The emptiness of the room was oppressive. The silence settled across them like a thunderstorm rumbling along the horizon, the gentle threat of imminent ruin. It made breathing difficult and thinking clear even more of a challenge.

Virgil prayed for something to fill the space between. He would have been overjoyed to see Patton, or ask Logan what he was working on, or yell at Roman to stop singing. Hell, he could even deal with Remus popping up and screaming something about deodorant. Something, anything.

He felt desperate, mind grasping at a way out of the situation.

“You know... I don’t bite.”

Deceit’s purring voice broke through Virgil’s thoughts and startled him both physically and mentally, “Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t bite. Unlike you it seems; you haven’t ceased biting your nails for the past five minutes.”

Virgil jerked his hand away away from his mouth where he had been, admittedly, chewing on his thumbnail, “What do want?”

Deceit made a tsk-ing sound from the back of his throat, somehow still as suave as the rest of his voice, “I just went to talk. Is that a crime?”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly. He turned so he could fully face Deceit, “You never ‘just’ want something.”

“There you go again, spitting your words out at me,” Deceit shook his head with an obviously dramatic flair. But there was something real in the way his eyes danced across Virgil, always moving but never losing their focus. It was as if he were looking for something in Virgil.

The intensity made Virgil squirm, confused and uncomfortable. It was obvious Deceit had some hidden motives. Virgil could tell even by the honeyed way Deceit’s voice dripped through the room that he was trying to get something. But what was it going to be this time? And why now? And why him? Of all the sides to pick on, why did the powers above have to chose him?

“Just skip the show, Deceit. Tell me what’s going on; I know you’re up to something,” If Deceit’s voice flowed like honey, Virgil knew his ran like venom. And he honestly didn’t care.

Deceit shrugged and glanced down at his gloved finger tips with an air of nonchalance, “Am I up to something? I had no idea. Please, do explain to me to me what it is that I’m doing.”

Virgil felt ready to scream. He had no control of the situation; he wasn’t even sure what the situation was. There was only one thing he was sure of: Deceit hated him with the passion only someone as defensive and melodramatic as Deceit could. Unfortunately, Virgil could understand why with perfect clarity. He had abandoned Deceit, moved on without a second glance. He knew it was for the best and he didn’t regret shifting over to the light sides, but why had he been such a shitty person about it? He hadn’t even said goodbye- there one day, gone the next. It was such a cold thing to do... there was no wonder in his mind why Deceit would take every chance he got to give Virgil a taste of his own medicine.

And Deceit was clever, crafty. If you hurt him, he would get revenge in the most painful way possible; he would strike where it most mattered. Virgil knew the trigger had been pulled, now he was just waiting for the bullet to hit.

Virgil ran his hands through his hair, worrying his already messy bangs into an official birds’ nest, “Oh come on. You know you always have ‘reasons.’ The one thing you don’t have a reason for is being nice to me.”

Deceit raised his eyebrow on the unscaled side of his face, “Do you really believe I have only malicious motivation?”

Virgil sneered, “Yeah, I do. Especially since you’re using alteration.”

He scoffed, “You’ve certainly gotten touchy living with these softies.”

“You know what- I actually haven’t! Did it never occur to you that I’ve always been this sensitive?” Virgil squinted incredulously, “I was literally called Anxiety for years. I’ve just learned that it’s ok to talk about it, set my boundaries; something I was never told when I was with you.”

Deceit seemed to crumble. His face softened and the forced casualness in his body evaporated. As the tension of his facade left, his shoulders hunched and he leaned forward with his hands on his knees. The movement only brought Deceit a few inches closer, but Virgil barely resisted the urge to jump back. His flight or fight reflexes had been ringing an alarm since he had been left alone, but now the animalistic instincts were blaring in his head.

Deceit’s face distorted into a sad smile, “Do you really want to know what’s going on?”

Virgil hesitated. He knew what “truth” meant to Deceit. On the rare occasion that Deceit stooped to honesty, he did so with brutal efficiency. But this is what Virgil had wanted right- to have everything out in the open? To deal with whatever Deceit was throwing at him and just be done with this whole nightmare. But now that the option was presented to him, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept it.

He finally made up his mind, nodding his head silently as he glared down at his fidgeting hands in his lap. The sooner this was over, the better.

Silence had once again fallen over the room and the ticking clock regained its rule over the room. Tick tock, tick tock. The seconds seemed to be passing by even slower now. Virgil felt like he was stuck between two breaths- and his lungs were too frozen to take another. What was Deceit waiting for? Why couldn’t he just put Virgil out of his misery already?

Virgil glanced up from where he had been clenching his fists when the couch cushion next to him sunk beneath Deceit’s weight. His eyes jumped to Deceit’s face, searching for answers. But Deceit’s expression gave away nothing. He was a blank slate, vague sadness that mixed with regret and settled into the type of smile that shouldn’t even be called a smile because it’s the furthest from happy he could have possibly gotten.

“Deceit, what the hell are you-“

Virgil’s voice cut off with a sharp inhale as Deceit brought his hands up to cup his face. Deceit must have taken his gloves off before walking over because the palms that pressed gently against Virgil’s cheeks were bare. One was cooler than the other, the snake side of Deceit soothing against the blush that was burning under his hand.

Deceit ran his thumb against Virgil’s cheek bone. His eyes crinkled like he was wincing, like the hand that rested against Virgil’s face was actually pressed against a burning pan. He gave another humorless laugh, close enough this time that Virgil could feel the heat of Deceit’s breath hitting his neck.

“Virgil, I don’t hate you. I never did. I-“ He paused for a moment, taking enough time to shake his head and role his eyes, “I missed you.”

Virgil could feel the stress building up, a dark sludge that began at the pit of his stomach and rose into his lungs. His lungs crumpled under the vice grip of some invisible force. His heart began pounding, desperate to burst from the fist clenched around it. He felt trapped in Deceit’s hands. He didn’t know how to respond, he didn’t know how to feel. Because there were so many feelings welling up inside of him all at once. This wasn’t what he had expected. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t what he had wanted. Is this what he had wanted? He couldn’t remember two seconds ago but he could remember so well the years past.

It was too much pressure; an entire world’s worth of ideas in his head and the weight was crashing down on him. His breath escaped him, reverting to short, rapid gasps through his nose that barely reached his lungs. Tears were spilling down his cheeks before he even felt them reach his eyes. They were messy and ugly and spilled over onto to Deceit’s fingers and down Virgil’s chin.

Deceit brought his hands away as the tears found their way down to his wrists. He replaced his hands across Virgil’s back, pulling him closer. To Virgil’s surprise, he didn’t resist, instead swinging his legs under himself so he could better melt into Deceit’s chest.

Virgil was pretty sure it surprised Deceit as well, listening to the other man’s breath hitch as he buried his face into the dark cape directly above Deceit’s heart.

Deceit got over his original shock in a matter of seconds, relaxing and wrapping himself tighter around Virgil’s shuddering form. One of the hands on his back began rubbing in small, repetitive circles. The pressure was grounding and oh so familiar.

Deceit seemed to recognize the same familiarity, “Just like old times, huh?”

Virgil couldn’t think of a response except to cling tighter to the body around him. Because this felt exactly like old times, except everything had changed now, and maybe it still was changing, and Virgil never knew when things were going to be safe again, because everything was always changing, but he had Deceit with him now and he wasn’t going to let go because maybe he could keep Deceit here for just a little while longer. The world was an ocean of changing tides and Virgil had no power against it. The water was crashing over his head and he couldn’t even see the light filtering through the surface.

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s stay here for right now,” Deceit’s voice broke through the murk. It was low and indescribably soft, grounding. It felt real despite Virgil’s overfilled mind, the deep vibrations in Deceit’s chest creating a rumbling lifeline for Virgil to cling onto, “You are here and you are safe. I can promise that nothing will hurt you while I’m here.”

Virgil took a shuddering breath, raising his head to stare up into Deceit’s face. His eyes shone down, one rich hazel and the other a sparkling emerald. Both were soft with affection and layered with care. It was enough to make Virgil want to burry his face back into Deceit’s chest as he choked on the words attempting to rise up his throat, “But what about when you’re not here? What happens then?”

One of Deceit’s arms left Virgil’s back, the other squeezing him even closer. The missing hand brushed through Virgil’s damp bangs hanging in front of his eyes. As his fingers reached the ended of Virgil’s hair, they drifted slowly down to his face. The pads of his fingers sat softly against his skin as they fell from his brow to his jaw, but that softness was fueled with something intense, something that made Deceit’s hand shake, “Oh, Verge, I will never let you get away from me again.”

“You promise that too?”

“Yeah-“ Deceit’s voice cracked, “Yeah, that too.”

“Then prove it.”

Deceit froze, the affection in his eyes momentarily replaced by startled confusion, “What do you mean?”

Virgil felt weak and light headed and his heart was still hammering in his chest but he managed a lopsided grin, “Prove you’ll never let me get away.”

“Virgil? I will but I don’t know how. I-“ He sounded almost desperate.

Virgil cut him off, plunging upwards to press his mouth over Deceit’s still moving lips. He scrunched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the material of Deceit’s cape, anything to bring them closer together.

At first there was no response; Deceit simply ceased to show signs of life for a moment- no movement, no breath, Virgil was pretty sure he even felt the other side’s heart stop. But then he melted forward, bringing both hands to intertwine in the back of Virgil’s hair. His lips responded too, moving to return the pressure, but softer than Virgil’s. He was gentle, mouth moving occasionally, but only when it seemed necessary to deepen the kiss.

Virgil felt his own features relax, eyebrows unraveling and forehead losing its tension as he settled into the gentle rhythm Deceit was setting. He felt warm and safe and- and he was running out of breath.

He pulled away with a quiet hum and gave the tip of Deceit’s nose a small tap.

Deceit blinked open his eyes, both somehow dazed and sparkling at the same time.

Virgil gave a small laugh and let his hands fall from Deceit’s chest to wrap around his waist and clasp behind his back, “I missed you too.”

#romantic anxceit #anxceit #anxceit fanfic #anxceit fluff #deceit sanders #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fluff #anxceit angst #ts virgil #virgil sanders #virgil and deceit #The Light and the Obstacle that Casts It #starlight writes

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shxwmaster · 4 years

Text

— when shaw ran away —

( cw: details of trauma over a murder, specifically a slit throat )

I’ve talked often about Shaw and his upbringing into the SI:7. In the canon I’m writing, here on this blog, I’m taking about 98% of everything written in the RPG lore and applying it, meaning that bit where Pathonia trained Mathias early on after his mother was killed when he was 4 is something I’m ALWAYS thinking about.

But specifically, the impact it had on a teenaged Shaw, and the path it drove him towards.

His training began small, seemingly innocent. Obstacle courses, races, minor parkour, dexterity checks and knife tricks taught under the guise of games and such, but one thing she hammered into him is that one day, he would need to avenge his mother’s death. She spoke grandly of his mother, spoke often about how she loved him and how her life was cut short, and as he grew older, would expose the details of her mission and her death. They knew exactly who did it, but his status and resources made it difficult to catch him (and by the time the First War rolls around, nearly impossible) but she told him that everything, everything she trained him for was to avenge his mother.

His first kill was the target his mother failed to assassinate.

He was fueled by this need for vengeance, for closure, to fulfill this ‘destiny’ thrust upon him and constantly reaffirmed. He was 15, the First War was raging, but they’d finally, finally managed to find the target (target still pending story and name). Pathonia, the SI:7 and Assassin’s Guild are all there for support, but the fight itself against the target is one on one; Pathonia thought it more impactful and important that he do it alone.

Mathias had the report of Charlene’s death memorized. Her throat slit, ditched in a corner — Mathias intended to give this man the very same death. However, when it finally came to, and he fought this man with the intention to kill, something he’d never done before, and Mathias watched as he inflicted these crippling wounds, he found himself disgusted and horrified. It caused him to hesitate multiple times, the entire room they were in destroyed from how many times they threw each other against furnishing and otherwise. But Mathias needed to finish this, he trained his whole life for this. He gets the upperhand, and with the dagger his mother once wielded, he breaks skin at that delicate throat.

And he couldn’t handle it.

Mathias, in that moment, did not care who this man was, did not care who he’d hurt or killed or what he’d done, did not care that he had spent his whole life training to murder him — all he cared about in that moment was that a man was choking on his own blood that he spilled, that the man was panicking and dying, and Mathias needed to stop it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Mathias ran. He was horrified, traumatized by it, hands slicked with blood and he couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t handle it — One thing is saying you’re going to kill a man, another is doing it. He desperately wished he had chosen any other path.

When he was extracted and returned home and he explained everything that happened to Pathonia, told her how disgusted he was and horrified of himself, she seemed to understand for a moment. But she made a comment that haunted him:

“ It’s a good thing we started you young then. You’ll have plenty of time to get used to that feeling. ”

See, Mathias was under the impression that all he needed to do was avenge his mother, and he would return to a normal life. This, apparently, was hardly the case. This was the beginning of a life-long, bloody career, and she did not intend to release her talons on him. She explained that he would have time to recover and deal with what he’d done, but he would do it again. And again. And again. And one day, he’d become numb to it, as they all had, and he had the perfect amount of time to do it so he would be ready to take on the mantle when he was older.

She told him she was proud. That his mother would be proud of him.

That comment broke him.

For the first time, Mathias snapped at her. He argued and fought about it, yelled about how he didn’t want to do this, how this was wrong, how this was horrible — he was still shaking, still felt like his hands were bloody, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the painted red throat and heard that choking sound of imminent death ——

“ How could any mother be proud her son murdered? How could you say that about her?! ”

He trembled furiously, fists at his side as he dared raise his voice at Pathonia. She hardly emoted, hardly gave him anything more than her attention, and it made him ache.

“ This is wicked! This is evil what we do! I didn’t ask to do this, I didn’t need revenge! You made me crave it! ” He takes one heavy breath for a heavy statement: “ If that’s what she would be proud of, then I don’t want this legacy. If she loved me, she wouldn’t have put her life on the line! I was a child, she should... I should still have my mother! You’ve proven to me she loved Stormwind more than her own son! ”

That was enough to crack the shell of Pathonia’s cold gaze. Her eyes widen, breath sharp, and before he can see it happening, her hand is across his cheek hard, enough that sight on his left eye flashed white and he stumbled back. Enough that he could taste blood. Out of fear, he keeps his head down from where he was left, limbs suddenly cold as she towers over him.

“ Don’t you dare spit on Charlene’s memory like that! ” She snaps. Pathonia never yells, he can not recall any time he’d heard her yell out of anger, but her voice is raised enough that it makes him reel and coil. “ Your mother loved you more than you know, you will not disrespect her! You do not remember her as I do, you did not see her as I did, you do not get to speak about what she felt, about who she was! ”

The point was made clear to him from here on out. This was his life. He was to serve a life sentence. The horror and resentment had built up, and he had nowhere to put this. He came to resent his mother, that memory of her, questioned if she loved him enough. That if she did, she wouldn’t have been on any missions, she wouldn’t have died, and he would have a normal life, normal family. Her death trapped him, for Pathonia felt the need to train him to be better, to take on what was supposed to be hers. With her death, she’d trapped him, and in his mind, his angry mind, he hated her for it.

So, when the SI:7 and Pathonia were distracted with the war efforts, he took everything he learned and ran away.

He wasn’t sure where he was going to go, but he knew that no matter where he ended up, the SI:7 would find him. They excelled at finding targets, at tracking, at stalking, at espionage — he didn’t know where he was going to go, how he would hide, but he knew that no matter the path, he would be on the run for the rest of his life. He was fine with it though - anything to get him out of this life.

This happens Year 3 — the height of the First War, so his options were limited. Pathonia and her people were in a panic, because now, not only was the Alliance losing, but Pathonia’s grandson is gone and nowhere to be found, and she finds herself having to choose between putting her resources to the war effort, or to finding Mathias.

She chose Mathias.

Mathias was struggling. He had to flee both the SI:7 and the orcs he kept running into, and he could not find any safe place for him to stay or seek refuge. Redridge fell to the Horde, and Westfall soon followed, and he simply didn’t have the resources to travel to the northern human kingdoms. He’d managed to evade trouble for a month by himself, but eventually, he felt guilty about what he’d done. For the first time in his life, he was alone.

He’d never even said goodbye to his best friend.

In a moment of weakness, he decides to go back to Westfall and look for the VanCleef farmstead. At the very least, he owed Edwin an explanation of where he’d gone, that he intended to leave forever, but he needed to give him closure. To just disappear like that, he felt awful.

But by the time he gets to Westfall, it’s overrun by the Horde. He finds the VanCleef farmstead demolished and burned, orcish patrols in the area, and Edwin’s lucky locket in the rubble. Mathias feared the worst, and knowing no other outlet, he attempted to attack the two orcs there, demanding answers in broken orcish about what they’d done to VanCleef. This goes about as well as you expect it to.

Luckily for him, before the orcs can do any severe damage to him, SI:7 agents emerge from the shadows and rescue him, quickly collecting him back into Stormwind. They’d finally managed to track him down, especially since he’d gotten sloppy in returning to Westfall.

There’s hardly any time for Pathonia to properly scold him on the ordeal. Days after he’s collected, King Llane Wrynn is assassinated, and Stormwind falls, leaving the people wholly, utterly devastated. The SI:6 had done everything in their power to stave the attack, but were ultimately annihilated. Elling Trias is the only survivor of the now defunct SI:6.

Mathias and Pathonia don’t talk at all. There’s an uncomfortable, heavy silence between the two of them until the second week at sea on route to Lordaeron where they finally talk about it.

“ ... Why did you save me? ”

Pathonia doesn’t look away from the sea, simply resting her arms against the railing and watching the waves roll by. “ Why do you think I wouldn’t? ”

Carefully, Mathias approaches, inching his way closer to his grandmother. “ Because of the war. Stormwind needed you. Far more than I needed you. ”

“ Those orcs would have killed you. ”

“ But Wrynn would have lived... ” He finds himself beside her, mirroring her stance with his arms on the railings. “ You chose me over Stormwind. ”

She turns now to look at him, eyes distant and expression guarded. He can’t remember the last time he saw her this cold. “ You’re my grandson, Mathias. Flesh and blood — you don’t need to agree with me, but you do need to know I care for you. Of course I chose you. I would, every time — if our king needed to die a thousand times in order to keep you alive, I’d be the one with that dagger to get it done. ”

He purses his lips, dropping his gaze. He could still feel her eyes on him, but he doesn’t move away, simply fiddling his fingers together. “ I never wanted any of this to happen. ”

“ I know you didn’t. But let this be one of those... funny little painful lessons life thrusts our way, ” Pathonia says. “ You turned your back on your kingdom, Mathias, and now, it has fallen. This isn’t a coincidence. ”

He feels the weight in his chest sink further at that. He doesn’t speak, simply accepting it. Had he not run away, they could have focused on winning the war. Llane wouldn’t have died...

“ We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Stormwind, ” Pathonia continues. “ They had no reason to save my sorry soul from a hanging, but they did. They let me live, they let me create this empire, our spies, our assassins — Mathias, I need you to understand that we would be nothing without our kingdom. I would have died, and neither you nor Charlene would have been born. You are alive because of your kingdom. Your very own flesh and blood crafted because of Stormwind. I beg you to not be ungrateful for what you have. ”

She lowers her head slightly to get his attention, for him to look at her. “ I understand your apprehension. Your fear, your terror. But this is what we do, this is how we serve and protect Stormwind. We do what the weak-willed and soft will not, we get our hands dirty to get the results we need. Others are shackled by their own fears �� and morality — but we are efficient. It’s the least we can do in exchange for the greatest gift of all: Freedom. ”

She lifts her head high, lungs filled with the air of a proud breath. She was the deadliest and most powerful aboard this ship, and she carried it with grace. She bore her responsibility, her mantle like a crown, she carried herself like a queen because she was one. “ The only reason why you’re able to bleed is because of Stormwind. The only reason you can breathe is because of Stormwind. Don’t forget our origins. ”

It’s a heavy weight, and he can’t define the emotion it elicits, but he opts to mirror her, standing up straighter and nodding. Guilt, he thinks this is. He abandoned his kingdom, and it fell. He grew selfish, he let his own personal fear get in the way, and it killed a king. He felt responsible, no matter how many times anyone insisted Stormwind would have fallen anyways, he felt the blood on his hands.

Pathonia turns back to face the sea, quiet and unflinching as the ocean mist sprays at them. Mathias aims to take his leave, but just before he does, she calls out again.

“ And Mathias? ”

He pauses. “ Yes grandmother? ”

“ I mean what I said. I would choose you over Stormwind any day. ” She doesn’t move, but her gaze flicks down, the coldness enough to chill the ocean. “ But please... don’t make me choose again. ”

When they finally arrive to Lordaeron, Mathias had made up his mind about how he’d continue his life. In the end, Pathonia was right, and he was selfish to run away. All he could do now was look to the future, and be a good agent.

After all, it is because of Stormwind that he even had the opportunity to be born.

There is no running away. There will never be any running away.

#si report: meta #si report: headcanon #profile: intel #profile: bio #si report: the shaws #file: pathonia #file: charlene #( also i didn't get a good space to clarify but mathias ends up reuniting with edwin in lordaeron after thinking he was dead so theyre good #( anyways this whole damn thing? 2.4k words. WHEW. i'm real proud of it )#( i have random sentences bolded to try to make things easier to read cause it is a Word DUmp )#( and links to old headcanon posts in a couple stuff )

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sadistic-second · 4 years

Text

ShinRa Company Policy

//So I wrote a little something. Nothing fancy. Just trying to explore ideas that I come up with. This was inspired by an audio I heard on tiktok. I managed to find the whole song and well. @turkoftheslums indulged and helped me a little bit with this. So please, enjoy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The plate drop had been on his mind for several weeks now. Most of his injuries had healed up. There were a few bruises that felt like they refused to heal. Something that worked as a constant reminder of what he had done. And sure, okay. He hadn’t even really been the one to push the button. All he had done was set it up. His hesitation at the computer had forced Rude to hit the final button. His best friend, his partner in crime, one of three men he would sacrifice himself for. He had tried to apologize, make it up to the man the best ways he knew how. No matter what Rude said or did, Reno felt like it wasn’t enough.

How did one ease a burden like this upon their own soul?

It was early morning when he walked into Tseng’s office. Sure he’d knocked, but that hadn’t stopped him from waiting for an answer. Papers of resignation had been thrown onto the man’s desk. The only words Reno had said was, “I quit.” He knew the consequences of these actions. Under the old regime, that meant a bullet to the back of the head. While that had been what he’d figured Tseng would do the moment he turned his back. When it didn’t come, he found that he was allowed to walk out of his office. Unsure with what to do actually do now, he decided his best course of action was to clean out his workspace and go home.

The space that he called his own was messy at best. Picking the trashcan up from the floor, he started throwing discarded candy wrappers into it. He didn’t really want to take down his wall of pink slips, but that would have to go, wouldn't it? He’d keep them, maybe shove them into a drawer in his apartment for safekeeping. Everything that could be thrown away was. Everything else was put into a box for him to carry out. There wasn’t much worth keeping in his office.

Lifting the box from his desk, he turned to walk out. Waiting for him outside was his Director. Or well, his former Director. All the man did was look at him and gesture in the direction in which he wanted him to walk. Now, a thought occurred to Reno: Tseng wasn’t his boss anymore so there was no reason to just blindly follow his orders. So when the redhead took a step in the other direction, he heard the distinct sound of a cocking gun. Alright. Swiveling on his foot, he began to walk in the direction that had been previously indicated.

Now, what the ex-Turk thought was going to happen included being taken into a room with all the other Turks and an example being made of him. Or perhaps they wouldn't even give him that. Tseng might just end him right there in the hallway. Each footstep scared him more than the last. His breath quickens, his heart rate rose rapidly. An anxiety attack seemed imminent. However, they stopped in front of the elevator. Was he just going to be escorted to the lobby? Perhaps he would be allowed to leave after all.

The elevator went up. That alone was a good sign. Or so he would have liked to believe. They traveled past the lobby. Nervous eyes watched the people below get significantly smaller as they ascended. A glance towards the display let him know exactly where they were going.

"Hey man, there's no need to get the President involved." A pause to see if the man would respond. Silence. A pair of canines lodged themselves into a tender section of cheek hard enough to draw blood. "Seriously, just let me leave, man. This doesn't have to escalate any further." Still nothing. The air was growing heavy between them. It was only a matter of time before the redhead had a panic attack.

Finally, the doors opened. Immediately upon instinct, Reno tried to make a run for it. When Tseng didn't make a move to stop him, he figured that he could getaway. But that's where he was wrong. Rude had been waiting for him outside the doors. Almost as if everyone knew the idiot would try and run. Now escorted by his former partner and director, the ex-Turk had no choice but to walk down that path towards the unknown.

Rude had been told to stand guard and prevent the redhead from leaving should he choose to run once more. The redhead knew exactly what was awaiting him on the other side of that door. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t moved. The two Turks beside him were discussing something that fell on deaf ears. His mind had chosen to wander in a different direction; if Tseng wasn’t going to be the one to put him down, was that job being entrusted to Rufus? Imagine having his brains blown out all over the floor with a shotgun.

Oh, but then again, didn’t he have an aversion to blood? So perhaps there would be another way that his life would end. Or maybe, and this was the one that he was banking on, they would just let him go. Cut any and all ties necessary and then just boot him off somewhere. The middle of nowhere sounded nice. Maybe a little island or something. But could Reno get that lucky? One would like to think this, but given the streak of things that had been happening lately, that wasn’t very likely.

A nudge to the small of his back and he was being brought back to reality. Another nudge and he was being forced through an open door. When in the blazes had that opened? Not that he had much time to really think. Eyes were wildly searching the vast open room before him. There was no sign of the blond at first glance. Either his eyes just didn't register another person from the sheer amount of panic now coursing through his veins or the man simply just wasn’t there.

“Director Tseng tells me that you’ve decided to quit.”

The voice came from the side. When his head whipped around, Rufus ShinRa came into view. Hands seemed to be clamped behind his back, his gaze never seeming to leave the redhead. There was something of a shiver running down his spine now. Said mentioned Turk had slipped from his place behind Reno and was now standing off on the opposite side.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I’ve decided to do.”

“And why might that be?”

“Can’t live with the guilt.”

Everyone in the room knew what the redhead was referring to. Here again, even if Reno hadn’t been the one to push the final button, he had initiated it. That, in his mind, was just as bad. Rude seemed to be handling this a lot better than him. Seemed to be alright with what they had done. Little did Reno know that his best friend was battling some of the same feelings that he was. Just seemed better at handling it than he did. If only they had talked about it instead of this impulsive idiot acting alone.

“It would seem to me that you’ve forgotten something, Reno. Did you not read the company policy? It clearly defines you all as my own property.” There was this sickeningly sweet smile on the blond’s face. That alone was enough to terrify Reno.

“Sir, wha-”

“It waivers your say in autonomy. I hope you know your life will always belong to me.”

That wasn’t really something that Reno could argue against. The man had pardoned them and in a sense, that did more or less mean he owned them. But as far as the man taking possession of their lives? Was that really something that the redhead was going to stand for?

Whatever his own thoughts on the matter might have been, they seemed to vanish the moment he watched the President start to advance towards him. His hands had unclasped, they were now raised to his sides.

“We put the loyalty back into disloyalty. If you’re upset, that’s a vulnerability.” The look on Reno’s face was that of someone who was upset. This whole situation for one didn’t make much sense. The redhead wanted to quit. What was with this display? Was he being toyed with right now? “We’re a family forged in mass tyranny.”

The closer the man came to him, the more he backed away. Tseng hadn’t moved from his spot, silent as ever, merely watching these events unfold before him. The redhead started to stutter, stammer. Fail at attempting any sort of words. This was starting to scare him a little bit.

“Sir, I don’t thi-”

“Tut tut. There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’, Reno, but there is a ‘die’ in ‘diversity’.” A pause to consider the horrified look on the Turk’s face before continuing. “You thought your service was over? Are you really that dumb? Reno, you’re not sober. This exposure is making you bolder. So why don’t you venture back down to your slum.” An arm was waved somewhere behind him as if gesturing to where the plate had just fallen. A somewhat meticulous grin spreading across the blond’s face.

“Just know that we'll always have eyes on you. Is this really worth the trouble you're going through?”

The redheaded Turk just kind of backed himself into a corner. Or rather, tripped himself into a corner. He misstepped in his need to get away from the other. Landing flat on his ass, he was staring up at an almost immaculate sight. The way the man shielded him from the lights created what he would have called an almost genuine halo-like effect. Too bad he couldn't be sure that this man was really an angel. More like a devil in disguise at this point.

Despite whatever words fought to escape from betwixt his lips, they were all swallowed. There was frustration written all over his features. A faint ‘tch’ was the only sound he made. His gaze eventually broke away from the blond’s face and he was looking off to the side, staring at the wall. Fingers had curled up, hands balling into fists.

Every single thing this man had said to him was true. Maybe the redhead really was that dumb. Stupid enough to think that he could actually just walk away as if nothing had happened. If ShinRa didn't kill him, the other Slum Rats would. Their reasons would vary, of course. Turks. The scientists. SOLDIERs. The civilians. Literally, anyone or anything could end his life at any moment. But as long as he worked for the Turks, he would be perfectly safe.

Though saying that he was safe was relative at this point. There he sat on the ground in this corner, cowering. There was no trying to hide it. The redhead was scared. Anyone looking at him would have seen it written all over his face. Where was the warning shot? Half expected a shotgun to press itself under his chin. Feel the warmth of the metal against his flesh. Leave a burn as a reminder of what happened here. When no such thing came, he opened his eyes. When they had closed he wasn’t sure. But he found himself staring back up at the man. That’s what he seemed to be waiting for. A hand had reached into his pocket and that’s when Reno flinched. After several moments of silence and no echoing gunshot, his eyes opened once more and there was a hand in front of his face.

But placing in the palm was something that he had never seen before. It looked metallic. Chain links? They appeared to be stuck together in a way that was impossible to break apart. The hand shook just enough for the chains to jingle. So it wasn’t as rigid as it first appeared. But he could tell that they couldn't easily come undone. The blond toyed with it, manipulated it this way and that. No matter what he did, the three links stayed together.

“Do you know what this is?” Reno shook his head. “It's a . . . Metal puzzle of sorts. One of those ‘impossible puzzles’, I’m told. These three chain links aren’t meant to come apart, but if you somehow manage it? I’ll let you leave your service.”

This puzzle could be solved. They were meant to be incredibly difficult to take apart, however. The truly intellectual would be able to pull them apart. Not to say that Reno wasn’t smart. But he lacked the particular set of logic required to figure it out. This toy would sit in his possession for quite a while. He would either figure it out and get to leave. Or he would eternally be in this man’s employ until he was dead.

Rufus tossed the puzzle into the Turk’s lap and ruffled his hair before turning around and dismissing him. Tseng walked over and nudged the redhead with his foot. Motioned for him to get up, follow him to the door. There was a lot of work to be done and so little time to do it. It was a bit of a struggle, but once he was on his feet, they were leaving the office. Rude was rejoining them and the redhead looked down at the puzzle in his hands.

This, this was never going to get solved, was it?

Well fuck.

#ShinRa Company Policy #Written By Asher #Inspired by The Stupendium THE FINE PRINT | The Outer Worlds Song #Parodied and Edited by turkoftheslums #Man if only this translated the way I wanted it to #Brain words and written words differ a bit #But I mean #I like the overall final product #:genhappy:#What I would do to roleplay this or something similar though #OOF

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vanaera · 5 years

Text

The Constellations of the Big and Small Spoons

[Moodboard created by the amazing @jhspetitegf] Synopsis | You’re sick and your roommate’s gone for her hometown for the next days so your bestfriend, Jeon Jungkook (who loves you cares so, so much), plays nurse for the entire night. What he did not expect is to find himself also burning hot–moreover on your bed with your body intertwined with his. (OR: you and Jungkook’s single brain cells try to make sense of the night except Jungkook has his heart-shaped and yours, well, is just plain weird…or not? ) Characters | Jungkook x reader (Football player!jjk x writer + childhood friend!you; college!au + bestfriends to lovers! tho more like idiots to lovers) Genre | So much FLUFF (welcome to the TPAHR Universe) Wordcount | 3.3k A/N | Sorry for my inactivity guys, uni’s been a little too hard on me lately :(((( Anyway, here’s something I made as a gift for all my hons who patiently waited for another installment of this drabble series. Have fun reading and Happy Jungkook Day!

Read more of football!jk drabbles in The Prince and His Rose

The inky skies of the midnight haze are already sweeping across the room and yet, Jeon Jungkook feels the sun, even in its absence, is cursing him to the depths of hell. Scorching heat laps at his back, making him sweat even when the AC is blasting frigid air to his toes. A beaming glow, hot like the blinding afternoon daylight, seems to seep between his lashes, keeping his eyes excruciatingly wide open in the wake of the night. In this ungodly hour, such beam of light is non-existent, but Jungkook still feels it and he can’t do anything about it.

“You’re still a…awake, Kook?”

Jeon Jungkook can’t do anything about this heat when its very source is lying next to him–too close to him. Your legs are wound around his, your arms looped around the dip of his waist, and your breath fans against his nape, he could practically feel his baby hairs rising in succession.

However, at your question, the only thought taking up every space in his mind is the question: What does he do now? Does he answer you? Should he pretend to be asleep? Or, do he–

“A-am I being too clingy? S-sorry…” Jungkook feels you withdraw your arms and he panics. He immediately turns on his side, not caring about the sheets of your bed uncomfortably tangling around his legs. Jungkook’s hand shoots from his side, wrapping around your wrist that you have retreated back to your chest. He sees the surprise written on your face and he instantly unclasps his hand, keeping them crossed across his chest, just like your current position.

“N-no! You’re not clingy…I just,” Jungkook sighs and decides to let honesty play his cards. “I suddenly felt…weird.”

You look at him, eyes peering into him and he gulps. But before he can explain himself, you have already opened your mouth and asked, “Wh-why? Is it because of me? I-I’m sorry…”

Jungkook bites his lip as his heartbeat start to thunder loud and clear behind his ears, an imminent sign the songs in his chest are about to play anytime soon. He stares at you, drinking in your bleary eyes and furrowed forehead. If he’s gonna be honest now, everything about his current position is indeed all because of you.

***

It started with you overworking yourself again into the first month of the semester and Jungkook only knew about this when your common friend, Park Jimin, texted him you’re absent in the communication class you share with him. And Jungkook knows you care too much about your academic standing, with your scholarship and all, to tick off at least one of your course’s permitted leaves.

“It’s not that bad,” you told him once you woke up and saw his worry-streaked face, his form crouching next to your bedside, but Jungkook begs to differ. First of all, he found you slumped on your desk that afternoon hair uncombed, clothes unwashed, lunch pack you probably bought for the day still untouched, and a mess of papers splayed around your head, with a stray piece even covering your face. And second, he realized you’ve come down with a flu the moment he noticed your labored breaths and felt your skin burning up. So of course, this is bad. Jungkook frowns at the careless shrug you give him and it deepens when you tried to laugh at the situation and told him you’re fine and he should go back to his dorm even when you’re tucked up in your sheets, face pale, and voice hoarse like death.

Of course, he didn’t listen to you. With the years he’s grown with you, he always knew you easily get sick and take too long to get well. He would always hear your mom’s exasperated voice next door when she scolds you for getting drenched under the rain or standing too long under the sun. All of these were for the best of you, ten-year-old Jungkook found out, because when you turned seven, you got hospitalized for five days after coming down with an illness from just playing under the rain with him for an hour. As soon as you got discharged, your mom asked him to keep an eye on you if you ever try to pull off some stupid shit again. With three years ahead of you in age, Jungkook easily accepted such responsibility and for the next ten years, he zealously kept his promise to your mom.

So now with you sick and your roommate gone for her hometown for the next two days, there are no further questions to be asked. Jungkook will stay by your side for the night. Three years of coming-and-going to your dorm is enough for him to memorize that every Wednesday, your RA does not do her rounds. His butt is safe for tonight from momentary bad landings on the ground whenever he has to escape from your window.

Taking care of you is easy. He knows playing along with your whines will get him to make you eat the food he nearly cut a finger for in preparation. Asking you to tell him another run-over of your stories is the key to coax you to ignore your work for the mean time and take a shower. Finally, letting you ramble about the most random things is the ultimate power move to get you into bed and tuck you under the sheets. He still goes for this technique even though he ends up with the most ridiculous ideas plaguing him in his sleep like that time you wondered what if the Cerberus has its body reversed: instead of three heads and one body, it has one head and three bodies.

However, this night was different from the other nights he played nurse because this is the first time the power move did not work on you.

“Come lay next to me.”

“What?!” Jungkook whips his head to you, fingers frozen in the middle of arranging the papers on your desk.

“Come lay next to me,” you repeat, voice still soft but the conviction in it clearer. Jungkook straightens his back and faces you with a deadpan stare. The usual “No, Y/N, I won’t lie next to you. I have some blankets. I’ll sleep on the floor,” is already on the tip of his tongue. But as soon as he took a step towards you, your ultimatecounter-atack is played out in front of him: you with your puppy eyes and your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. Jungkook immediately freezes. Such sight used to affect his soft spot for you that will have him willing to consider your request back when he only saw you as a friend. But now–damn, not only does it affect his soft heart, it also instantly attacks a part of his brain–a part where he lets his feelings cloud his rational thinking and is most of the time occupied by you (in short, his whole brain–just kidding).

So there is no surprise Jungkook will only manage to squeak, “What?” amidst the tornado going on his body and the gigantic flash of red ready to take over his cheeks.

Unaware of his interior war with himself, you only fixed your gaze on him and said, “Come lay next to me. I’m feeling too cuddly and…lonely. Yeah, lonely. I didn’t manage to talk with anyone yesterday and I crave some human connection, which also only made me miss my bestfriend more.”

Jungkook is still rooted in his position, still giving you that troubled expression (brows knitted together, face flushed, lips parted in a weird semi-scowl, semi-smile that sometimes troubles you yourself), so you muttered, “Promise, you can leave my side as soon as I fell asleep.”

Jungkook bites his lip but wordlessly goes to your side of the bed to raise his hand to your direction, pinky jutted out. “You promise?”

You grin at him. “Aren’t we already too old for pinky swears? You’re making me look like I’m destroying your conscience by just asking you to keep me company.”

“Because you do–Goddamn it, Y/N, just promise me or not?!”

“Fine, fine, fine, I promise,” you interlock your pinky with his and seal the deal with a kiss on your thumb. “There, so can you know lay next to me? So I can also end your agony as soon as possible?”

“Damn, woman, you’re so demanding.” Despite such remark, Jungkook concedes and goes to the other side of your bed. After he finally tucks himself next to you with your blanket pulled to his chest like you do, he fixes you with a begrudging frown. “There. Satisfied?”

You laugh, “Yeah, so much!” You pulled his right arm closer to you, spreading his palm open to slot your fingers between the spaces of his own. Giggling at your now-intertwined hands, you turn to his side and look up at him. “Don’t you feel reminiscent of sleeping like this when we used to have sleepovers in your house?”

“Yeah, totally. Can you now sleep?” Jungkook answers with an annoyed huff, facing away from you and you only giggle at him.

“Okay, grumpy StarKook,” you chortle. “Remember not to get too close. You may get sick, too, and you can’t have that for tomorrow’s practice.” Drawling on your words, you pressed yourself further on your side of the bed to create more space between the two of you.

It is only when your soft snores fill the room that Jungkook breaks from his stiff position. He turns to your side, facing your curled-up form. The circles under your eyes have become darker than last week and your collarbones protrude on your skin a little too much for his liking. And he hates himself for not noticing anything earlier. He hates himself for missing out too much on you these days. He hates himself for making it up to you only now. But most of all, he hates himself for his inability to just outright say to you that he no longer sees you as just a friend but a person who’s unknowingly owned his heart.

He hates how he can’t easily return the sweet sentiments you generously pour on him. His lips conditioned to say the opposite of what his heart meant in fear of losing you with the burden he’s impending to give you once you knew everything about the songs in his heart. And even if he tried to make up for his poor choice of words with his actions, he hates how his progress is close to nothing in trying to make you see the way he sees you whenever you feel insecure, un-loved, un-qualified to live in the world. Because, you are so, so much more than the faults you always see in yourself.

So, even if Jungkook feels he’s still far from touching your heart the way you did his when you helped him realize his own passion, he won’t stop trying. Even if sometimes he gets easily knocked off his feet and rational thoughts fly away from his head the moment his eyes just as so much meet yours–Jungkook won’t stop loving you.

Jungkook sees the way you suddenly shift closer to him, forehead scrunched and lips frowning in discomfort. He raises his hand and awkwardly pats your hair. That seems to do the trick as the lines on your forehead smoothen out, your lips curving into a small smile. Jungkook then feels a squeeze on his hand and his heart instantly warms into a soft mush at the way you managed to keep yourself far from him so as not to infect him, but still near enough for you to reach him.

Jungkook’s about to sweep away the strand of hair that has fallen astray on your face when–

“Ko-ook, I…felt so bad today.”

Jungkook immediately tucks away his hand back to his chest. Your eyes are still closed, chest heaving evenly with your breaths so Jungkook’s not sure if you’re just sleep-talking or just letting him off the hook of what he’s about to do. Nevertheless, he replies, “W-why?”

“Be…because I can’t write these days and I…and my studies take up too much of my time and I just–I don’t knoow, feel like I’m not improving at aall.”

“I–,” Jungkok gulps “Well, I can help you with your studies?”

“No offense, Kook, but I don’t trust you with my pa-papers…My program is a reading course and you a-already sleep halfway through a five-paged short stooory.”

Jungkook laughs, “Okay, touché.” Damn, even in your drowsy state you still roast him well.

Despite his small chuckles, you continue on, still serious. “Bu…but what if I can’t find the time to wri–write anymore and end up not getting any of my stories published?”

Almost instantly, Jungkook replies, “You will get published.” Among all of the things he has agreed with, this is the only one he can be a hundred percent sure of.

“How did you know?”

“Because I know you will. And because I’ll make sure I’ll be the first person to buy a copy of your book.” Jungkook squeezes your hand, smiling.

“You…you promise?”

“Now look who told me we’re getting too old for pinky promises.”

“I just sai-said promise, you know. You’re the only grown-up who still likes pinky promises–Whatever, do you promise or not?

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Hmmm,” you yawn turning on your side of the bed, “It’s already laaate so feel free to sleep on my bed, Kook. But if you still want to go to your dorm and rest, you can leave me now. I’m already sleepyyy. Thank you again for the night.”

“Okay, I’m finally free!” Jungkook chuckles but he doesn’t make a move to leave. Not yet. He turns to look at your sleeping figure, eyes drinking in the curves and dips of your body. Jungkook shifts an inch closer to you, his hand poised near to your back. He aches to caress the soft tuff of hair in front of him but Jungkook keeps his hand to himself. This is enough for now. He just wants to prolong his opportunity to be with you like this, to have you close to him without worrying about the possible consequences of his feelings. A soft smile graces Jungkook’s face as he sighs.

***

Your eyes flutter open when you feel a sudden movement against your skin. The first thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve practically latched yourself onto Jungkook – lips pressed on his nape, arms looped around the dip of his waist, and feet slotted against his calves. What worries you though is your bestfriend is barely breathing. With the way his abdomen feels taut beneath your fingers and the soft expanse of his neck trembling under the space where you managed to press your nose against, you’re sure he’ll pass out anytime soon from holding his breath inside for too long.

“You’re still a…awake, Kook?” You called out, withdrawing your arms back to your chest, legs back to your side of the bed. “A-am I being too clingy? S-sorry…”

Jungkook suddenly moves away and then he’s now facing you. “N-no! You’re not clingy…I just,” Jungkook sighs, “I suddenly felt…weird.”

“Wh-why?” You mutter softly, brows furrowed. You then realize he must have been unable to leave just like you promised because you’re hugging him too tight in your sleep. You immediately brought your gaze down, apologetic. “Is it because of me? I-I’m sorry…I probably hugged you in my sleep and didn’t let you leave and go back to your dorm, and I’m sorry–”

Jungkook shakes his head and looks at you, wide awake now. Of course, everything about this night is because of you. He’s feeling all these things because of you–you who stupidly neglect your health for the sake of studying, you who whine at him yet successfully convince him to join you on your bed, and you who look so endearingly beautiful even when you’re sick and can barely keep your eyes open. Of course, it will always be you.

“No, it’s not because of you,” Jungkook breathes out.

But he won’t admit it to you.

“It’s because of me.”

Because he’s also at fault for dragging his chances tonight for too long and you are yet to know the reason why. Especially, not now–not this way.

“I got sleepy, too, so I just decided to sleep, and then I suddenly woke up when I felt you, uh…hugging me like that,” Jungkook clears his throat. “I-it’s just–I felt a bit queasy about you hugging me from behind.”

You blink at him. “You feel weird being the small spoon?”

Jungkook almost chokes on his own spit. “W-what?” Are you talking about spooning in bed? Where are you going with this conversation?!

“I mean,” you huff, “most guys I talk with complain about their partners’ hair smothering their faces when they are the big spoon. And, it’s not like I purposely hugged you just to find out whether you like being the small spoon or not, I just unconsciously hugged you FYI. But then again, why don’t you like being the small spoon? You used to like it when I am the big spoon in our sleepovers.”

“…When the hell did that happen?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and Jungkook laughs. Huffing, you turn your back to him, facing your side of the bed. “Nevermind, deny it all you want when we know your mother still has pictures of you snuggled in my embrace. Anyway, it’s good that I woke up on time. You should have woken me up when you felt me hug you. You need to stay far on the bed or else you’ll get sick too and–”

A thick arm drapes across your waist and a firm chest presses behind your back. You feel Jungkook’s knees slot next behind yours, his warm toes sliding beneath your cold feet. Before you can let out a squeak in surprise, you hear the voice of your bestfriend, rumbling right from his chest.

“I don’t want to be small spoon. I like to be the big spoon. So I can protect you at night.”

Chuckling, you try to ignore the searing warmth that has suddenly taken over your chest. Your ears also feel incredibly hot now, because of the cold, because of Jungkook–you don’t know, but the only thing you’re sure of is you like this warmth. Probably way more than you should. Grinning, you said, “Protect me from what?”

“From nightmares and bad people. Now be quiet and go to sleep, peanut.”

“Okay, okay, but…you have to let go now, Kook. You’ll also get sick–”

“Don’t wanna. I never get sick,” Jungkook murmurs against your hair, “I have the Jeon Effect.”

“Hmm’kay, suit yourself. Don’t let me tell you ‘I told you so.’” A beat passes and then you mumble something against your pillows–something Jungkook would have easily dismissed if not for one word that added to the flame in his heart.

“Goodnight…prince.”

It only takes about two minutes to have you snoring softly again in his arms. Jungkook releases the breath he’s been holding and lets his stiff shoulders drop in resignation. He presses himself closer to you, his arm draped across your waist moves as he finds for your fingers and intertwines it with his.

Pressing a tender kiss on the back of your head, Jungkook mutters, “Goodnight, my princess.”

Epilogue

“Mom,” Jungkook whispers on the phone, “Do you really have pictures of Y/N spooning me from behind?”

“Well, yeah…I didn’t know you knew I have copies of those, I only showed them to Y/N. Why did you ask?”

“N-nothing. Just checking.”

“Oh…kay. By the way, I also have photos of you spooning Y/N from behind. It’s so cute seeing you have turned around and switched your places. Ahh, I miss the toddler version of you. So cute!”

“Kook, are you–achoo!–talking with someone?”

“Oh shucks, mom, I have to go now. Bye bye, love you.” Jungkook ends the call and turns on his side to face you. “It’s just my mom, checking up on me.” But before you can ask him how’s his mom, Jungkook lets out a massive sneeze. He could feel your stare on him as he grabs some tissues from your tissue box–only to end up with insufficient three tissues and an empty box. He grins at you. “Can you hand me more tissues?”

Your lips pull into a straight line as you reach for the tissue box by your desk “Here. See, Jungkook? I told you to leave me yesterday, Now you’re sick, too.

“It’s okay. At least now I get you to focus all your attention on me.”

“W-what?”

“N-nothing.”

A/N pt.2 | So hi hons! Thank you for reading this installment!!! I’ve been down the couple of days because of so MUCH school work and…I feel like I’m not improving at all given with the sudden efflux of feedback to my recent writings :((( Hence, sorry if I kept you guys waiting for too long…Anyway, I hope I’ve progressed a little bit with this installment! Thank you for always supporting me and reading my stories!

P.S. If you also want to leave me some love, I have my arms wide open in my ask box ~( ; ^ ; )~

#btswritingcafe #bangtan bookclub #kwritersworldnet #btsguild #bangtanarmynet #tpahr #the prince and his rose #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #football player!jk + childhood friend!you #HONS!#ANOTHER DRABBLE IS HERE!#Happy birthday for our cutie patootie Jeon Jeonggukie #Happy Jungkok Day

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gohyuck · 5 years

Text

King of Hearts - LJN. 01.

detective!jeno

word count: 3.8k

part of a series?: yes, this is the 1st installment

warnings: kidnapping, mentions of murder, usage of weapons commonly attributed to law enforcement

notes: everyone’s aged up, obviously (setting their birth years back by a solid amount), detective!00/01/02 and captain!mark, captain’s secretary!reader, pay attention to timestamps. draws pretty heavily from brooklyn 99 but is a lot less funny and a lot more angsty

tell me if i should continue this with a part 2!

[Wednesday, September 25, 2019 at 10:22 P.M.]

“An abandoned warehouse,” Jaemin murmurs disdainfully, adjusting his bulletproof vest. He pulls his gun from its holster, checking the safety before relaxing into his hold. “When did criminals get so cliché?”

“That is so not important right now,” Renjun hisses in response, shooting a quick, worried glance at Jeno, who’s standing as still as a statue some yards away, features balanced between being angry, afraid, and determined. “You should go check on him, dude.” He turns back to Jaemin, gesturing towards their friend with a slight tilt of his head. Jaemin rolls his eyes, though not before nodding in agreement. Before he can even think about approaching his best friend, though, Jeno moves to walk up to the side entrance they’re all gathered around.

Everyone waits for him to speak with bated breath. They all notice the King of Hearts stuck to the top of the door, though nobody mentions it.

“I can shoulder through,” Jeno finally whispers after appraising the state of the rotting, wooden door they’re faced with. “Renjun on my right, Hyuck can take left. Jaemin, with me - we’ll go straight to the hostage. Chenle, with Renjun. Jisung, go with Hyuck. All of you - if anything happens, radio back to me and then call Mark. The other squad is already inside on the other end, so we’ll probably end up meeting them somewhere in the middle.”

“What about calling for back-up?” Jisung asks, ignoring the air of finality that comes with Jeno’s words. The elder chews on his lower lip for a moment.

“The less people there are involved in this, the better.” He decides, and Jisung and Chenle share a glance before nodding an affirmation of their understanding. With this, everyone gets in position, their vests properly strapped on, guns in hand, and their sense of duty at ready.

“On 3,” Jeno whispers, looking around at his team once more to steady himself. “One… two…” Jeno solidifies his stance, leaning towards the door. Everyone else inches closer, shoulders tightening and eyes filling with resolve. “Three.” Jeno says after what feels like aeons, and, in what feels eerily as if its in slow motion to everyone else, subsequently breaks the door clean off its hinges with all of the power in his body.

The six of them file in, and Donghyuck and Renjun split off as they’re supposed to, taking their partners with them. Jaemin comes up behind Jeno, shooting his friend a - hopefully - reassuring smile before they start to make their way straight through the maze of boxes that awaits them.

There’s nothing - no creaks, no footsteps, no hushed whispers - as the two of them walk through towards the center. The moonlight filters in through the small windows at the top of the building, illuminating the warehouse well enough to avoid using flashlights. Jeno and Jaemin remain careful, taking in everything and filing small things they notice away in the back of their minds for later. It isn’t until they reach the clearing in what they believe to be the middle of the whole warehouse that anything substantial really happens.

“Might’ve been a bad tip,” Jaemin finally sighs, lowering his gun ever-so-slightly. Jeno says nothing, his face stony. “I’m sorry, man, but (Name) isn’t here -”

“Jeno?”

Both officers whirl around, Jaemin cocking his gun on instinct. When he sees that it’s you, he lowers it, straightening up onto his feet and furrowing his brows as he does.

“(Name)?” Jeno speaks, your name falling, breathy, off of his lips. You look entirely different from how you’d been just days ago - your eyes look empty, and there’s fear replacing your usual teasing manner.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jeno, it’s dangerous -” When you speak again your words are rushed, your weariness and terror evident in your inflection. Your voice rises in pitch and volume before being interrupted by Jeno.

“I’m a cop -”

“Guys -” Jaemin cuts in, though he barely gets out a word before being stopped himself.

“I see you’ve found your precious witness,” A voice interrupts the detective, and Jeno pulls you into his hold on instinct. He ignores how you’re shaking, knowing that if he dwells on it he’ll be too angry to do his job. The three of you turn around - albeit slowly - and find yourselves face-to-face with a figure in all black, mask and all.

They pull a deck of cards from what seems to be out of thin air and sits down, patting the floor next to it. Jeno and Jaemin, pulling themselves out of their dumbfoundedness, both pull out their guns, pointing it at the silhouette.

The figure laughs.

“See this right here?” They ask, drawing forth what seems to be a small remote. “You make any move to shoot, I’ll press the button. It has a ten second count-down, and then the bomb in this building will explode. It’s in one of the boxes in this place - I doubt you’ll find it, no matter how hard you look. Instead, how about you all sit.” They gesture for all of you to sit down again, taking the cards out of their box as they do so. You sit down, and Jeno, his eyes trained on you, follows. Jaemin does so as well, his gaze never leaving the criminal before the three of you.

The masked figure laughs, the kind of laugh that feels like nails dragging across a chalkboard. Jeno pulls you closer, and you find yourself clutching at the fabric of his pants to root yourself. The figure begins shuffling the cards, and the three of you wait anxiously for your kidnapper to speak.

You all know what will be said, but their words strike fear through your hearts anyways.

“How about… we all play a game together?”

[Friday, September 6, 2019 at 5:16 A.M.]

“You know how I said that the night shift sucks?” Mark asks, receiving a chorus of stifled yawns and “Amen”s in response. The grin he sends back reflects nothing of his subordinates’ feelings.

“I was wrong.” His smile stretches even wider as he hops off of the desk at the front of the briefing room, throwing a case file down onto the space he’d previously occupied. “We have a serial killer on our hands.”

“Wait, for real?” Donghyuck perks up immediately, all traces of exhaustion magically gone from his face. Even Jisung looks slightly more awake after their Captain’s declaration, and that’s truly saying something.

“Right? But, wait!” Mark exclaims as if he’s a commentator from an as-seen-on-TV ad, spreading his hands out. “There’s more.”

Nobody says anything at this, though pretty much everyone noticeably leans forward. Mark leans towards them too, building suspense, before turning around and turning the TV on. A smattering of different years shows up on-screen, seven dates from between 1994 and 2019.

Everyone waits. The Captain glances at his team expectantly, excitement glimmering almost maniacally in his sleep-deprived eyes.

“Mark,” You finally break the pregnant pause, figuring that it’s you doing your due diligence as secretary to the Captain. “You have a call incoming at 6 from HQ. It’s best to just get into it.”

“Right,” Mark nods, wincing at your reminder. There’s nothing he loves more than some good suspense, and nothing he hates more than imminent tongue-lashings from his higher-ups. “Anyways, guys, these are the years that this specific killer has struck. It’s a 25 year old case!”

A low whistle follows immediately, courtesy of Jaemin. Chenle raises one eyebrow while Jisung raises the other.

“Totally unsolved?” Jeno questions from the back, and Mark nods.

“Yeah - but there’s still more to come. Just wait until you see their modus operandi.” The Captain clicks through to the next slide, revealing a picture of a blood-stained carpet. A leg of what must be a coffee table is barely noticeable in one corner of the image, and a pale hand clutching a shattered wine glass fills a quarter of the frame. The true focus, however, lies on what’s dead center in the photograph - a white King of Hearts playing card, tinged red with blood at its edges.

Nobody notices the color draining from your face, and not one person sees the way you step back and clutch the table behind you to steady yourself. You let out a small, shaky breath before doing your best to compose yourself. Meanwhile, Mark has moved on with the briefing.

“- all have gunshot wounds to the chest, everything suggests from a point blank range. Different gun every time, but that’s likely just to throw us off. No finger-prints anywhere, no working security cameras for half of the murders. If there were any, they were all redirected somehow throughout the duration of each crime - all we have is this short clip of someone dressed in all black entering from the 2002 house.”

Your breath hitches yet again, and, this time, you fathom your oncoming panic attack. Setting your clipboard and files down onto the tables you’re leaning against, you wait until Mark’s back is turned and everyone else is talking amongst themselves to slip out of the briefing room. If anyone notices, they’ll chalk it off to a bathroom break or something of the sort - you’re sure of this. They might be detectives, but they generally don’t find things they aren’t searching for.

Armed with this knowledge, you make it out of the room smoothly, managing to rush into the nearest bathroom before your panic sets in. As you’d expected, only one person notices your departure.

Jeno sees your hands shaking and registers the way you’re chewing on your bottom lip. It’s something you do when you’re worried, or nervous, or afraid, or all of the above. You’ve done it without knowing about it for years, now. He does his best not to stare at you as you rush out, though he can’t keep his own perturbation hidden nearly as well as he wishes he could.

“Eyes on the board, lover boy,” Jaemin leans in, whispering almost conspiratorially in his partner’s ear. “You can stare at (Name) all you want later. It’s murder time now.”

Jeno furrows his brows at his best friend’s wording, but shoots him a sheepish smile anyways. He shakes off the unease that’s settled on his shoulders, though he makes a note of seeing how you’re doing before you both get off shift.

[Friday, September 6, 2019 at 7:04 A.M.]

“(Name)!” You turn around to see your boyfriend barrelling towards you outside your precinct’s office, and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your features upon seeing him. Before you can respond, he catches up to you, lacing your fingers in his.

“We should get breakfast,” Jeno says, and he sounds so excited about the prospect that you feel even worse than before when you shake your head in disagreement, pulling him closer as you do. Both of you ignore how your smile falls quicker than it ever has before.

“I think I should just get back to my apartment, Jen,” His nickname falls from your lips easily as you sigh a response, mustering as bright a grin as you can when you look up at him. “Today sucked the soul out of me.”

“The night shift sucks ass,” He agrees, not questioning you. Jeno’s always been understanding, even if he isn’t aware of it. He withdraws his hand from your grip, opting instead to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you into his side. “I hope we’ll get back to our regular scheduling soon.”

You snort at this.

“Not fucking likely, babe. Chief Lee walked in on Mark mimicking his dance from this year’s Captains’ Fourth of July party, remember? Lee also heard Doyoung say, and I quote, ‘it’s like that one video of that little green alien dancing to, like, super funky background music except the alien actually had talent’.”

Jeno lets out a loud, snorting laugh - the kind that makes his eyes draw themselves into crescent moons and his nose scrunch up in happiness. If you had to pick one sound to hear for the rest of your life, it would be this - Jeno’s genuine laugh, the one he reserves for you and others who love him. You take note of how he hasn’t asked you about how you’d left the briefing earlier, finding yourself hoping that he hadn’t noticed at all.

He hasn’t questioned you about it, so you assume he hadn’t. One bullet dodged there, at least. You’ve never been good at keeping your hardships away from your boyfriend - he insists on shouldering your burdens on top of his. You don’t let yourself dwell on this, shoving the serial killer case on hand out of your mind from the time being, no matter how difficult you find it. Rather, for the rest of the walk down to the subway, you focus on talking and laughing with Jeno.

Once you both reach your platform - he’d insisted on walking you to it right after buying you a coffee from an on-the-way Starbucks - you give Jeno a quick, chaste kiss before turning towards the train that’s pulling in. Before he leaves to find his own platform, he leans close to peck your cheek. Right before he steps back, and right as the doors to your train open, he moves his lips to dwell by your ear.

“When you’re ready to tell me what’s bothering you, I’m here. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!”

You whirl around to respond, eyes wider than you’d like them to be. Jeno, however, is already halfway up the staircase. He shoots you a bright smile before motioning you backwards as if to tell you to get on your train. Then, as quickly as he’d managed to walk away from you, he’s gone, too far aboveground for you to see him.

The doors close right behind you, and the metal pole you hold on to for stability as the train jolts back to life feels colder than usual.

Maybe Jeno’s observation is a force to be reckoned with.

[Saturday, September 7, 2019 at 8:02 P.M.]

“We could’ve just stayed in, you know.” You tease, your words soft and lilting against Jeno’s muttered swears. The man in question dabs haphazardly at his lap with a napkin, and you cover your mouth with your hands while you chuckle so as not to agitate him even more. He manages to get most of the sauce off of his slacks, though it does leave an oddly shaped stain - as you turn your head, you realize that it almost looks like Australia.

You tell him so.

“You suck,” Your boyfriend throws back at you, brows furrowed. He isn’t angry - the softness in his eyes gives this away. Rather than respond, you raise your wine glass in a toast and Jeno, though with confusion scrawled across his face, raises his in return.

“To slacks with sauce and nights with…” You pause, and Jeno raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. A thought strikes you, and you have to bite down on your lower lip to keep from laughing. “...with Nono.”

Before he can react, you knock your glass lightly against Jeno’s, leaning back in your chair before downing half of the wine you have. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, sets his glass down, dumbfounded, before placing his face in his hands and groaning.

“That’s literally the dumbest nickname - you’ve been hanging out with Jaemin too much, haven’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say too much,” You grin, leaning close to set your own glass down. Wrapping your hands around his wrists, you pull them gently away from his face. You’re pleased to see a soft blush spreading across his otherwise sharp features - not everyone can fluster a bigshot detective, after all. You almost feel as if you have a super power.

“Yeah?” Jeno asks, his voice less inquisitive than it is teasing, playful. He leans in, too, and as his blush dies down yours only grows. “What do you two talk about?”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards at this - Jeno, unknowingly, has thrown the ball back in your court. All you have to do now is hit an ace.

“Nothing too interesting, you know,” You say, voice equally light. One of your fingers finds the rim of your glass, idly tracing it as you speak. “Just about the fifth grade adventures of Nana and Nono.”

Jeno groans again, pushing his chair back enough to rest his forehead against the table. Across from him, you burst into quiet laughter before taking another sip of wine. Ragging on Jeno is your favorite pastime, and you’re sure he knows it.

“I’ll kick Jaemin’s -” A siren blasting from outside interrupts Jeno, and, before he can continue, two more - now, three more - join it. Before either of you can react, your boyfriend gets a text. He reads it quickly, his jaw tightening as he skims the message.

“Jeno?” You find it in yourself to ask, receiving a heavy sigh in return. He sets his phone down and stands up to pull out his wallet, taking his Visa credit card from it before reaching his hand out to give it to you. You take it, letting it dangle between two fingers.

“Dinner’s on me, darling,” He musters a small smile before leaning in to press his lips to your forehead. “Give it back to me tomorrow, or something.”

Jeno’s gone before you can badger him further, the only proof of him having been there at all resting between your index and middle fingers and on one of his pant legs. You find that you aren’t in the mood to finish eating your meal, opting instead to wave over the closest server you can so you can get the bill, all while ignoring the pitying glances from everyone at surrounding tables.

Once the check comes out, you slide Jeno’s card into your wallet, pulling out your own to pay with.

The wincing sympathy in the air around you amplifies. You continue to ignore it.

[Monday, September 9, 2019 at 11:03 P.M.]

A short but resounding thud in front of you draws your attention away from poring over Mark’s schedule. You look up to see Jeno, armed with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand and a sheepish smile. He’d put your order down on your desk, resulting in the sound you’d just heard, but hadn’t taken his hand off of it.

You don’t take it from him - instead, you pull your wallet out of your purse, rifling through it quickly before finding Jeno’s credit card and putting your hand out towards him. Jeno doesn’t take it. Rather, he lets go of your cup, pulling out his own wallet with his now-free hand and giving it to you so you can do the honors.

“Didn’t seem to get charged for dinner,” He mentions casually as he shoves his wallet back into the back pocket of his work slacks. You nod, confirming his unasked question before turning back to your computer. For some reason, your eyes can’t focus as they had been before. You minimize Mark’s schedule, leaving you staring at your background - a picture of Jeno you’d snuck during your first date together. He’s staring out the window of a cafe in it, white sweater sleeves pulled up around his hands that are, in turn, cradling a cup of coffee. The smallest, but most genuine, of smiles graces his lips, and his cheekbones are highlighted by the light filtering in beside him. He looks angelic and too good to be true in it.

Maybe he is.

“You can’t seriously be mad at me,” He tries again, and you look up at him again. Warmth lingers in his demeanor, but an annoyance is starting to overpower it. You find yourself ticked off, too, and roll your eyes rather than deigning to talk to him.

“(Name).”

“Do you need an appointment with the Captain?”

“I was just doing my job, darling -”

“I’m not mad at you for stranding me, Jen,” You finally speak, your eyes finally meeting his. He blinks as he registers the hurt in yours, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he does. “I just -” You begin, before sighing and shaking your head. You aren’t sure how to word your feelings.

“Sweetheart?”

“You left without telling me why, and then you didn’t text me back until almost 24 hours later. I was on edge, wondering if anything had happened to you, and you didn’t even think to check in with me! And when you did, it wasn’t about why you’d left or what had happened, it was to ask me about if I’d seen some random movie trailer!” You take a deep breath, doing your best not to raise your voice in your workplace. Swallowing to calm your dry throat, you start again, whispering this time. “I was worried sick, and you didn’t even think about my feelings long enough to register that.”

“You could’ve texted first -”

“I did! You never responded.”

“I never got a text from you,” Confusion spreads across Jeno’s features as he pulls his phone out to show you. You take it nimbly from his hand, scrolling quickly through his conversation with you to confirm that he hadn’t, in fact, gotten any texts from you until he had texted you.

“I didn’t tell you why I’d left because it was classified at the time, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging for too long,” Jeno explains further, but you only barely listen to him, focusing instead on finding your conversation in your own phone. Your boyfriend, recognizing this, speaks no further as he takes his phone back and slips it into one of his pockets. He watches you, intrigue barely concealed within his features.

Suddenly, your face pales, and you let your phone drop face-up onto the counter in front of you. Jeno’s eyes widen as he reaches across to grab one of your trembling hands, his worry greater than his confusion.

“(Name)?”

“It - he -” You manage to speak out before giving a shaky sigh and pausing to swallow the bile that has risen in your throat. “I- I need to tell you something.” You finally gasp out, pointing towards your phone. Jeno glances at it before letting out a noise of shock, his fingers tightening around your own.

Panic burns in his veins as his mind works overtime to work out the meaning of what he’s witnessing . Rather than seeing your texts as he’d hoped, Jeno finds a black screen staring back up at him. There is just one thing adorning it.

Dead center is a King of Hearts playing card, the words ‘found you.’ in blood red letters underneath it. It is mocking you, telling you that you are out of time.

It is telling you that you have lost.

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jane-the-zombie · 4 years

Text

Freefalling || Otto & Jane

TIMING: Before mimes. PARTIES: @gravityfissure and @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: Jane fell off a cliff. RIP.

When she was off duty and not worried about being stabbed by a mime, Jane was a different person. White Crest, surprisingly, was more dangerous than she had anticipated. Between pieces of shit teenagers jumping in front of her car in the dark, mime stabbings, and the thick wild life… she wasn’t as bored as she was afraid she was going to be when transferred out of the city and to such a small town. Just a normal town, as they said. The rockwall had been found on a previous hike. Raising up about 40-50 feet, she was sure that getting to the top would give her the most glorious view of the ocean. Of course, the view wasn’t what had her attached to the wall, scaling it without any proper safety equipment. Falling didn’t matter. She started the climb probably fifteen minutes ago, leaving her backpack down at the bottom. She grunted quietly, pulling herself further up. Jane glanced down, checking her progress. If she fell from this height, she would die. Jane laughed, pulling herself up further, that fact just made her want to go faster, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, and - Her foot slipped off it’s foothold and she was off balance. “Fuck!” Jane swore loudly, trying to correct herself. That just made it worse. Scraping her hands against the rocks, she was suddenly falling backwards and down towards a very unforgiving ground.

He’d settled faster than he’d anticipated into the small town of White Crest, it had been pure luck and desperation really that he’d fallen into the position he had. He could live off the money he had in the bank from all the jobs he’d pulled for the Tarot but that money had its limitations and he’d rather not splash those funds just yet. So the convenience of a job that somewhat suited his alchemical talents of mixing potions (albeit mixing drinks) with a magical flare helped keep him from worrying too much. It didn’t seem as though anyone had caught on to him here, and that suited him just fine, though it didn’t stop him from wondering just how long it would be before he could go home. To see his family again and pound the streets with those familiar faces. But a quiet voice in the back of his head answered his lingering thoughts, sewing doubts into the subconscious quiet of his mind. Not until you understand. Not until you control. But control was one of those issues. No matter how hard he tried to recreate the complex emotional situation he had yet to feel that surge of power, the tangling of invisible threads that had allowed him to quite literally reverse the forces acting on a bullet meant to take his life. It was this attempt at learning control that explained why he sat staring balefully with an extended hand at a pile of rocks under the shade of the trees. “Fuck!” he grunted at another failed attempt to move them shoving to his feet and stalking to the edge of the small private clearing he utilised for his practise.

It was looking out to the ocean that he suddenly saw something strange. A woman falling, picking up speed towards the ground from a height that would maim if not kill if she hit. The wash of panic and adrenaline that overtook him was instantaneous, his body and mind syncing simultaneously. A violet shimmer washed over his eyes as his hands were thrown up palms facing the sky before curling his fingers into tight fists as though grasping and pulling the air towards him. And suddenly, the woman no longer plummeted, instead, drifting slowly down to the ground as the kinetic energy of her fall was dissipated in a shockwave nearby sending a few stones skittering down the cliff. Otto barely felt the blood trickling from his nose as he skidded down the slope towards the woman, “shit lady, are you okay?”

It was funny. She heard from victims that survived dangerous falls that time seemed to slow down before they crashed to the ground, but not like this. Jane was disoriented when it hit her. She had been falling - plummeting to her ‘death’, really - and then she was… floating? Jane didn’t register that she was safely on the ground, small stones and rocks scattering off the adjacent cliff, until she heard a voice and feet skidding across the rocks. Brow furrowed, she pushed herself up to sitting position and immediately began to check herself over for injuries, confused. She wasn’t… injured, minus the scraping on her palms. That would hurt later, but it certainly wasn’t going to kill her. Jane realized that her heart was beating fast and she felt great - she never had a rush quite like that before. The feeling of plummeting down to the ground as it got closer and closer and closer until… well. She clearly didn’t die. She wasn’t craving brains, and she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have woken up right away either. She looked up at the man that approached and frowned at him.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Jane pointed at his nose, still slightly dazed and high from whatever the hell just happened, She wondered if she did it again, the same thing would happen. She pushed herself off the ground, her balance wobbly for a moment. Knees weak, probably with fear. Great. She may not fear death, but she wasn’t about to test her luck. Today at least. She went to grab her backpack off the ground. “I’m fine, I guess,” Jane said, looking up at the cliffside she had been trying to climb. “Did you see what happened? What was that?” She was fishing around for something in her pack now - where was it? The first-aid kit. She needed to put bandages on her hands, and rando here’s nose was gushing blood. “Are you alright?” Jane asked, finally pulling it out. “Did something hit you? Bad allergies? Come here.”

Otto knew the rules as well as the next person, but something about this had been instinctual. The shock of seeing someone plummeting to their imminent demise and instinct to act. The need to save them. It stirred lingering feelings of guilt as the memories that plagued him of the day he’d discovered these very abilities rose to the surface. But that was tempered for the time being by the mild horror of someone almost dying. Not to mention lingering underneath those cacophony of emotions was the surprise and returning frustration that he’d managed to summon these powers once more in a situation beyond his control. Was that the key? Shit. He really didn’t want powers that only thought themselves useful when shit was hitting the fan.

“What?” he questioned as he skidded to a stop on a few loose rocks not yet realising the twin streams of crimson trailing down from his nostrils. “You guess? You just fell like forty fucking feet,” he glanced at the cliff in question and then back to her as she shakily got to her feet. “I--” he gaped for a moment, the panic and shock leaving him feeling more than a little light-headed himself. “No idea, no fucking idea I guess… You just got lucky,” what else was there to say? I can do magic and saved your goddamn life and you owe me one for almost giving me a heart attack? He closed his mouth, wiping his nose with a slightly shaking hand and seeing it come away stained crimson he blinked. “Oh, shit” he muttered moving to pinch the bridge of his nose with a wince and leaning forwards slightly to stem the blood. “I’m… fine, this uh… happens when… I’m stressed. And that… was stressful.” He noticed the first aid kit she pulled out, “got any… gauze or something in there by any chance?”

“Well,” Jane considered, looking up at the cliff side, trying to gauge where she had been before she had lost her footing. “It was more like thirty. Maybe thirty-five? I still had a bit to go before I pulled myself up to the top. Ah, well, semantics.” Jane waved it off uncaringly as she brushed a piece of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. She glanced at him, examining him sharply. Gotten lucky? Lucky? “Lucky is one way of putting it,” she said, doubtfully. Something more was at work, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. It definitely hadn’t been her that slowed herself down. Hours spent grilling her ex-fiancee on what exactly he did to her hadn’t included magic pre-zombie you’re a wizard, harry crap, and from what Jason said, after she became a zombie, none of that shit would impact her anyway. Still, she guessed she was supposed to be thankful she was saved by something, since nobody else knew that dying didn’t really mean what it meant to everyone else. “Good thing, though.” She added, lazily.

Jane held the first aid kit out to him, not wanting to touch the gauze she had with her own bloodied hands. It was funny, he seemed to be more stressed out by her fall than she was. “Here, you need to sit down,” Jane pointed to a nearby rock. “Come on, lean forward and keep pinching your nose like that. Are you sure you’re alright?” He seemed shaken, and she almost felt a little bad. Well, she hadn’t known she was going to fall off a cliff today. “What’s your name?” She asked, casually. “I’m Jane. And what are you doing out here? Hiking? It is a nice day.”

“You don’t seem very fazed by… that, like at all” he waved at the cliff more than a little perturbed by this stranger's apparent lack for care regarding their own well-being. Falling from a height like that should have scared anyone out of their might witless, but this woman seemed more than okay and Otto couldn’t help but side-eye her a little in caution. Either she was some kind of immortal or something else.

As the first aid kit was offered, Otto took a couple of pieces of gauze with his clean hand and brought it under his nose to try and stem the bleeding with a muttered thanks. He nodded mutely, maneuvering himself to sit down on the indicated spot the horizon of his vision swaying a little with the intensity of the magic he’d summoned in such a short period of time. It was exhilarating but equal measures exhausting. “Otto… Name’s Otto,” he answered after a short pause, why had he left his bag up there with his trusty bottle of booze in it? He needed a drink to steady his nerves. “Hiking wha-” the confusion lasted but a moment before he caught on, “oh, uh, yeah… hiking. You know… since the sun’s back.” though in his current jeans and t-shirt he was hardly dressed for a long ‘hike’ through the trails in the region. His eyes flickered back to the cliff once more, “what were you doing? Seems kind of like a death wish to... go up there.”

Jane carefully followed him, waiting for him to take gauze out of the kit before grabbing some herself to treat her hands. Some disinfectant and a couple bandaids and she’d be good as new. She couldn’t believe some man that came across her was bleeding more than her and she had just fallen off a cliff side. “Ah, well… Maybe I’m in shock,” she said, doubtfully. Her legs were still wobbly, doing that damn leg shaky thing people did when they were anxious or hopped of on something. Her adrenaline high was quickly wearing off, probably because she was stuck worrying about a bloody nose - actually, she was kind of worried about the bloody nose because he sort of like… She didn’t know. Not alright. “It’s fine, no one died.” She shrugged.

“Otto…” The name sparked a memory, something that someone said online, but she couldn’t quite remember at that moment. He had faltered with her hiking excuse she fed him, she she raised an eyebrow curiously. And he wasn’t dressed for it either. She raised an eyebrow, and glanced up at the cliff side. “Rock climbing.” Then again, she wasn’t dressed for hardcore rock climbing either. Most people didn’t do that shit in athletic leggings and her old Colby College zip up hoodie. “Freehand. It is dangerous. You shouldn’t try it.” Jane advised. It was okay for her to do this shit, she was the one that would live forever. She rubbed the side of her neck, over the scar. “As you can see why. People fall.” She added.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so distracted by someone nearly splattering themselves across the rocks he would’ve reacted differently and maybe been able to place the name. But as it stood, Otto had other things on his mind and he felt some slight pressure in his temples that made thinking straight harder than it usually was. “That’s not shock,” he cast his gaze back to her, bright but stern blue eyes fixed for a lingering second. He’d seen shock plenty of times before, that definitely wasn’t it. “You could’ve...”

Otto could usually get on the ball rather quickly when he was working at full capacity, but the rush of unexpected and uncontrolled magic had tapped him. Eventually pulling the bloodied gauze away he sniffed, grimacing at the ache in his nose but another touch indicated it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Small mercies. So he looked back to this woman as he announced herself a rock climber, and then in a sense that left him staring at her as if she’d grown another head. “No shit it’s dangerous,” the sarcasm was dry on his voice. Otto narrowed his eyes a fraction standing up a little as he continued to eye her dubiously, the sunlight streaming overhead told him well enough she wasn’t a vampire. So something else or she was simply willing to risk her life for a thrill. When she rubbed her neck his eyes tracked the movement and narrowed further in suspicion, while the mark was a bit obstructed by the hoodie it wasn’t difficult to miss something so distinct. You didn’t grow up in a city filled with eight-million souls and not run into lots of different supernaturals and Otto had run into a fair collection by now. “You get bit?”

“No,” Jane agreed. It wasn’t shock, and by the stern look in his eye, they both knew it. She wasnt’ about to string it along or start pretending like she was in shock now. “I think I’m just grateful I’m okay.” He couldn’t call that a lie, even if it wasn’t necessarily true. “Because you’re right. I could have died. But I didn’t. Thankfully.” She wondered what the process of becoming a zombie was like. If she would just black out and wake up later, hungry for brains. Jason had a normal enough life - normal enough to fool her for years. She supposed it would be the same thing.

Otto didn’t seem to be too pleased with her. Or maybe it was the situation. She tired explaining why she did what she did to her brother and her father - the skydiving, the bungee-jumping, all the dangerous things she signed up for or did without proper safety equipment, and they hadn’t understood. Her little sister called it a midlife crisis and left it be. She watched as he stood, and half stood herself, not sure he was ready to get up yet. “Hey now,” Jane said, cautiously. Wait, what was he doing. “What? Stop looking at me like…. That.” Jane would have called it cop eyes, but he didn’t necessarily have the demeanor of a fellow cop - though she supposed she couldn’t judge a book by a cover, as the old saying went. She frowned slightly, tracking his eyes to her neck, and she let out a sigh. She had been self concious about the stupid scar at first. IT was ugly and noticeable, but once she figured out that she wasn’t about to spend all that cash on makeup and that she could just hide it with a few fancy side braids at work she didn’t care. What was one scar vs. living forever, anyway. “Yeah,” she said finally, settling back on the rock and reaching for her large metal water bottle. She held it out to him. “Got into a fight at my job and he got me,” she said. “Here. For your hand. And face. To get the blood off.”

“Hmph,” his gaze lingered for a moment as she gave her reasoning and he wondered for a moment whether this was the truth. But he couldn’t sense any reason to say that what she said wasn’t true in some regard, she had lived, she was still here and how could anyone not be somewhat thankful for that? “Was gonna say, would be pretty strange to not be thankful for that.” But then in a town like this who could really say what normal was?

Seeing her move to stand he waved his hand a little, slightly dismissive of her coming to his aid. He appreciated it but something about all of this didn’t add up. Though the pieces began to formulate in his mind as he took the situation and incremental bits he was discovering and put them together. “Like what?” an innocuous question by all regards, but the piercing curiosity couldn’t always be tempered or helped. But there was no helping his assessment, and his eyes lingered for a moment or two. Would it be better not to ask? But then again if you never asked the question you never got the answer. As she offered the water canister he took it and washed off his hand and used a clean bit of the gauze to deal with the blood on his face, “thanks,” he said, handing it back but his eyes returned once more to the mark and then the sun that streamed down overhead. His head tilted as she confirmed what he thought the mark to be and there was a stretch of silence. “So what? You’re a werewolf or a zombie?” it had to be one or the other. The other options simply didn’t fit.

It certainly wasn’t that she wasn’t thankful for being alright, it’s just that regardless of how things had plated out, she would have been just fine. She had a few near death experiences before - and hell, she had been shot at on multiple occasions at her job. Jane was indifferent. “Quite strange,” she agreed, going back to tending to her hands. There was the bottle of disinfectant. She grabbed it, putting a little on the gauze as she began dabbing at the scrape. Ouch.

Jane glanced back up at him. “Like that,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes at him. He knew like what. Like that. What he’d just been doing. “Like you’re going to try to interrogate me,” Jane said after a moment. She had continued to dab at her hand, and had just been reaching for the small box of bandaids in the kit when he asked the money question. She looked up at him, startled by the question. There was that damn thing about werewolves again. “Are you fucking with me?” Jane asked, automatically. She certainly wasn’t in denial about what was going to happen to her - she did that song and dance long ago, 5 stages of whatever. But Jason had pleaded with her not to tell anyone. There were people that murdered people like him because they thought he shouldn’t exist. Jane thought that made sense, even if she didn’t agree with it - no one should be murdering anyone. At all. - but zombies got a bad name, considering all the media about them. Other than her ex-fiance being a lying son-of-a-bitch, he was an upstanding citizen. He even paid his taxes. She looked to Otto, before grabbing the box of bandaids to continue what she was doing, thinking carefully. “I don’t know if I should answer that,” Jane finally said, but she held up a bloody hand. Zombies didn’t bleed. “But I’m certainly human.” For now, at least.

Another look was briefly shot over his shoulder to where he’d been working, hopefully no one nicked his stuff in the interim. But he looked back to Jane after a moment while she dabbed at her hand. His eyes remained narrowed, but they eased a fraction as she seemed to grow a little defensive. Understandable, but ultimately they could dance around this in circles all day. It really didn’t mean anything to Otto whether he learned the truth or not, but ultimately having tabs on one more supernatural - if she even was one didn’t hurt. “Depends, that was a pretty hefty fall you survived. Certainly not natural by any means...” he countered evenly as he stood there his posture relaxed as he studied her reaction which in itself was telling. No sort of denial to the fact. Interesting.

“Sure, right now… But a bite like that doesn’t come with some kinda consequence…” he tilted his head to indicate her neck once more. “You ain’t a vamp, you’d be toast by now if you were so it’s one or the other…” A slight sigh through his nose sounded at the evasive response. “Look you can answer it, I’m not gonna go full Van Helsing or Leon S. Kennedy on you if you are… Plenty of people in town are… different and it’s useful to know who you can trust when those people who don’t have quite so many qualms about the issue do decide to not be so liberal and get their weapons out.”

She glanced over to where he kept looking, and finally stood back up once the bandaids were on her hands. They seemed to be tiptoeing around each other, dancing around this hidden truth that none of them were willing to admit. “I would have died,” Jane said, dryly. “I was falling head first, so take that for what it is.” Jane brushed that stray piece of hair out of her face again, folding her arms over her chest, staring at him. Consequence. She knew what her consequence was, and she was fine with it. What human didn’t want to be immortal.

Her eyes narrowed, however, when he continued. Vamps - vampires. Great. So those were things too, apparently. Or the guy was a nutjob. Either one. “You’ll forgive me for being reserved,” she said, a little stiff. She glanced back up the small slope where he had approached from in the first place, gathering her first aid kit back up,and stuffed it back in her pack now that nobody was bleeding profusely anymore. “I’m aware of the town, though I haven’t met too many other who are… Also aware of things.” She eyed him suspiciously, the ‘cop eyes’ now turned on him. “What are you really doing out here? And why do you know about…” Jane gestured vaguely to the side of her neck. “Most people leave it alone when I say I’ve gotten bit. You came from up there, right?” Jane pointed up the slope, ready to go climb up and take a look at it herself. She paused though, to glance at him. “Not… Not a werewolf.” She would give him that to make his own conclusion. It was basically as good as telling him anyhow.

Otto knew the benefit of keeping his opinions about certain things to himself. And on some topics he had a rather lengthy set of opinions and thoughts. But around strangers he tended to err on the side of caution before he started to talk too openly. Though not being straight could often lead to length and time-wasting conversations that could be better spent discussing more relevant matters. So, he braced himself and took the leap of faith he felt was required.

“Well, one of us has to say it or else where are we going to get? I don’t have all day to dance around things...” As she packed up he figured that this would be it and she would go her own way… “Most tend to prefer their privacy… There’s a decent community of supernaturals but Hunters have never been particularly forgiving.” Her own suspicious look caused Otto to stiffen a little himself. “Minding my own until someone needed saving and interrupted me...” he gestured towards the cliff as if to bolster his point. And the moment she started in the direction he’d come from he opened his mouth to protest, before he hurried up after her. “Most people like to stand on precedence and respect people’s privacy… I like to keep myself informed” and alive by proxy of knowing. “Right… Not a werewolf” which was his way of acknowledging he understood what wasn’t being said. A glance to her hands further informed him of her current state, not turned either… Good. So his brains weren’t on the plate.

“I’ve heard of Hunters,” Jane said, a frown on her face. This was the second time she was discussing hunters with someone, even if she truly didn’t understand what they were. Or she hadn’t ever met one. Well, knowingly, at least. It wasn’t smart to shoot your mouth off about killing people in front of a police detective. If you don’t have all day to dance, maybe you shouldn’t ask, was what she wanted to say, but she didn’t because she knew as well as anyone that she would have been asking questions too.

And, well, she was going to ask questions because she was pretty sure he didn’t want her to go this way, and she was certainly going to do it anyway. “You make it sound like you’re the one that did the saving,” Jane replied back suspiciously as she got to the site and glanced around. Well, at least he wasn’t out here doing some weird cult shit with sacrificing chickens and goats or something. A strange rock circle, and some old books… Jane hummed, kneeling down to poke at them. “Keeping yourself informed is keeping yourself alive,” she reasoned, “So I suppose I can’t really blame you. What are these?” Jane glanced back at him curious if he would answer her or not. He clearly knew about werewolves and zombies and vampires, and she had to wonder if he was one himself. Though, maybe he was just some poor unfortunate human that got thrust with this shit. Then again... She looked between the old books and then back at him. “Out hiking, you said?” she asked, innocently.

“Hearing ‘bout them and experiencing them are two different matters… And if you are what you say you are, turned or not then they’ll be out for your head if they do happen to learn the truth of it.” Perhaps it was ominous or even a harsh reality, but Otto was giving her the cold hard facts of that situation. Whilst he spoke a hand raised to rub at his right forearm. “Just as a word of warning.”

Her suspicions were met with a slightly weary look, he didn’t particularly owe this woman anything to confirm that he’d saved her life though by this point it was pretty much a given. The clues were all there if you wanted to put the pieces together. “The point is, consider the impact your actions are gonna have on other people. I can’t afford the therapy needed for seeing someone’s head smashed in - zombie or not.” When they arrived at the site of his practise and seeing the look this woman gave his books, he narrowed his eyes. A sharp flick of his wrist followed, the cover flipping over and lock on its side snapping tightly shut. “My stuff,” he answered vaguely, going to pick up the books and tuck them into his backpack along with a couple of the focus crystals set out. The question earned a side-eye as he paused in his packing, “uh huh that’s what I said… Hiked out here to read.” Which technically wasn’t a lie.

“I know,” Jane said simply, looking at Otto with a matter of fact look on her face. “That’s usually why I try to keep it under wraps. You know, in case I ever run into one. Warning taken, thank you,” she said with a shrug. She wasn’t concerned about that anymore, however, because now she was more curious about Otto. He laid out the clues in front of her, and as she watched his book snap shut with a wave of his hand, and she concluded in her head. He didn’t really need to say it, just like she didn’t really need to say what she was (or what she was going to be) either.

“Your stuff,” she repeated, “That you lugged all the way out here to read.” She was amused now. Jane stood, hands on her hips as she looked him up and down. “Alright, sure. You hiked out here to read your magic books, where you saw me up there -” Jane pointed back to the cliff she had been scaling. “- did… whatever you did to stop me from smashing my head open. Is that what made your nose bleed?” she asked, curiously. How the hell did that work? How did any of that work? She considered his earlier words about how her actions would impact others, and she scoffed. “I didn’t know you were out here.” She pointed out. “If I had, I would have chosen another spot. But I’m not actively trying to die, you know. I slipped. It was an accident.”

Packing the last of his items away into his bag he side-eyed the woman again for a moment. “Yeah my stuff,” a backpack full of stuff was hardly that suspicious in the grand scheme of things “issue?” Though his eyes thinned for a moment as he shifted the bag up onto his shoulder. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that right?” No clarification was given but she’d figured it out for herself so there was no need for it.

“Magic has its consequences,” was the simplest and most concise response that summed up all the relevant answers into one. “A nosebleed is a rather mundane one.” Hearing her scoff Otto cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, well, how about next time you get some ropes?”

“It’s sort of my job to ask questions,” Jane said, a bit of a smug smile on her face. The truth, though maybe a little extreme in this case. A nosebleed was just a rather mundane consequence, was it? Jane considered asking him if he wanted to try it again, try to stop her fall. It had been fun, looking back at it. Like an extreme form of bungee jumping. Except she wasn’t quite sure he was going to go for that, considering his insistence that she bring ropes and gear the next time she went out.

“Right, ropes,” she said, and then gave a bit of a shrug. “Sure, I’ll definitely do that next time. Probably.” Jane gave him a once over, considering asking something else about magic, before she once again thought better of it. She shifted the bag on her back headed back towards the slope. She raised a hand in goodbye. “Well, have a good rest of your day with your ‘hiking’ and your ‘stuff’. Try not to not get another nose bleed next time.” She skidded down the slope haphazardly, back down towards the path.

#para #para otto #otto #freefalling #lmaooo

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blissfullyshipping · 5 years

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Pocahontas (Thorin X Reader) - Chp2

Story summary: Set before the quest for Erebor. Homeless and wounded after the Battle of Moria, Thorin and his kin find shelter in an ancient dwarven tribe. He meets the Chiefs daughter who teaches him the ways of the tribe and the beauty of nature.

Fandom: the Hobbit/Pocahontas

Warnings: none

“Italics” = Khuzdul

You couldn't sleep. So instead of tossing and turning in bed, you go for a stroll to the small pond, away from the village, and fill your jug with water.

Wading into the shallow waters, not caring for your nightdress, you admire the glistening pond in the moonlight, deciding whether or not you should take a quick bath, whilst you fill up your pot.

Your thoughts are cut off when you hear a quick, sudden yell and a ferocious splash as a figure jumps into the pond, spraying you in the process. Stunned, you gape in surprise as the intruder jumps up and freezes in front of you.

A dwarf? A handsome, soaking wet dwarf stands 5 feet away from you. Piercing blue eyes flicker to assess you. You too, give him a once over, your eyes pulled from his drenched tunic that sticks to his firm body like a second skin, and rest warily on the sword that's gripped loosely in his right hand. You keep your eyes trained on his weapon even when he breaks the silence.

Yet, as you hear the words tumble from his mouth you gaze up at him in confusion, not understanding his language. Does this dwarf not speak Khuzdul?

He looks at you expectedly and you tilt your head in curiosity. Having been brought up in the tribe, it was extremely rare to get visitors and although this intruder is a dwarf, he varied from the dwarves you've been surrounded with all your life.

"Who are you?" You ask in your native tongue. The dwarf's eyes widen in shock when he hears you speak.

"You're a dwarf?!" He asks incredulously and you frown in offence. Do you not look like a dwarrow?! "I apologise I meant no offence. It's just where I'm from our females tend to have beards and are a lot more stocky." He quickly mends his previous statement.

You give a curt nod and eye him warily. Though he may be a dwarf he's still an outsider, one who came to attack, you think as you gaze upon the sword again.

Seeing this, he lifts his sword up and you reflexively turn from the blade, rushing from his strike and out of the pond, ignoring his shouts of reassurance. You turn back to see his sword sheathed and him running over to you.

In a sudden panic you sprint through the forest, your attacker hot on your heels. Weaving your way through the thick foliage hoping he'll lose sight of you and turn back. But he doesn't.

So you lead him to your tribe, knowing there are enough warriors to take on one disheveled dwarf. You twist and turn along the path and see the tribe in the distance. You're about to take a sudden right when a hand latches onto your wrist and yanks you back to the forest floor.

You look up and see the brute of a dwarf hovering over you, his touch surprisingly gentle for an attacker. Thinking quickly, you buck your hips and with a forceful tug, switch positions. Reaching for the small dagger at his side you hold it tightly against his throat.

"You beast!" you hiss in anger. "Who are you?!" The ends of your hair tickle his cheek as you lean in closer, snarling in his face.

"I am Thor-"

"Y/N?" A familiar voice interrupts from behind you. You bolt up in surprise and look at Kafrumi Greybow, the tribes best warrior and your intended.

"Kafrumi, this dwarf attacked me at askad-zâram." You say gesturing to the attacker, who's name you still don't know, under you.

When you turn back to the dwarf he reaches out and knocks you over, turns you around and pulls you to his front the dagger now in his hand as he holds it to your throat. You curse in Khuzdul and try to wiggle out of his arms but his iron grip doesn't let you do much.

"Squirm some more girl, it's nice having you pressed against me." He whispers arrogantly into your ear.

Thorin was panicking. Here he was, Valar knows how far from his camp, holding some kind of tribal girl at knifepoint. He looks up at the warrior, Kafrumi, who aims his arrow straight at him. However, all Thorin can really think about, isn't imminent death, but the little slip of a dwarrow who writhes against him.

"Squirm some more girl, it's nice having you pressed against me." He couldn't help whispering into your ear. At his words you immediately freeze.

"Namin men faslmaganu zhamur!" Thorin’s eyes go wide at your quick insult and he chuckles as he gazes back at the warrior.

"Let Y/N go." He says slowly, pulling the string of his bow threateningly. Y/N, he'd have to remember that for later.

"I mean no trouble, warrior, my people are camping in this forest. I only wish to return to them and leave peacefully." Thorin replies carefully.

"Let Y/N go." Kafrumi says again his voice harder than before.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Thorin shakes his head and takes one step away from the warrior, with the girl still in his arms.

And then the arrow is suddenly embedded in Thorin's leg. Seeing another one soaring to his throat, he pushes the small dwarrow away and turns slightly, the arrow nestling into his shoulder instead.

Thorin drops to his knees from the speed of the arrow. In his dazed state he raises his hands to his shoulder and pulls the arrow out, making the wound bleed profusely.

He barely hears the girl shout something in annoyance, and sees her walk over to him, her long, inky hair flowing in the wind and she crouches down to him, her face scrunched up in irritation.

Her big brown eyes are the last thing Thorin sees before he gives in to the darkness and falls limply in her arms.

Namin men faslmaganu zhamur! = kiss my hairy balls!

@j25m18c24 @spooookyscary @waddles03

#thorin one shots #thorin x reader #thorin durin #thorin #thorin fic #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fandom #the hobbit #pocahontas #lotr imagine #the hobbit x reader #thorin durin fic #thorin fanfiction #thorin imagine

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