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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Burn the Witch

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Soap x Shadow!Reader x Ghost Light Graves x Reader

This is your first operation away from Shadow Company, as your skills as an undercover operative will be put to the test on your hunt for Hassan Zyani. With help from the 141, things should go smoothly. You could only hope...

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: Foreshadowing Future Action, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Tension, Light Romantic Tension, Canon-Compliant, Foreboding, Probably Military Inaccuracies, Reader has hidden agendas, part one of two for these next two chapters basically

Masterlist

Let me start by saying I HATE this chapter with a burning passion. It took me a month to try and brainstorm every possible way I could convey the plot how I wanted without it being boring. But alas, I've said fuck it, because it's been over a month and we've gotta keep it pushin'.

The chapter's slow, obviously meant to be the prologue to the next chapter. Once again, I'm sorry I made you all wait so long for this. However, with this mundaneness out of the way, I hope the next chapter improves.

Please enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-One - Burn the Witch

What does it mean to be ready for the inevitable? You've pondered that a lot lately, though it sparks in your mind more so once the trucks have parked and your team has offloaded onto an airstrip swirling with chaos and urgency.

Helicopters raged above you, convoys and other armored vehicles driving to their designated areas, ready to ship you all into battle. All the while, the night sky sits plainly above you. An empty sea of black set fit to remind you of the uncertainty which lies ahead of you.

In five minutes you would be heading out.

By now air support has most likely already started bombing the AQ bordering your LZ, meaning the firefight starts the second your flight touches the ground. The rest of the details involving your mission came to you as hectic as the night had already been. Comm chatter blistered on every channel, new information getting spoon-fed to you by every half-hour mark.

There had been no time for any other thoughts, in fear of missing something crucial. But one detail had been an especially hard pill to swallow, all things considered.

They're splitting everyone into two teams, both tasked with sweeping separate areas for Hassan. Once each building has been neutralized, the teams will regroup, with Hassan either dead or alive in your custody.

A sound strategy as any you've heard before, though you would have preferred to stay placed on the same team as 141, had you any say.

Instead, you were to lead Team Alpha in there stead, as Ghost and Soap lead Team Bravo.

Your placement had been deliberate, to say the least. Shepherd always had a way of pulling the strings to his advantage in the background, and you had just become his latest puppet.

Your real briefing came to you via a quick, virtual meeting, having had to wait for the others to break off and start loading up their gear before you could slip off somewhere secluded to meet. From there, you'd gotten the video up and prepared yourself to be greeted by your two-faced general.

But instead of some old, bald man appearing before you on your screen, you had been greeted by a pair of steel blue eyes, sharp, and consumed in all sorts of stress and business.

Your commander.

It took your breath away to see him again, still with his authoritative look and short, blond hair he's spent the last few minutes combing his fingers through, you're sure. Even through the screen, you could have sworn you might have seen the light come back in his eyes. Then, you're reminded of how you two left things off, and the radio silence that had fallen soon after.

He hadn't changed a bit, you'd say.

You frown, not wanting to reward the man with any expression beyond mild irreverence, even as he smiled at you like nothing changed. You knew a mask when you saw one, and frankly, it was getting old.

You have more important things to worry yourself to death over.

"You're lookin' good," he compliments.

You pause, taking another second to look over your commander again. What you can see is the small joy he feels, having caught you doing so. But before you've allowed him to speak, you've made his mind up for him.

"The briefing? Commander?"

Graves cleared his throat, straightening himself up on the other end. He hadn't expected to still be so taken aback seeing you after what felt like over a month now. "Right then," he begins. "Your mission..."

Graves did his best to give you the highlighted version of whatever it was Shepherd told him about your orders. While the clarifications had made things more clear, it didn't make tonight any easier.

With you separated from 141, the General's hopes had been for you to investigate what you can about the missiles and "take care" of Hassan. With no suspicion or incident. It only figures that regardless of what the AQ General knew about his missiles, Shepherd would want him dead. And if he wanted him dead, then that's just what you had to do.

Anything to put an end to this.

"Get this done, and we're one step closer to being home free," he feels the need to remind you again. Only lately you've wondered what that even means anymore. It didn't help that trapped sensation you'd been unable to shake all night.

"I've heard that before," you roll your eyes.

"Don't make it any less true," he says. And then he pauses, hesitant from the looks. Silent. You knew what often came after that.

"Are you... Have you been doin' alright?"

His question doesn't come as a surprise to you, however, you admit you're unsure how to answer him. You wish he had asked you weeks ago.

But he hadn't.

"I'm fine."

Graves opens his mouth to say more, however, something stops him. Perhaps the look he sees in your eyes, or the lack thereof. He knows bridges have been damaged between you two, if not burned. He's not an idiot. He's also only human.

"Don't get yourself killed, OK?"

Though it made you feel rather pathetic, his words felt more riveting than you had wanted them to be. And you had missed it.

"No promises, Commander." You wink.

You tap your leg against the metal floor below you, feeling it shift and sway as the heli races through the dark skies of Al Mazrah.

Two minutes now and you would be separated from the 141. Alone and on a mission of your own. One only you were aware of. Your mind needed to be right.

You take a look around at the soldiers gathered around. They had everyone crammed into the heli like sardines, your rifles hugged to your chest and your eyes forward. Awaiting the sound of gunfire.

"No songs to whistle?"

Ghost's gruff voice from across the heli brings your eyes back from the row of dark boots your eyes had been glued to. They had been all down there all night, doing whatever possible to ignore the eyes of Ghost's on you all flight long.

Your behavior tonight had been a stark contrast to the last op he'd run with you, where there you'd been jovial and nigh overconfident, chatty in most instances. Tonight, you had been completely quiet, eyes razor-focused, and mind everywhere and nowhere all at once. It gave the man a rough feeling about tonight, and watching you tap your leg finally drew him to a point of speaking, it seems.

You look up at the lieutenant, more wide-eyed than intended. Everything needing to be done tonight had been buzzing through your mind so much this past hour, it hadn't even crossed your mind to calm yourself to a tune.

"I can't think of one," you admit. "But I take request."

Ghost holds his gaze with you for a moment, his eyes so dark in this interior that he almost appeared inhuman, the large shadow that he was sitting across from you. Meanwhile, he wondered if there'd ever be a day you weren't trying to delve in a subtle way and hear his music taste.

Perhaps you've finally worn him down. Ghost looked as though he were about to actually answer you for once.

And then, the comms cut in.

"Approaching the LZ."

All casual conversing had now just ended.

Bombs and gunfire grow louder outside the heli, replacing the rumble of the spiraling blades and the vibrations of its metal. Like a song drumming you into battle, you hear it beckon you all near.

"Bravo Team offloads here." Ghost stood from his seat to address both teams now, his entire aura changing from endearing to brutish in the blink of an eye. "Alpha Team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill."

You watch as Bravo Team stands from their seats, gathering near the end of the heli to exit. Your eyes track Soap, who passes by your peripheral briefly until he's paused right before you.

With all his gear on, helmet strapped tight, and weapon loaded and ready, he looked a man ready for anything. He always seemed to be in most cases.

You'd been aware of Soap's watchful gaze since boarding together. He had smiled every time you looked his way, giving you an assuring nod, and sharing a comment when a thought would come, but you see the worry he held for you in his eyes. He had just wanted you to be OK.

His positivity alone hadn't been enough to ease your troubles, even as the man desperately wanted it to be. He only feared not having more to offer you beyond a smile and promise to keep you safe. He'll keep making that same promise 'til he's blue in the face if he has to.

Soap raises a fist to you gently, giving you a warm smile.

You tell him, "Try not to have too much fun."

Soap had wanted to say more, by the way his lips parted and the glint in his eyes twinkled, even beneath the red lighting. But he holds his tongue, knowing he must prioritize the mission. Duty above all else.

"Aye, aye lil' bird."

Soap gives you a parting wink, and then joins Ghost and the others at the front of the heli. You watch him the entire way, until the doors open, and a gust of wind barges into the heli, whipping through the fabric of your uniforms. This didn't feel real until now.

From where you still sat, you watch the lieutenant give him a scolding look, the men preparing to exit. "Keep up, Soap," he says.

The heli doors shut behind them, leaving you in a metal coffin shared between other marines you knew no better than the men you were about to fire on. With Ghost and Soap no longer around, it now leaves you to lead this team through thick and thin.

Gravity feels a lot heavier all of a sudden.

You hear the pilot speak into the comms, "Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ."

The heli shift to the side, and you feel yourselves soar through the night sky, the sounds of gunfire increasing at every second.

"Alright," you call out to your men. "It'll be hot once we've landed. Check your gear and weapons now while you can. The faster we get this done, the faster we can call it a fucking night."

The marines all give you an affirming cheer of agreement, and for the first time all night you start to feel more positive about how things will go.

Yeah, you told yourself. This mission's like no other you haven't done in the past. Find your target, neutralize the situation, and get out. Simple.

You adjust your grip on your rifle and straighten up, your leg tapping even faster than your heartbeat. No word from Ghost or Soap on the comms yet. That had to be a good sign.

The helicopter dives to the right suddenly, sending you all back into your seats, before the chaos outside is instead drowned out by the sound of blaring alarms from inside the heli.

"All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed," the pilot chimes in. "We're getting lit! Incoming- Flares! Flares!"

Your heart sinks, your insides shifting and moving like waves in the ocean at every quick sway and dive the helicopter took in its evasive actions. Helplessly, you sit, not even able to see the enemies that fired upon you, bitter to not even of had the chance to step foot on the ground yet before this happened.

You all grab hold of your seats, doing what you can to remain stable. The heli sways, the sounds of flares deploying outside ripping through the rocket fire. The flight settles and a few seconds go by. It isn't until the warning alarms have been silenced that you finally release a breath of relief.

A narrow dodge.

But then, it shifts again, only this time you're not so lucky.

There's a loud crashing noise, followed by the erupting pop of an explosion, as it twist the metal of your helicopter, tearing it open.

"Razor 1 going down!" The pilot shouts. "We're going down!"

You watch in horror as one of the marines is sucked out of the hole, screaming the entire way out as they're eaten alive by the flames of your crashing coffin. You see the dark world outside painted in the passing glare of gunfire, spinning around you, your helicopter falling from the sky.

You clutch onto the straps to your seat and brace yourself for impact. Closing your eyes, you hold your breath and simply await the inevitable, doing your best to be ready. Just as you've been trying all night.

Metal and fire twists around you in a loud hurricane of booms and clashes, before all sense of the world around you became nothing but a cold, quiet air.

Dark.

An endless void.

You're not sure why, but the first thing that came to mind was Soap. You hadn't wanted to think of the horror he must be experiencing having just watched you get shot out of the sky. What flurry of emotions now twisted in him because of you.

So instead, you thought of him as he was before. Of his smiles, his eyes, the warmth of his embrace and the safety you felt with his words, even if he promised the impossible. You'd give anything to have John by your side now.

You still needed to tell him your name.

To Be Continued...

100 notes · View notes

writer-darling · 11 months

Text

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 7: Style | Read Chapter 6: It’s Nice to Have a Friend!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - Mature (THE TIME HAS COME) (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: IT’S ANOTHER LONG ONE I’M SORRY. Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, OF ALL KINDS, reaches an all-time high. Adult language. A LOT of feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he starts at an 83.5% but ends up at about a 90.79% in this chapter). Religious practices, mentions (fictional). Mentions of food and alcohol. Arguing. Fingering. Lots of praise. If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 10.9k

Summary!: Three steps forward, two steps back, is still one step forward.

A/N: REWRITTEN AND REFORMATTED ON: 12/30/23; IF YOU READ ANY OF THE REWRITES READ THIS ONE

******

“And I should just tell you to leave, 'cause I

Know exactly where it leads, but I

Watch us go 'round and 'round each time…”

It was a great week...

Until it wasn't. You’ve spent almost the entirety of the past week and a half with Ezra. Playing cards, making more conversation, and sharing food and drinks whenever you can. The atmosphere between you two has lightened significantly, becoming overall cheerier. Even the crew’s seemed to notice.

On the last night of the work week, you and Ezra are chatting as usual, this time near the end of the night. A group of your crew is present, and the hours have been going by quickly in the best way. Ezra’s acting as his usual storyteller-self and you’re just as enticed as the rest of the crew. You know it's getting late, but the mood is so light, that you can’t bear to cut the evening short until now, knowing full well that tomorrow will be back to the typical grindstone. When you check your watch, it dawns on you that it’s very late. So, you wait until the story's over before you announce our departure.

"Well, I think it's time I get some sleep. We've got an early day tomorrow." You say, standing up from your seat and gathering your helmet and empty food tray from dinner.

Ezra looks up at you with a warm smile and gives a slight nod in agreement. The rest of the group bid you goodnight. Before you can turn to leave, Ezra calls out, stopping you in your tracks. "Wait," You turn on your heel.

"Yeah, what's up?" You ask him with a raise of your eyebrow. He pauses, looking around at everyone else for a moment before turning back to you.��

"Do you mind if I walk you back to your quarters?" The group’s eyes go from you to Ezra, then back again as they await to hear your answer. You see the crew look from Ezra to you with interest, making you pause. It definitely wouldn't be a good idea to agree, considering how many rumors there have been about you two lately. But you can't deny that you enjoy Ezra's company.

"Sure, c'mon," You say before you turn again and begin to walk to your tent without checking if he's following or not.

Ezra is a bit surprised that you agreed, but he immediately gets out of his seat and begins to walk after you. As you head back to your chambers, there's a bit of silence between the two of you. Finally, he decides to speak up.

"So, uh, shall we talk about that little rumor the crew is spreadin’?" he asks.

"What rumor?" You ask with clearly mock obliviousness. Before you snort when he chuckles in response, but you shake your head gently. "I didn't peg you as being interested in idle gossip." You tease.

"I'd say that the 'idle gossip' has gone a bit beyond what I'd call 'idle' by now. It's been a weeks-long topic at this point, at least." Ezra pauses, and you notice him blush a bit. You roll your eyes playfully with a smile,

”Yeah, I guess it has...” but then you see he seems in a more somber mood so you backtrack from your playful tone. “Does it bother you at all?" You ask him, genuinely unsure if you want him to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ He pauses for a moment before responding.

"I'm not gonna lie, the attention can be a bit... uncomfortable," he admits. "But what really bothers me is that it makes you seem like nothin’ more than the 'exotic' object in this... mess. You deserve more than that." His tone is one of fierce conviction as his troubled brow furrows. "You're smart, funny, driven, and so much more. Yet the crew seems to ignore that and focus on what you are, rather than who you are. You deserve respect." Your heart warms as he expresses that and you smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Ezra. And don’t worry about those jagoffs, ok? They’re just being… men.” You say with a soft chuckle. Ezra gives a slight grin, his face lighting up at your touch.

"You're too kind to me," he says, placing his own hand on top of yours, something that has become more and more frequent as of late. "I'm sure you know what I mean here... bein’ a woman in the workforce is hard. At least, I know my sister's told me a few horror stories." Ezra pauses, before letting his fingers gently interlace with yours. You smile and let him grab your hand.

“One of your sisters is a prospector too?” You ask him, surprised that he hasn’t mentioned it until now. “Which one?”

"Shira is," Ezra says with a nod, still holding onto your hand. He runs his thumb along your fingers lightly. "She's just as smart as any of those men on her crew... maybe even more so, considerin’ she has the drive to reach out and work with the minin’ corporations rather than out here on the Fringe." Ezra pauses, thinking for a moment. "She's quite the negotiator," he adds with a slight grin.

“Mm, just like her big brother, then?” His grin turns sheepish. You smile. Again, he seems so proud of his siblings. “What about your other sisters? The older ones. What do they do?” You ask.

Ezra's smile widens. "Well, Dalia’s a biologist," he says with a slight chuckle. "She studies the ecosystems of worlds that we visit. We all call her the 'space hippie'," Ezra says with a light shrug. "And Danni is a mechanic for the minin’ corporations that sponsor us prospectors," he adds, just as you two reach the entrance of your tent.

“Well, I’d love to hear more about your sisters. We can continue this talk at breakfast tomorrow?” You ask him with a hopeful smile. He nods, letting go of your hand and giving a slight chuckle.

"Bright ‘n early," he says, looking at you and smiling. His gaze lingers for a moment, studying your face, before giving a wink and a small nod. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

“Good night, Ezra. Sweet dreams.” You say reaching for his hand and giving it one more gentle squeeze before you enter your tent. He smiles as he watches you enter your tent. He stands there for a moment longer, just watching you with that same smile on his face. Finally, he puts a hand over his heart and whispers to himself,

"Sweet dreams to you too, my darlin’." Ezra turns and walks away, heading back to his own tent.

It was a great week...

Until it wasn’t. The next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache. It feels like you’ve got pins and needles behind your eyes and you groan as the morning light, even dimmed by the thick tarp of your tent, stings your vision. You’re half tempted to just roll over in your cot and go back to sleep, but you decide against it.

Eventually, you make it out of bed, mainly because you hear the commotion of the men getting up and likely heading for breakfast. You look around for some clean clothes and quickly realize… you forgot to do laundry this week. Crap. You decide to pick your least offensive clothing and get dressed, reminding yourself to do laundry as soon as your shift is over. You begrudgingly start towards the dining tent.

It’s busier than usual this morning, as many crew members are trying to recover from the night before. Ezra is sitting with a few of the crew, talking and laughing together. He looks up as soon as you enter, his expression going from lighthearted merriment to a look of concern in an instant. "Hey!" he says, immediately getting up to come towards you.

“Hey,” you try to offer him a smile but your head is still pounding and you feel overall off, making it look more like a grimace. He looks at you, your expression immediately putting him on alert.

"Are you alright?" he asks with concern in his voice. He looks you up and down, noticing the slight unsteadiness in your steps.

“Not really, I’ve got this killer headache." You explain, taking a seat at the nearest table as a wave of nausea overtakes you. You take a deep breath and rest your head on your knees, closing your eyes for a moment. Ezra is clearly worried. He quickly pulls out a handkerchief and lays it on the table in front of you, before coming around the table to kneel down next to you.

"What does it feel like?" he asks, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. He glances up at you, looking for clues as he studies you. "Nausea? Light sensitivity?"

"Mmm, yup. Both of those." You reply as you take another deep breath. He places a gentle hand underneath your chin, lifting your head back.

"Look at me," he says, his tone full of concern. He quickly studies your expression, making a note of the paleness of your face before taking note of your sunken cheeks. He moves a bit away as he grabs his multitool from his belt, clicking on the small lightpen. “Follow my finger,” He instructs as he moves both the pen and his pointer finger from one edge of your vision to the other, testing your eyes’ reflexes. "You look really ill, but your eyes are responding fine," he says after a moment when he’s finished. "Stay right here," he says to you as he stands back up.

Ezra glances around, looking for any signs of a medic or medical supplies. You don't even have the energy to flush from how close he is, but you still feel relieved when he stands up. You close your eyes and take another breath, feeling the nausea start to subside. He leaves for a few minutes but you don’t even notice until he’s back.

He quickly returns to your side, carrying a few different supplies in his hands. He hands you a small bottle of water and a pill bottle, placing them on the table for you. "Here," he says, "drink some water, and take two of these," he adds, placing the pill bottle next to the bottle of water.

"What are these?" You ask him as you open up the bottle and place two into your palm. They're ovular and pink. He smiles and shakes his head slightly.

"They're for stomach troubles. Should help with the nausea," he says. "Don't worry, they're perfectly safe - some of the other crew take them all the time." Ezra watches you carefully as you take the pills. "Usually for when they eat too much grub after a shift.”

You nod and take both of them, swallowing them down with a couple swigs of water. You thank him when you're done, setting the water aside and taking a few seconds to wait for the pills to take effect. He takes a seat near you, seeming a bit more relaxed now that you've taken the medication. He watches you carefully for a moment before speaking again. "You should head back to your tent, and get some rest. I'd hate for you to overdo it this early in the day," he says, his tone still concerned.

"I can't, I gotta get the shift started," You say as you notice the rest of the crew putting on their helmets and discarding their mostly empty food trays to head out for the latest dig of the day. You make sure you feel steady before you slowly stand up, grabbing your helmet and putting it on.

Ezra gives a quick nod as you grab your equipment and start to head out of the tent. He gets up to follow you as you walk towards the group of others. "Take it easy if you can, okay?" Ezra says, trying to keep his voice low enough so only you can hear him. You nod and thank him again with a soft smile, appreciating that he’s looking out for you.

He smiles back, glancing around and making sure no one is paying attention to the two of you as you two walk a few yards. But he can’t help himself before whispering, "Ya know, you could stay in your tent for a day or two while you recover, and no one would bat an eyelash," he says quietly. "I know this expedition is important, but your health is more."

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ezra. I’ll be fine.” You insist. “I took the meds, I’m sure I’ll get over whatever this is soon.” You two reach your grid and you begin setting your pack and equipment down. He looks at you for a moment, a slight frown on his face as he watches to make sure you're doing alright.

"I'm not goin’ to be able to talk you into it, am I?" he asks you teasingly. You can hear the worry in his tone, though, and his expression is one more of trepidation than amusement.

“No, you can’t.” You say with a bit of a smile. “We have to work. I’ll be fine.” You say, beginning to get a bit irritated with his concern. It’s not that you find it annoying, but you know your work is important. Still, it’s not his fault that you woke up feeling like garbage. You sigh. “Look, if I’m feeling worse, I’ll take a break. Are you good with that?” You ask him.

He seems to sense your irritation and nods, submitting. "Yeah, I get it. It's our job," he says, his expression turning serious again. He stands with you for a moment longer, watching as you kneel down to access the gem mounds below the forest floor. He glances around to make sure that everyone is occupied before speaking again. "Good luck with the diggin’," he whispers. "I'm sure you'll find somethin’ amazin’."

You soften as he wishes you luck. “You too. I’ll see you at lunch?” You offer with a hopeful look. Ezra nods and smiles at you, seeming a bit more reassured now that you're ready to start digging.

"Yeah, I'll meet you at lunch," he replies. Ezra gives you a little nod and starts to head off in the direction of his space. You're still not feeling great, but as soon as you start working, your mind begins to become focused on the task at hand. It's easier to ignore the headache and nausea when you're digging... at least, for the time being.

All work momentarily pauses as the alarms coming through your radios signal that Denver’s got an announcement,

“Morning, crew,” He greets and you all respond in kind, all eyes on the ground moving upwards to watch him as he stands at the watchtower. “I know we’ve got Kevva’s Light coming up this weekend so I’m making this announcement to every last one of you to let you know that you’ve got the rest of the weekend off-” The crew erupts in cheers, and you smile. “Our shifts will be cut short today, only half a day, and then we’ve got the next 2 and a half days for ourselves.” Your group cheers again and the man’s smile widens into a grin. “Feel free to celebrate our Goddess’ Holy Day however you want: rest, party… drink.” He says that last bit with playful emphasis and there’s another cheer. “I’m planning a small feast in the dining hall tomorrow evening, so feel free to come hang out if you’d like. Now, let’s have a great dig,” With that, the work resumes and you’re glad the happy announcement brought you some needed distraction.

But unfortunately, the distraction doesn’t last long. You spend hour after hour digging but it seems like your luck on this expedition has finally run dry. Your frustration seems to bring the headache back tenfold, and you decide to finally take that break, sitting down on a nearby log to rest. You look around and spot Ezra a few yards away.

He also seems to be having an awful dig today, if his near-empty pack is anything to go by. His brow is furrowed and his frown is deep as he continues to dig. He looks over at you and notices you taking that rest. He walks over and takes a seat next to you, glancing over with a sympathetic look as he surveys his own pile. He lets out a sigh and looks up at the clouds, seeming frustrated with the lack of discoveries he's made so far.

"Well, this is just peachy, ain’t it?" he asks, turning to face you with a small laugh. Ezra pauses for a moment when he sees the state of your own pile. "It looks like things aren't goin’ too well for us today, huh?" he says with an awkward smile. You offer the same awkward smile back.

“I suppose not.” You say. You sigh and run a hand through your hair as your head throbs again. “At least it’s almost lunchtime.” You say with a small frown. Ezra nods, seeming to reach the same conclusion as you.

"Yeah," he says, offering a small smile. "Lunchtime is always a good thing, no matter the circumstances," he says. "And hey, you never know what good the Holy Day will bring," Ezra says optimistically. After another long moment, Ezra stands back up. "If you want, we could go over the map together for next week? Maybe that’ll give us another avenue of labor to dig into," he adds, offering a hopeful look. You nod, even if you were actually hoping to get some rest during lunch. But who knows? Maybe a distraction and some time with the closest person you can call ‘friend’ is what you need.

“Ok, sure.” You say softly. You stand up with another sigh. “C’mon, let’s keep going. It’s only another half-hour until lunch.” You say and stand up.

Ezra follows you to your area first. As he walks, Ezra also occasionally glances over at you, looking for any signs of how you're feeling. "You still holdin’ up okay?" he asks, his voice soft so none of the other crew members can overhear.

“Yeah, doing a bit better.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. “My head’s hurting again, but I think I’ll just look for something in my medkit once my shift is over.” You say softly as you set your own stuff down and resume your work.

He nods and wishes you luck again before going back to his space. Every now and then he glances over to make sure you're doing alright, watching you work. He clears a good portion of his area, glancing over at his watch and sighing from being disappointed with the lack of discoveries. So he decides to go back to you again.

"How’s it this time around? Any luck?" he asks, his voice hopeful for you despite his obvious disappointed expression.

“Nope.” You say bluntly, sighing with frustration. The alarms ring to signal lunch time and you throw your stuff down where it is, marching away from the site. “Goddamnit, not one good dig. I can’t believe it.” You mumble, half to yourself, half to Ezra. He exhales sharply and places his hands on his hips, a look of frustration on his face.

"I know the feelin’," he says, glancing around at the empty piles of dirt. "Sometimes it's not meant to be," he adds. Ezra then turns back towards you, offering you a small smile. "Come on... let's head to lunch," he says before starting to walk towards the dining tent with the rest of the men.

You two grab your trays and get into the growing line of men, Ezra allowing you to serve yourself first.

“So, got any plans for Kevva’s Light?” He asks, a little too hopeful that your answer is no.

“Not really,” You admit with a soft shrug. “I didn’t grow up religious or celebrating. I mean we always had time off on that weekend, so my parents would pull me out of school early the day before and we’d go and do stuff together,” You pause as you both grab a bowl to serve yourselves some stuff that resembles stew. “But, that stopped after my dad passed and we never really made an effort to pick it back up. If anything, I just sleep a lot.” You add with a small chuckle, making Ezra smile as you grab a bread roll next. “How about you?” He shrugs and serves you both some green juice.

“I grew up pretty devoted, if I’m bein’ honest.” He responds, seeming almost embarrassed by that fact. “But, I haven’t been an official follower in a long time.” You two begin the walk to the closest available table. “To be frank, I ditched the whole idea while out here.” He says, and there’s something slightly bitter in his tone and his eyes but you don’t push it. Instead, you nod,

“I get that. I have friends back home who did too. Those celebrations do seem pretty fun though. I know they and their families would have big parties or do those moonlit rituals.” You say, both sitting down and beginning to eat. He cracks a smile at that, at ease again.

“My parents did everythin’: the Observations of Silence, the big family feast, the Moonlight Dance. Pretty sure it was their favorite holiday of the year.” He says. You smile when he does, before taking a spoonful of warm stew.

“Well, we can always go to Denver’s dinner? Sounds like a lot of the crew is planning on attending?” You offer. His smile widens when you say, ‘we’, still not used to the fact that you consider him in your plans now.

“Actually,” He says, and pauses for just a beat too long as he figures out the best way to word this. “I was thinkin’ we could do somethin’ a little more private in one of our tents? I’m still not keen on celebratin’ much, but I think we could have a special dinner for the two of us?” His eyes are almost cinnamon in this light and warm as they meet yours in a hopeful gaze. You smile and nod. There’s something in his tone that makes you see that this isn’t just another get-together. For whatever reason you can tell that this… means something else.

“Sure. Why not?” His shoulders practically sag with relief and you both eat your stew and bread in a comfortable silence. But then, your head begins to throb again. You wince and he notices.

“Headache’s still here?” He asks and you nod with a grimace. “We should get you your medkit.” He grabs your now empty dishes along with his and takes them to the wash pile before you two leave the tent, heading for your tent.

You follow along, feeling your head begin to throb even worse. You ignore it for the moment. You lead him inside. “Have a seat.” You say, gesturing to your cot, while you grab a chair for yourself. After you’re both seated, Ezra sighs and glances over at you again and sees that you’re still in pain.

"Let me get it for you.” He says.

“It should be right above you in the cabinet right there.” You say, pointing behind him, a few feet above his head.

Ezra looks up at where you're pointing, finding the medkit resting exactly where you said. He nods and quickly gets up, grabbing the kit off of the shelf. Ezra returns to his seat, holding the kit in his hand. "Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "Do you want some water with those?" he asks, indicating to the pills in the kit.

“I have some, thanks.” You say, grabbing your canteen and opening it. You grab a pain reliever and take it quickly, hoping it kicks in fast. “Ok, so have you got that map to look at?” You ask him. He nods and pulls out the map, quickly glancing over it to familiarize himself with the layout.

"Let's see... we've already covered this whole area right here," he says, pointing to a section of the map. "And we did a bit more over here," he adds, pointing to another area before looking at you. "So it looks like the next spot to hit is this area here. Hopefully, that'll be a bit more lucky for us," Ezra says with a smile. "What do you think?" Your brow furrows.

“Mm, that’s too close to those groups I noticed the other night. We don’t want to cause any trouble. Do you know if Denver’s had any communication with them?” You ask him. He sighs and shakes his head.

"I don't think so. We can't seem to establish any kind of line of communication with the other groups," he says, sounding a bit frustrated. Ezra pauses for a moment, thinking about the situation. "You're right," he says eventually. "That area is a bit too close for comfort. Do you have any other ideas? I want to make sure we're findin’ somethin’ today. Just not somethin’ that'll bring us trouble." He pauses for a moment, looking at you.

“Well, there is this area, closer to the river.” You say, pointing to an area further east. “Maybe this one might work?” Your tone is hopeful but when you look up to meet Ezra’s eyes, his frown and furrowed brow put a stop to your optimism. “What?”

He sighs and shakes his head again, seeming more concerned now. "That's even worse," he says, his voice filled with a hint of urgency. "That area is a bit of a no-go," he adds, staring at you with a serious expression. He pauses for a moment before speaking again. "The groups near the river have been especially unfriendly," Ezra explains. "I... I can't quite go into detail, but there was an incident the other night." Ezra looks like he might say more, but he stops himself. "That area's off-limits," he says finally.

“Well we can’t go your route, that’s also too close.” You point out. “We’ve got to be able to get to the area near the river.” He sighs and rubs his face in frustration.

"We're runnin’ outta options..." he says, sounding a bit exasperated. "What ‘bout this here?" he asks, his voice rising in pitch as he points out another area on the map. "It's a bit of a walk... and it's goin’ into an area we haven't explored yet, but maybe that'll help our cause." Ezra offers a hopeful smile, staring back at you. You shake your head, your own frustration climbing too.

“I mentioned that spot to Denver when we first got here; he said it’s full of unstable caves that have been known to collapse. He doesn’t want to risk any of us going in there.” You say.

“Goddmnit.” He mumbles. You two spend the next five minutes pouring over that map, trying out different plans on how to find a more bountiful site. All to no avail. Finally, Ezra pushes away the map with a frustrated groan.

He sighs again and puts his head in his hands, seeming like he might just give up. "Do you have any ideas?" he asks, his tone filled with desperation. "We're runnin’ outta time, and we're runnin’ outta options. I need somethin’," he says, sounding stressed and anxious. Ezra glances up at you again, looking like he might just go off and try digging on his own. "Do you have anythin’? Anythin’ at all?"

You run a hand through your hair again, wincing when your fingers catch on a small knot. You undo it with your fingers before sighing. “I know, Ezra. I know.” You say, a slight tone of annoyance beginning to creep into your voice. “You’re not the only one that needs this dig to go well.”

Ezra looks up sharply at the change in your tone, seeming a bit hurt by the annoyance. "No, I know that," he says, sounding annoyed himself. "It's just that... it feels like you've shot down every idea I've had so far," he says, throwing his hands up, visibly frustrated. "I don't know what you want from me. I've been workin’ just as hard as you, and I need somethin’ to turn up," he says, his voice raising as he gets more irritated. You shake your head.

“You know that’s not it. I’m not shooting down your ideas for nothing.” You protest, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He stares at you for a moment, still not liking the tone you're taking with him, but he tries to keep his temper in check.

"So why are you shootin’ ‘em down?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused. Ezra takes a breath and puts his hands on his knees, trying to remain calm. He pauses for a moment before speaking again. "Look, I'm just as frustrated as you right now," he says. "I'm just tryin’ to find somethin’ that we can both agree on, somethin’ that actually has a chance of workin’."

“I know that.” You snap. “But this terrain is dangerous. If it’s not the obstacles, it’s the groups around us. We can’t just go anywhere we want, you know that.”

"Yeah, I do know that," Ezra replies, throwing his hands up again in frustration as he paces a bit. "But I can work with danger, okay? I can handle the groups, I know how to navigate the terrain, none of that bothers me," he answers. Ezra stares daggers at you, but he doesn't say anything further as he takes a few moments to calm himself down. "We just need a spot to go where we actually have a chance of findin’ somethin’ worthwhile, alright?" Ezra asks, his tone still a bit harsh, but not quite as intense as before.

You let out a sound of frustration and rise from your seat, rolling your eyes. “Kevva above, you’re such a vet.” You say.

"What are you tryin’ to say?" His voice suddenly sharp as he asks, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Ezra stares at you, not wanting to speak out of turn or jump to conclusions. He also keeps a close eye on your tone, as the frustration earlier still has him on edge.

“I’m saying that just because you’ve been here longer than most of us doesn’t mean you know everything, Ezra.” You say, crossing your arms again. “I know you think you can handle yourself but we both know a lot of those groups are the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type.”

Ezra sighs and shakes his head at you, clearly frustrated. "I never said I knew everythin’," he says, bringing his voice back down. "But you know I've been out here, dealin’ with those 'shoot first' groups for years," Ezra says, turning away from you, and looking at the ground. He glances back over at you after a moment, and it looks like he's trying to stay calm. But it's hard. "I never said I was perfect, did I? You know how hard it is, especially out here. So maybe consider that I know what I'm talkin’ about a lil bit."

“I know you know your stuff, Ezra. But you’re clearly not getting that this shit isn’t just a walk in the park. If something happens to you, it damages more than just you. It impacts all of us.” You say with a frown.

Ezra stares at you, visibly conflicted. "Do you think I haven't thought about that?" he asks, his voice still tense. Ezra raises his hands as he stands up straighter and puts them on his hips, not knowing how to explain himself to you. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts before turning back towards you, speaking once more. "Look, I'm not suggestin’ we go out and seek out trouble. I know the risks... believe me." Ezra pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "But we need some course of action, here.”

“Of course we do, but it takes more than just ‘I can work with danger’,” you say, using air quotes. “It takes planning and strategy and hoping that these jagoff groups aren’t keen to kill us!”

He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in surrender. He huffs and turns away from you, starting to lose his patience. Ezra takes a step closer, his voice raised again. "Okay, rook, then what's your plan, huh? What's your 'strategy'?" Ezra glares at you and points a finger in your direction, daring you to give him anything. "Because it sure looks like you've got nothin’! Nothin' but my plan. So what's it gonna be?"

You frown. “Ugh, you’re so infuriating!”

He gives you a smug smile and leans in, getting close to you. "And you think you're not infuriatin’?" he asks, taking a moment to consider you. "I'm doin’ my best here," he continues, taking a more serious tone. "We both know how high-stakes this all is, but we also know how important it is to get a dig done... you need to trust me here," Ezra says, his voice softer now. Ezra gazes at you, waiting for a response. You consider his tone as you take a minute. He’s trying to diffuse the situation. You rub the back of your neck tiredly and step away to refocus.

“Fine… you’re right.” You concede in kind, your own voice is less harsh now. “I’m sorry… we’re obviously still able to get on each other’s nerves too easily.” You say, trying to joke to lessen the tension further. There's a small hint of a smile on his face at your response.

"Yeah, I guess we are," he says, chuckling lightly. Ezra clears his throat and rubs his face. "I know we're just a little tense because of this situation, but I don't want either of us to say somethin’ we'll regret, yeah?" You nod, agreeing with him.

“We’re too tense right now. Maybe we just should take some time away from each other. Just for the rest of the day until we cool off.” You suggest. He nods, understanding where you're coming from.

"Yeah, that might be for the best," he says, agreeing with your suggestion. "Let's both go off and do somethin’ else for a bit, just to clear our heads, and then we can try again once we're a little more relaxed." Ezra takes a deep breath and stretches his arms out, trying to release the tension from his muscles. "Do you mind if I go do a little diggin’ on my own for a bit?" Ezra asks, looking back at you. "It always calms me down, you know?" You nod and look around your tent, noticing the full hamper and remembering what you’d told yourself this morning.

“Yeah. I think I’m gonna get some laundry done.” You say quietly and walk over to your hamper. “We can talk about things later at dinner, how’s that sound?” You ask.

Ezra nods and gives you a small smile. "Sounds good to me," he says, taking a few steps toward the doorway to exit the tent. "Maybe havin’ somethin’ else to focus on will help clear our heads, yeah? I’ll see you in a few hours." Ezra pauses at the entrance and looks back over at you. His tone still has a bit of tension in it, but he's trying to move past everything. He takes a deep breath before exiting the tent to leave you some room to breathe.

You spend the rest of your lunch and your shift doing laundry. Unlike life back home, you have to do most everything manually. So you grab your large washing tub, your washboard, some soap packs, and your hamper. For the next couple of hours, you work on your clothing, washing every article carefully, twice. You even grab your boots and helmet and clean them as well. When you’re done, you set up a quick makeshift clothesline with some rope between two trees to hang all your clothes to air-dry with the remaining sunlight.

Ezra spends the next few hours digging on his own. He moves his way a fair distance from the campsite, and for some time you can see his silhouette against the horizon as he digs in the dirt and rocks. He seems quite frustrated at times, kicking the ground and throwing his equipment to the floor, muttering to himself. Eventually, he stops, wiping his brow and sitting on the forest floor to take a break. "Kevva..." he mumbles to himself. He lets out another sigh and lays back, staring up at the sky for a while.

You’re tempted to walk over, but you know you should keep your distance. Things are uneasy with you two right now and your friendship with him is currently rocky at best. So instead you watch him as he eventually gives in, for the time being, heading to his own tent presumably to wash up for the evening. You grab some of your clothing from the line, the other half still damp, before you do the same, heading inside your tent to shower and leaving the rest of your clean things to dry.

After you’re ready for dinner, you exit your tent just as Ezra’s exiting his. You’ve changed into some shorts and a t-shirt while Ezra’s in a white muscle shirt and a pair of sweats. Your eyes meet and he seems hesitant, as if he wants to say something, but is unsure of how to. You notice that his mood hasn’t lightened, the furrow between his brows still tight and his mouth turned downwards. He walks over and takes a deep breath and then speaks, his voice quiet.

"...Hey," he starts, "listen... I'm... I'm a little frustrated right now, yeah?" Ezra pauses, letting his words hang there in the air.

“Yeah,” you say playfully to keep that tension from returning, even if you feel it rolling off of both of you in waves. “I can see that…” Your voice softens when you give him a once-over; “is there anything I can do to help?” You ask him.

Ezra takes a moment to gather his thoughts before replying. "I think... I think you know that it's important for me to get a diggin’ done," he starts carefully. "... and I know that's important for us all, but... I just feel like I'm bein’ questioned at every step of the way." Ezra pauses, letting his words linger for a moment. "That's frustratin’." He asks, staring at you with an expectation in his eyes. Ezra's tone is still quiet and subdued, but there's a slight sharpness to it now.

“Ez…” you sigh, not wanting to irritate him further. “Look, it’s been a tough day for both of us, can we agree on that?” You ask.

"Yes, we can," Ezra answers, his tone softening a bit. He breathes in slowly, trying to let go of some of the tension he’s feeling. "Look, I know you're just tryin’ to make sure we don't rush things, but sometimes I feel like you're not even givin’ my ideas a chance." Ezra pauses for a moment, considering his words before continuing. "I know this is a serious expedition with serious consequences, but we can't be too careful, either. We have to take some risks, otherwise we won't get anywhere."

You nod. “I know. You do know what you’re doing, otherwise you wouldn’t still be out here.” You say. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you or trust your instincts I just…” you trail off for a moment, not wanting to say what you really want to.

Ezra waits patiently as you consider your words, looking at you intently. He senses that you have something more to say, but don't know how to say it. A single eyebrow raises in curiosity, silently encouraging you to continue.

“I worry, alright? Believe it or not: I worry about you.” You admit, averting your eyes.

Ezra's eyebrow furrows and he sighs. "I know it can be dangerous out here, especially as things have been tense with the dig site lately," he says patiently. Ezra takes a deep breath before continuing, his tone getting a bit softer. "But our team looks after each other, right?" Ezra pauses for a moment, then continues. There’s obvious doubt in your eyes but you nod anyway, conceding for now.

“Right.” You say quietly. “Can we move on from this, please?” You ask him. “I’d really just like to talk about something else.” You say, rubbing your head as you feel your headache throb again. Ezra nods, his expression softening as he sees you rubbing your head.

"Of course, we can," Ezra asks, his voice almost remorseful. "I know I can get a bit tense sometimes, and I don't think I'm the most likable person," Ezra says, a bit of self-deprecation creeping into his tone. Ezra looks at you for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer now, seemingly more concerned for you than before. "... is your head still hurtin’?" Ezra asks, genuinely worried. You nod.

“I think it’s all the stress from today,” you mutter, your tone a bit bitter but it softens when you look at him again. “Let’s go get something to eat.” You say. Ezra nods, taking a step toward you again. He puts one of his arms out in a friendly manner.

"Sounds good to me. I know I could use a bite," he says, his tone still concerned over your pain. Ezra pauses for a moment to think, his expression becoming more serious once again. With a slow breath, Ezra looks at you and says, "... about that plan, though. Can we talk about that? Just for a quick second."

“Ezra,” you warn him as you give him a long look. “Can you just drop it?” Your tone is sharper again.

“Just one conversation, c’mon, I really think we should-”

“Kevva above you are so frustrating!” You say. “I don’t want to talk about this plan anymore. If you want to talk about it, feel free to go to Denver and argue about it with him and the rest of the crew but leave me out of it!” You snap and storm off to your tent angrily.

Ezra stares at you in disbelief as you storm off. His expression is a mixture of shock and confusion as he watches you disappear into your tent. Ezra takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He stares at the ground in dismay for a moment as he tries to process everything. Ezra's expression suddenly shifts to one of anger. He clenches his fists and takes a few steps toward your tent, throwing the entry flap aside, and following after you

"What the hell was that?" Ezra asks, not shouting, but still a bit more forceful than before.

“It’s called ‘leaving the conversation’! You should be used to me doing it by now!” You snap back, your arms now crossed over your chest defensively.

"You can't just end the conversation because you're frustrated," Ezra snaps back, trying to hold back his anger. "I can't even ask simple questions without you gettin’ angry. You can't just brush everythin’ off like it doesn't matter! We have a plan and a responsibility here!" Ezra's tone is stern now, and the intensity is clearly increasing in his voice.

“No, you have a plan! A ridiculous plan that is going to get you killed and I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen!” You snap back, marching up to him angrily.

"Are you listenin’ to yourself right now?" Ezra asks, his voice full of genuine passion. "You won't let me just ask a question about it without snappin’ at me! We're supposed to be on the same team, but you don't trust me at all. You don't listen to any of my ideas, and when I try to discuss a strategy, you storm off like a child!" Ezra's hands are clenched into fists by his side. The energy of the argument is clearly growing more intense as your joint anger builds.

“So you’d rather, what, I just stay in place and listen to you go on and on about this plan that you haven’t even thought through fully yet?!” You yell back.

"And you'd rather what, yell at me until I stop talkin’?" Ezra mocks back defensively. "We need a plan, and if you have any better ideas for doin’ this, then let's hear ‘em!” He crosses his arms and leans back to watch you scramble for a response. When you don’t have one, the corner of his lip quirks up into a smug grin. “Do you?? Or are we just gonna fight until one of us gives up?!" Ezra's eyes are burning with anger now, and his expression is a mask of raw emotion. The argument is becoming increasingly heated as you stare each other down.

“I don’t give up!” You yell back, moving closer to him.

“Yeah, clearly!” He yells. The words hang between you two as you both glare at each other, the energy around you both intense, angry, and frustrated. You sigh and take a breath, trying to get your shit mood under control.

“Look, just get out! I’m done talking about this. My head is killing me, this day has been utter shit, and we’re obviously not getting anywhere with this.”

Ezra takes a step back, his expression now showing hurt and a slight sense of betrayal. "Look, I'm only trying to-" Ezra starts to speak, but he's cut off by you telling him to get out. Ezra sighs in defeat and his expression shifts from hurt to anger again. He stares at you for a moment before throwing his arms up in the air. "Fine. I tried," he says in a huff. He starts to turn around before stopping and spinning back around to face you again. "Kevvassake, do you ever listen to anyone?"

“No, I guess I don’t.” You mumble with clear sarcasm as you turn away from him.

Ezra seems like he’s about to leave, still clearly angry, but then he turns back, marching up to you and turning you to face him. The forcefulness of that action makes you pause as he grabs you by the shoulders firmly.

“What the hell??” You ask him.

Ezra stares at you, seemingly not aware of his sudden show of aggression. He still appears angry, but now there's a sense of confusion as well. He looks conflicted and troubled, but there’s a set in his jaw. A determination. He suddenly moves his hold from your shoulders to your forearms and pulls you close, his eyes shifting from determination to passion. You can barely even process it before a pair of lips comes into contact with your cheekbone; just the lightest brush against your skin. But it’s enough to send a jolt through you, straight to your abdomen in a hot zing. Your eyes widen for a moment, mainly out of pure confusion.

You were almost sure he was about to kiss you. But before you can voice that, he moves. He pulls you closer again, his breath coming in quick and shallow as he kisses your cheek again, then your jaw, your chin, the side of your neck. The kisses are short and quick, but they still make you weak in the knees. Your hands go to his shoulders, grabbing onto him like an anchor. You feel his smile against your skin as he works his way back up to the underside of your ear, his facial scruff tickling,

"Goddess above, I've wanted to do that for a very long time..." Ezra mutters between kisses as he makes his way down again. He puts one of his hands on the back of your head and pulls you even closer to him. His lips begin softly sucking on your skin, and there’s the lightest threat of teeth, even if he doesn’t bite down.

You shiver hard, your pulse quickening under his mouth. “Ez…” you gasp. “Ezra, hold on… you’re,” His tongue darts out and it feels so smooth and warm and impossibly soft. Your thighs clench. “Oh goddess above,”

It gently flicks against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath coming in raspy. He kisses your jaw, making his way up to your ear again. "Do you think you can keep quiet for just a little while?" Ezra purrs softly, and you can feel his hot breath. His hand begins to caress the side of your face, his fingers softly brushing against your temple. Ezra looks at you passionately - his eyes fixed on yours. As you meet them, you notice that they’re now darker than you’ve ever seen them, the pupil almost completely overtaking the iris.

You groan softly, curling a hand into his hair. “I’m…. I just… I don’t understand. I know how you feel about me but I… god I wasn’t expecting-“

"You feel it too, don't you?" Ezra asks with a smile, his voice tender. He moves one of his legs in between yours, and the urge to grind yourself against it is pathetic. He can tell too, can see the way your eyes flit down as you debate it for the smallest second. He leans into you, looking at your face with desire. He brings his knee right to the apex of your thighs and gently teases you, watching your mouth silently drop open.

“Oh… Ezra…” his name sounds like a devotion as you groan, “We-We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t even hold a conversation right now.” You say with a breathless laugh, even as you pull him closer.

Ezra looks at you for a moment, but that look is soon replaced with a devilish grin. "I think we can find a more suitable way to communicate," Ezra says with a smirk. He gazes at you with lust in his eyes. He now moves his lips down to your collarbone. He moves his knee away, and shoves your shorts and underwear aside, not even bothering to undress you as he uses two fingers to touch you. Your body almost freezes.

You gasp. “Ez!” You clamp a hand over your mouth as you realize that was a bit too loud in the now silence of the camp. He lets out a throaty, breathless laugh of his own, just a rough chuckle that makes you hyperaware of his chest against yours.

"You really need to learn how to be quiet..." He whispers, his voice filled with desire. He moves his head a bit and kisses down the side of your neck again; his touch is softer, more delicate now. "I really wish you could see yourself at this moment," Ezra says in a gentle, yet playful tone.

He nudges you gently back and guides you over to the nearest wall of the tent, pinning you in place with his body. His other hand runs through your hair, tugging on it slightly as his fingers return eagerly between your thighs. "Oh, I can feel you too," Ezra whispers softly between kisses. “Ya feel that?” He asks, pulling back to meet your eyes while his touch never ceases. It even increases in both roughness and pace, making you groan again. He waits for a response, his eyes burning as he looks down at you. He moves your hand away from your mouth, a silent command for you to respond.

“Y-Yes, I feel that, Ez.” His grin is triumphant, his eyes shining as you finally reveal how good he’s making you feel. He leans in again to mumble in your ear.

"I want more..." he says in a pleading groan, his lips barely moving, "I want to touch you more than just this, darlin’. I want to touch you in ways that no one’s ever touched anyone before..." The sound of his fingers moving in and out of you distracts you for just a moment. "Tell me... tell me that you want me, too," Ezra whispers, his lips moving over yours, being careful not to make contact. He's so close, so, so, so close… But he pulls away at the last moment, making you almost cry out as you ache for his touch to return.

Finally, in a longing sigh, you breathe out:

“Please…”

His body trembles. His heart is beating so hard that he swears he can feel every blood cell pulsing throughout his veins. His kisses on your skin return but this time they’re hungry… starving. He has no words. All he knows is the scent of your hair, the sounds from your mouth, the taste of your flesh. The way his body is pressed against yours is driving him crazy. This feels so good, too good. He slowly brings the hand that was in your hair out, his index finger gently tracing a line along your collarbone. He smiles, feeling the soft skin underneath his fingertips.

You shiver at the touch of his fingertip, even that small delicate gesture making your body react. He’s touched you before but not like that. Not so gently but so clearly veiled with desire before.

He feels your body reacting, and his heart rate increases. He wants more. He can't stop. Slowly, deliberately, he takes his time, enjoying every part of you. He gently slides his fingers down toward the small of your back, and as he feels the dip of your lower back, he presses his hand into the soft skin there. But he still doesn’t give you a chance to move. Not that that’s the first thing on your to-do list at the moment. He moves his hand lower, and he lets his fingers trace along the top of your thigh, coming just within a few inches of an area where no other man should touch you again.

Your breathing hitches when he reaches that spot and you try to regain some composure but you can’t. A soft pathetic whimper escapes your mouth as your body already feels addicted to his touch. A sound you’ve never made around him before.

He feels you make the sound, and just like that, his brain stops working. He can't control himself anymore. He wants you, needs you, but he knows he should stop himself. He's pushing you into something he thinks you never thought you would want.

"If it's too much... just tell me to stop, and I will... just say the word, and I'll back away. I'll stop, I promise you that.” Ezra says, his voice thick with lust and desire, his eyes locked on yours.

“It’s not too much.” You respond. He grins again, a soft sound of almost disbelief escaping his throat. He runs his free hand down your back, to your hips.... and then, suddenly, slides it underneath your shirt.

"Let me love you, yeah?" Ezra whispers. You nod, the tempo of his fingers inside you hitting all the right beats as you can’t do much in terms of talking, biting your lip so hard to shut yourself up you can almost taste blood. But all too soon your reasoning rears its raucous head, not letting you fully live in the moment.

“Ezra… I-I’m just confused.” You admit; your heartbeat is racing. “I don’t… I just don’t understand.” You subconsciously lick your lips, wishing he would give you a taste of him. As if reading your mind, he smiles and pulls away just a little to remove his shirt.

Unlike that day at the pool, you take full advantage of the sight, drinking in his skin. Your eyes drink in the exact tan, the various scars, the hair on his chest, and the happy trail leading down lower. Your own skin grows hot and you see his response in kind, turning that now-familiar shade of rose. He smirks and lets you ogle all you want, before he leans in, kissing your nose to direct your eyes back to his face,

"We're both confused," Ezra says softly, his index finger coming up to trace the outline of your lips again. "But right now... right now is all we have, and I just want to be with you. Nothin’ else matters. This is ours, just for us, tonight. No one should know; no one has to interfere."

“Just for tonight?” Your tone is pensive, thinking as you look down for a moment. You shouldn’t agree to this. It would be career suicide. But he’s already said no one needs to know.

“This can just be stress relief.” He lifts your eyes to him again with just a tap on your chin. "And then we forget it ever happened,” Ezra asks, the excitement building in his voice. "Just for tonight, and then we never talk about it again... deal?" His hand drifts down again and your body immediately buzzes in anticipation as his fingers once again sneak their way into your underwear.

“Deal.”

He smiles as you agree, feeling a wave of excitement and relief wash over him. He whispers into your ear as he comes closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me," Ezra says. You're his, and he wants you more than anything else at this moment. You're his to love, to touch, to kiss, to taste. His face is buried into the soft skin of your neck, and he breathes you in deeply, just wanting as much of you as possible.

You're all he wants. The taste of you, the smell of you, the heat of you, the feel of you against him. He speeds up his pace, giving it to you freely now as the sound of his fingers and your combined ragged breaths become the only sounds in the room.

"You feel so good," Ezra whispers, his voice husky with desire. "So good."

“O-Oh my god…” You haven’t been touched like this in ages. Your head rests against the wall and your eyes close as you don’t make one single attempt to stop him.

Ezra watches your face, his eyes filled with want, desire, and lust. The feel of your skin against his fingertips is otherworldly, your body like fire in his hands. His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath as he watches you and feels you against him. A slow smile spreads across Ezra's face, and he leans in, his body brushing against yours, his voice heavy and sultry as he breathes out.

"So good..." he purrs, his fingers moving slower and more intimately.

You moan at the feeling, “I swear to god if you tell anyone about this-“ Ezra smirks at your threat, but he doesn't stop what he's doing. In fact, he moves even slower as if just desperate to continue teasing you.

"I won't tell anyone, don't worry." He says coyly. He takes a moment to try and compose himself, swallowing hard. "But Blessed Mother, you feel so soft..."

“Oh fuck,” The rhythm of his fingers, his words. It’s all driving you crazy. You never expected anyone to make you feel like this, especially not Ezra. And yet, here you are. Completely at his mercy.

Ezra chuckles at your sudden outburst, his fingers pausing for a split second until he picks up again, and this time his rhythm picks up faster.

And as soon as he does that, your breathing rushes back in, and you let out an incredible moan. It escapes your throat against your own judgment, your head tilting back to face the ceiling of the tent. When he hears that, Ezra’s entire body sings, like something awakens in him. Something desperate to hear you make that exact sound again, no matter what he has to do. Your hips begin to move, chasing that rhythm, that delicious burn from his fingers as more moans follow the first.

"That’s right," he says softly after a moment, his voice still a bit breathless, and his eyes are locked on yours, "Do you know how much you turn me on?" he asks in a low voice. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve ached to do this for you?” The tension in your body is building, building, building…

He doesn't stop what he's doing. He's in control now, and he can see the tension building inside you. He can feel your body giving into it, and he can't help but feel a rush of power and excitement as he watches. He's made you want him, and there's no turning back now.

He moves faster, his fingers picking up speed and intensity again. Another moan, louder than the first leaves your mouth and you tuck your face into his neck. You muffle the sounds you’re making by kissing and licking at his skin, causing him to shudder audibly in your ear. He tastes like fresh water and soap, the scent of his body wash filling your nose and making your mind dizzy.

“Goddamn, the night you straddled me.” He continues, his voice dripping with desire. “Kevva be damned, I almost just took you right then and there.” He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh at that. “Almost ripped your suit off right in that tower, almost bent you over the railin’. A-Almost made you mine right in the middle of camp.” Something halfway between a cry and a groan leaves your mouth and you squeeze his fingers, making him curse under his breath again. He feels the tension in your body building with each passing second, and his eyes darken with determination now.

You turn your face towards him as if to kiss him, but he pulls back at the last possible second, instead kissing the dip under your ear to make up for it.

“Not yet.” His voice is a low growl in your ear.

“Wh-Why?” You ask, your voice needy and breathless as you try to hold yourself back from screaming.

“Because I know this doesn't mean a damned thing.” His voice is almost angry as he pumps his fingers faster, and harder. He curls his fingers deep. You bite your lip hard as a muffled scream escapes you, your hips following his lead. “And I want that to matter. You understand, rook?”

You can’t even respond, you know if you do you’ll lose it so you nod against his shoulder furiously and he smiles. He gives you a moment to recover your composure, but he never stops his movement. You find it even in this haze and you release your lip from between your teeth and let yourself make noise again, trying to keep quiet but it quickly builds in volume and you muffle it with the skin of his shoulder. He can tell you're about to reach a breaking point. Your moans are constant now and your hips begin to falter in their rhythm, making him smile against your jaw. He knows how important this is and he keeps his pace perfectly, going silent for a full 30 seconds before,

"You deserve this, sweetheart," he growls. “Let yourself have it.”

It doesn’t take long at all and with a moan that morphs into a cry of his name, you break, your entire body tensing and relaxing as the pleasure washes over you from head to toe and back. Ezra grins as he watches, and when you cry out, his lips pull up into a genuine smile. He leans in closer, his smile filling his eyes as he looks at you.

"Yeah… c’mon just like that…. good. You did s'good," he murmurs softly into your hairline, his voice filled with excitement, power, and a tenderness you didn’t expect. His hand rests in your hair, gently caressing your neck as you come down from your peak, his voice hushed as he praises you, his fingers stopping their rhythm slowly as he draws out your high for all it’s worth.

His touch grounds you, giving you something to anchor yourself with as your ecstasy morphs into bliss. Another, softer sound escapes your mouth as you close your eyes to regulate your breathing.

Ezra watches, feeling relieved. Your face is flushed, your hair disheveled, but you look beautiful in his eyes. It's the first time he's seen you this way, this intimate, and he can't help but smile at the sight.

"Are you okay?" Ezra asks, his voice gentle and caring. The look in his eyes is one of concern mixed with affection, and it warms your heart. When you nod, another shaky exhale escaping your mouth, he lets you go. He smiles one more time. “Good… sweet dreams.” He plants one final, tender but fierce kiss against your forehead before he leaves without another word. You can’t even stop him or beg him to come back and honestly, you don’t even know if you want to. One thing you do notice though: your headache is gone.

You spend the rest of the night thinking about it and… replaying it all in your head. Your mind is confused, turned on, and conflicted all at once. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he moved.... the way he made you move.

Suffice it to say you don’t get much sleep that night.

******

WOOH, damn. Ok, hopefully this being another extra long chapter (not intentional) makes up for me not posting all month hahahaha...... Anyway, I had to take some time away from this cuz you all know how I am with spice if you read my stuff I love it but HATE writing it. Also, good news: I got into grad school! I start in two weeks so I have been CRUNCHING it to get everything in order and really have not had the time to write. Anyway, that’s it, thanks a million, hope you all enjoyed, and see you in the next one!

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chaos-burst · 3 years

Text

direction to perfection

Dorian fought his parents to be here.

He fought tooth and nail to be allowed to live in a dorm, so there is no way he can back down from this decision. It’s his first shot at freedom and being normal and doing something for himself instead of his family.

Dorian will not back down.

He will persevere.

“Harder, come on!”

Loud moaning and the creaking of an old mattress accompany the dull thudding that comes from inside of his room. The room he’s currently standing in front of.

“I’m so close, so close, so close—“

Dorian stares at the door. His face is hot and he stands frozen in place as he tries to decide what to do. He needs his lute for the next bard class. He also needs to be far away from this room.

Gods, most of all he needs a new roommate.

“Oh, fuck, just like that—ah—“

Dorian closes his eyes and hides his face in his hands.

He was so proud after he finally convinced his parents to let him stay here. When he first entered his room he wasn’t even concerned about how small it was, or how his roommate’s bed was so close to his that stretching both their arms out would result in them touching hands.

And then he met Dariax, the guy he’s supposed to be living with for a long time.

“Dorian, are you literally standing here listening to Dariax bang someone inside of your room?”, Opal’s voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at her. She must see the desperation on his face because the next moment she gives him a pointed look before hammering her fist on the door.

“What the fuck, guys! Rent a room! And hurry up, Dorian needs his stuff!”

Dorian feels mortification creep from his face down into his stomach as he hears a loud thump, a shriek and a curse. The fact that Dariax knows that Dorian has been standing here makes him go through the five stages of grief so quickly that he can feel his insides churn.

Opal turns to face him and gives him a stern stop-putting-up-with-this look before she stalks away, twirling her dagger in her hand.

Dorian wishes it were that easy to voice what he wants.

To be sure of himself.

To live unashamed and free.

Sadly, his current repertoire covers none of these things.

The door gets yanked open and Dorian finds himself face to face with a white, half-elven woman wrapped in a bed sheet, her hair a complete and utter, blonde mess, her purple lipstick smeared across her left cheek.

“I was so close!”, she hisses as she holds up her index finger and thumb to indicate the fact that Dorian just ruined her earth-shattering orgasm.

“I—uh. I’m so—“

“Dorian! Gosh, I’m so sorry, I forgot that you had class, buddy!”

The half-elven woman throws Dorian the nastiest stink-eye and rushes down the corridor in nothing but the bedsheet wrapped around her. Dorian has no idea why she would do that, but Dariax distracts him.

Dariax, who is completely naked, his lips covered in purple lipstick, his cheeks flushed and his hair standing up from his head.

For decency, he’s holding a bottle of wine to cover his crotch.

Dorian wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I—uh. Sorry to disturb the—ah. Fun? I just. I just need to grab my lute real quick”, he says weakly, rushes over to his bed and grabs the lute leaning against the wall beside it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, buddy, I’ll just go jack off in the shower, it’s no biggie.”

Dorian stares at Dariax who grins at him, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone in this situation.

“Sure. Have fun”, he croaks, his cheeks still flaming, and flees out of the room and down the hallway.

Dorian fought so hard to be here but gods, he wishes he were somewhere else right now.

The class he’s attending is one of his favorites—one that covers Bardic Inspiration as a form of self-expression, but it takes him a while to cool down from the mortifying ordeal of having Dariax as his roommate.

They’ve been living together for almost three months now and it’s not like it’s all bad.

Hell, Dorian likes Dariax.

He’s funny, doesn’t take himself too seriously, he tells ridiculous, entertaining stories and is loyal to a fault. But he’s also extroverted in a way that makes Dorian go insane. There is no moment of silence when Dariax is in the room—because Dariax hates silence. He also brings back so many different people to their room without asking Dorian first. Not all of them are Dariax’ lovers—at least not as far as he knows.

But they’re always loud, always messy and always completely oblivious to Dorian’s social cues.

Opal keeps ranting about how Dorian needs to reinforce his boundaries, but Dorian has no idea how to do that. Never in a million years would he bang on the door of his room if he knows that Dariax is having sex in there. Opal is always so loud and unapologetic about everything—Dorian envies her for it.

Dorian has never kissed anyone. Or had sex. Or anything in between these things. How the fuck both Dariax and Opal know exactly what they like and who they like is beyond him.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”, a soft voice says right next to him and Dorian is ripped out of thoughts and into reality. The class has been going for an hour and there’s someone standing next to him he’s never seen before.

She’s definitely some sort of fey—the whole lower half of her body is goat-like and her long ears are drooping. The amount of ribbons her dress is supporting is truly astounding and there is a whole crown of poisonous flowers on top of her head that she wears like a crown. Dorian blinks before catching himself.

“Ah—no. Please”, he says and gestures at the empty chair next to him.

The faun sits down carefully and watches as she carefully places a panflute on her thighs.

“Which bard college do you specialize in?”, Dorian asks.

“Hm? Oh, I’m not a bard. I’m majoring in druid. I just like to make music”, she answers with a smile.

Dorian never considered just taking classes that have nothing to do with his major. Maybe it would be something his parents would disapprove of even more than they did of his bard major and his choice to sleep in a dorm.

“I’m Fearne, by the way”, she adds and nods her heads slightly. A single leaf falls from her head and onto her panflute.

“Dorian”, he answers. Fearne smiles at him.

“You have very pretty hair”, she says.

“Oh. Ah—thank you? You—you too. Your hair, I mean. It’s—uh. Very green.”

Fearne’s smile widens.

“Thank you!”, she says in a tone that suggests that this might be the compliment she’s ever received. Dorian on the other hand wishes he could bite off his tongue. Your hair is very green. What kind of compliment is that? It’s no wonder that he didn’t have any chance to kiss anyone yet if this is all that he can come up with.

Dorian turns around and tries to concentrate on the professor’s lecture but his mind keeps wandering. He takes only a few notes and as he looks over at Fearne he sees that she’s doodling all sorts of mushrooms into her notebook. Then there is a small screech coming directly from her bag.

The class falls silent and everyone turns to look in their direction.

“What was that?”, professor Brooke asks with a confused look on his face. “I don’t remember any familiar registrations for this class.”

Dorian looks at Fearne who turns her head to look around at all the people staring in their direction.

“That was just me”, Fearne says and points to herself. “I ate too much pudding for breakfast.”

Professor Brooke looks embarrassed and very apologetic.

“I’m sorry, dear. Let’s continue then.”

As the lecture continues, Dorian leans over to Fearne.

“Didn’t that come out of your bag?”, he wants to know. Fearne shoots him a sly smile and gently lifts the flap of her green bag. Dorian stares at a small monkey peeking up at him with weirdly glowing eyes. Then the monkey raises his index finger to his mouth as if trying to tell Dorian to shut up.

Fearne closes the bag.

“That’s just Little Mister. He’s my… friend.”

“I see”, Dorian says.

He supposes that this is what he left home for—to meet all sorts of people, learn about all kinds of different things that he would never get in touch with while under his parents’ wings.

So Dorian decides to simply accept that some people are friends with monkeys and carry them around in bags.

If he can manage to live with someone like Dariax, he sure as hell won’t judge someone for bringing an animal companion to class.

After another fifteen minutes, Fearne leans over to Dorian again.

“I don’t understand this concept that the professor is talking about.”

“Oh, they explained it in the first half hour, before you got here.”

“Oh, I see. I was late”, Fearne says and looks disappointed, as if she was only now realizing this.

“Uh—yeah. Like, half an hour.”

“Time is kind of hard, you know. It’s like—it’s like this weird soup. And I don’t think I really have it memorized how to read clocks.”

Dorian stares at her.

“So. Are you not from here?”, he asks and groans internally at his phrasing. Fearne doesn’t seem to mind, though. She nods gratefully as Dorian pushes over his notes so she can look at them.

“No, not really. I come from the Feywild. We don’t really have clocks.”

“Because… time is a weird soup.”

“Yeah, exactly. Is that a saying here, too?”, she asks, her ears turning towards him full of excitement.

“Ah—no. I don’t think it is. Not here, at least.”

“Well, now you know it.”

Dorian nods and watches as Fearne studies his notes to copy some of them down into her notebook. He tries to imagine a world without clocks and immediately gets anxious at the prospect of always being late.

In the last twenty minutes of the lecture, they actually get to play their instruments.

“You play beautifully”, Fearne says after listening to Dorian play for a few minutes.

“Thank you! Your music is really different from what I know. It’s interesting.”

Fearne beams at him.

“Maybe we could make some music together some time?”, she asks.

“I would like that, yeah.”

Dorian isn’t bad at making friends, he’s just not as good or fast at it as Dariax. Maybe that’s because he’s a little more selective about the people he hangs out with, but Dariax just seems to consider everyone he talked to more than once his friend.

Dorian never really had friends growing up, so he doesn’t consider himself an expert. But at least for him Dariax’ way doesn’t seem to be all that great.

So when Dariax asks: “Hey, do you wanna come hang out with me and my friends tonight?” Dorian feels less than inclined to say yes.

“Uh—I already have plans”, he lies, trying to figure out if he should try to convince Opal to spend the evening with him or if he should just take this opportunity to have some peace and quiet in his room.

“Aw, man. Too bad. We wanted to go skinny dipping in the gym’s pool”, Dariax says.

“Isn’t that off limits at night?”, Dorian asks, his brow furrowed as he looks at Dariax’ face that breaks into a wide grin.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun to go there”, he answers and winks at Dorian. Dorian feels his cheeks grow hot and swallows as his intestines suddenly feel the need to writhe around like living snakes.

“Oh, well—I’m not really a—uh. A rebel boy, as they say”, he says and laughs nervously. “You go and have fun, though.”

He tries not to picture Dariax completely naked in the dim, shimmering light of the campus’ pool but he fails miserably. His palms start sweating.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will, I will. But hey, maybe next time!”

“Uh—yeah. Maybe”, Dorian says weakly as Dariax saunters out of their room and closes the door behind him. Dorian stares at the locked door for way too long and he’s endlessly glad that no one can see him.

This doesn’t seem like a normal thing to invite someone to. When he went to college to learn how to be a bard, he envisioned parties, maybe some illegal weed smoking on a restricted rooftop, at the most.

He did not envision to be asked to get butt naked, break into a gym with a pool at night and go swimming with a bunch of—probably drunk—strangers he doesn’t even know the names of.

That was, of course, before he got Dariax as a roommate.

Now Dorian feels like he should be prepared for anything.

As Dorian grabs his lute and sinks down onto his bed he wonders if Fearne lives on campus or if she lives in the Feywild and somehow manages to travel here for every class that she has. That would explain the time thing, he supposes, because he learned that time works differently on other planes.

This is the first evening in what feels like weeks that he has the room just to himself. In between the pieces he plays on his lute he simply sits on the bed, enjoying the silence. When he opens the window the cool breeze from outside reminds him of home and he closes his eyes for a little while.

It smells like rain and autumn outside. Dorian turns to look at the small room that’s his now. It’s nothing compared to the big, bright room he had at home, but it feels special simply because this is the first time he gets to do what he wants with a space without anyone breathing down his neck.

There’s not much in the room aside from their desks, beds and the closet they share, but Dorian pinned a few posters and postcards over his bed for the very first time. His bed is unmade—something that his parents would have never allowed—and there are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling that he actually picked out himself.

The desk is covered in sheet music and books and for a few seconds Dorian looks at the small picture of his brother and himself that is sticking to his pencil holder, before turning his gaze at some of the articles he printed out yesterday.

He might actually get some homework done in this blessed quiet.

At least that’s what he thinks until his phone rings.

At some point Dariax must’ve stolen Dorian’s phone and taken a selfie to make it pop up every time he calls Dorian, because as his phone lights up Dorian can see Dariax’ dopey smile appear. Dorian ignores the rush of heat he feels as he looks down at the glowing display, reaches for his phone and picks up the call.

“Dariax?”

“Dorian, hey buddy!”

He definitely sounds drunk, which doesn’t surprise Dorian. But there’s an edge to his voice that makes Dorian nervous.

“What’s up, Dariax?”

“I—uh. Remember how I told you that we were going to go skinny dipping in the gym and everything?”

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. It was like, three hours ago.”

“Cool, yeah. So the guys—“, and Dorian wonders who exactly ‘the guys’ are supposed to be, “were in a real funny mood. So. They stole my clothes and locked me in here—“

“They what?”

“I know, right? So… I tried to break open the lock, but I might be a little too drunk to get it right. And I was wondering—could you maybe bring me some clothes and get that door open for me?”

Dorian stares out into the night.

“How do you have your phone if they took all your stuff?”, he asks weakly.

“Had it with me in the pool to take some underwater selfies. It’s waterproof”, Dariax supplies cheerfully.

Dorian can see lights in the buildings all over campus and a crescent moon in the sky. He tries not to imagine what kind of pictures Dariax was trying to take of himself. Naked. In a pool.

“You want me to break open a door”, he repeats, just in case he misheard.

“I mean, kinda? Maybe? I really don’t wanna sleep in here. I slept in worse places, but it seems kinda shitty to wake up and immediately get into trouble for trespassing and all of that…”

Dorian isn’t sure if he wants to know in what kind of places Dariax has slept that count as worse as a college gym’s pool.

“But I guess I could just sleep in the showers or something.”

“I don’t really know how to get locks open”, Dorian sighs, but he’s already walking over to their shared closet. In theory, Dariax’ half is on the left, but he insists on just throwing all of his clothes in there without actually caring about which side they land on, so Dorian grabs some jeans, a hoodie and some underwear and stuffs it into his bag. He tries very hard not to look at the underwear too closely.

Dariax might not know what privacy is but that doesn’t mean that Dorian has to stoop down to the same level as his roommate.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do”, he huffs.

“Aw, fuck yeah, you’re the best. I lo—“

“Bye”, Dorian calls and hangs up hastily before Dariax can finish.

His dreams of a quiet night dissipate into smoke as he throws the bag over his shoulder, grabs his keys, his jacket and his phone and leaves the room to head towards the gym.

Dorian, never in his life, has tried to open a lock with anything other than the key that was supposed to go into it. He doubts that he would manage to learn it in the heat of a moment so as he walks through the night, passing under a lantern every few steps he takes, he considers what he can do to get a locked door to open.

He is not strong enough to pry it open.

He has never learned how to do that trick with a credit card and isn’t sure if it would even work on this door even if he knew how.

There is no spell he knows that would be useful to open a door.

The only thing Dorian is good at is music and talking to people.

He makes his decision as he heads for the closest security guard patrolling campus at night.

“Excuse me, hi”, he says with the most honest and simultaneously nervous smile he can muster. The young man looks him up and down and seems to come to the conclusion that Dorian is worthy of his attention because his body turns towards him and offers a small smile back. He’s white withshort, brown hair, a long nose and arms full of tattoos.

“Can I help you?”, he asks.

“Well—this is so embarrassing. I—uh. I was in the gym earlier and I forgot my phone in there and my girlfriend wanted to call me tonight and I—uh. I already missed the last call so…”

He trails off as he tries to looks as bashful and stressed as he can—something that isn’t hard because Dorian still has to think about how Dariax is naked and probably dripping wet and how they’re most likely going to get into so much damn trouble.

“Oh wow, that sucks”, the security guard says and Dorian nods.

“Yeah, I’m—this is so dumb, I know you have better things to do, but… If you could just let me sneak in there for a minute and grab my phone? That would be a total life-saver, man”, he says and brings his hands up in front of his chest in a pleading gesture.

“Well, I guess we can make an exception. Don’t want to be the cause for trouble in paradise, right?”, he answers with a smile and Dorian forces himself to laugh.

“Thanks so much, I’ll drop off some cookies next time I see you around”, Dorian says and the security guard chuckles and makes a joke about bribery that Dorian doesn’t actually find funny but laughs about anyway. Since he officially ‘lost’ his phone he has no idea how to let Dariax know what his plan is.

All Dorian can do is hope that Dariax isn’t standing right behind the door butt-naked. Dorian supposes that he could always claim not to know him then—something that would only hold up for so long.

They walk towards the gym and Dorian can feel his heartbeat picking up.

What if he gets suspended? Kicked out? Sent home?

When they arrive in front of the gym everything is silent. Dariax is not banging on the door from the inside, calling Dorian’s name. Dorian decides to take that as a win as he nervously watches the guard fiddle for the master-key before opening the door.

“So, where did you leave your phone?”, the guard asks him and Dorian looks around hastily to see if he can spot Dariax anywhere.

“Uh—over on the benches, I’ll be right back!”, he says with an apologetic smile before rushing through the gym and towards the benches on the other side of the building.

“Dariax!”, he hisses into the darkness towards the corridor that leads to the locker-room and the pool.

“Hey bu—“

“Pscht. There’s a guard there. I had him open the door, you have to sneak out!”

Dorian starts crouching down on the floor and drops his bag so Dariax can reach it. He’s peaking his head out of the dark corridor and Dorian hopes that the security guard doesn’t spot him as he reaches his arm out towards the bag with Dariax’ clothes inside it.

“Did you find it?”, the guard calls over and Dorian can hear his footsteps coming closer. He hastily fishes for his phone and slides it under one of the benches.

“Not yet, it’s pretty dark in here”, he says. The rustling in the corridor next to him tells him that Dariax is hastily getting dressed.

“I have a flashlight, one sec”, the guard says and crouches down next to Dorian who feels bad for lying to the poor guy. He’s so friendly and forthcoming—Dorian decides that he actually has to get this man some cookies.

“Oh, there it is!”, he says and points to the left as the light of the torch reaches his phone.

“I’m afraid my arms too short to reach that”, the guard says and scoots back so Dorian can extent his arm and grab his phone. He tries hard not to look behind him to check if Dariax already made it out or not. He gets up, stuffs the phone into his pocket and dusts off his pants before turning towards the guard with an embarrassed smile.

“Man, thank you so much, this is really clutch.”

“No problem. I hope it works out with your girlfriend”, he answers and leads Dorian back towards the door.

“Thanks. If I see you again I’ll keep you posted!”

They step outside into the cool night air and Dorian can’t see Dariax anywhere. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are terribly sweaty. He wipes them off on his pants and decides that he needs a hot shower and his warm bed after this terrible disaster. His body feels as if he just ran a marathon.

So much for a quiet, peaceful night.

As soon as the guard leaves Dorian looks around frantically. If Dariax didn’t make it outside, there’s no way Dorian can convince this guy to open the gym up again without telling him the truth—something Dorian desperately does not want to do.

“Hey, over here!”

Dorian turns around and sees Dariax waving out of one of the bushes. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, his face is flushed and his eyes glassy, but he has a wide, reckless smile on his face that makes Dorian’s heart leap into his throat and press on his windpipe.

“What the fuck, man?”, Dorian hisses as he walks over to Dariax who gets up now, slightly swaying on his feet. There are some yellow leaves stuck in his auburn hair.

“Damn, buddy, that was awesome! You seriously have a velvet tongue, how did you even do that?”

“I asked nicely. What the actual fuck, Dariax? Why did your friends think that was a good idea?”

Dariax looks at him sheepishly and shrugs.

“Ah—to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like they were fucking you over”, Dorian says and starts walking back towards the dorm. Some fine mist hangs between the trees, which look mostly black except for those who reach into the light of the street lamps. The orange and brown colored leaves remind Dorian of Dariax’ hair.

“Yeah. Sounds like it, huh.”

Dariax is quiet after that, something which Dorian, for some reason, finds even more disturbing than hearing Dariax’ sex-noises through a locked door.

“You okay?”, he asks after two minutes of walking in silence.

Dariax turns to look at him and the smile that appears on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. You know how it is, people just fuck you over. That’s how it works, I guess.”

“It doesn’t have to work like this”, Dorian says, his brow furrowed and his hands itchy to reach out and tussle Dariax’ wet hair for comfort. He doesn’t even know if Dariax wants to be comforted. Or wants to be comforted by Dorian specifically.

Dorian doesn’t even know why he feels the need to comfort Dariax, seeing as to how it’s his own fault for getting into such a situation in the first place.

“Hm, maybe. But I guess you showed up to save the day”, Dariax says, looking at Dorian thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I didn’t fuck you over”, Dorian agrees and holds open the door for them as they reach the dorm.

“Yeah. You didn’t. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

The security guard’s name is Orym, he knows Fearne from taking some druid classes on the side on top of his fighter classes and he enjoys blueberry muffins.

“So, how did it go with your girlfriend?”, he asks while chewing on the muffin that Dorian handed him a few moments ago.

“We broke up”, Dorian replies with a gravelly voice and Orym pulls a face.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks again for helping me with my phone.”

“It’s no problem at all. Thank you for this muffin.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.”

Dorian is pleased to find that the steady trickle of loud people that Dariax used to invite to their room before is thinning. He still goes out drinking and partying a lot, and he still has guests over to play Mario Kart or some horrible drinking game, but overall Dorian’s having more peace and quiet than ever before since he moved into this room with Dariax.

On a Wednesday night Dariax is sprawled out on his bed flipping through his phone. Dorian wonders if he’s going through his contacts, considering whom to call on for some. Well. Drinking or sex, probably.

Dorian hopes it’s not sex. And if it is sex, then for sex that is supposed to happen far away from here.

“How come you never go out?”, Dariax wants to know.

Dorian looks up from the sheet music he’s working on. He’s humming along quietly as he writes down, erases, writes down again and corrects the song he’s trying to write. He finds that he actually likes working in companionable silence, even though he didn’t think this would be possible with Dariax as his roommate a few weeks ago.

Dariax doesn’t seem to mind not talking as long as there is some sort of sound in the room—and Dorian’s humming apparently counts.

“How do you mean? I go out all the time”, Dorian says and looks up from his paper, cocking his head to regard Dariax who’s head is now hanging off of the side of the bed so he looks back at Dorian upside down.

“Yeah but like, partying. Drinking. College stuff, you know. You just hang out with the scary lady and she seems to like partying.”

“First of all, her name’s Opal. And I guess she can be kind of scary, but only if you’re a dick. And second of all, I hang out with other people! I met this very nice faun in my bard class and we’re making music from time to time. And—I don’t know. Partying is just not. Uh... It’s just not...”

Dorian sighs and leans against the wall behind him. The room is so scrappy that some of the wallpaper is coming down in little flakes in some places. He absentmindedly starts picking at his pillow.

“I never really went to parties before coming here. It’s just. I don’t know. New. I’m not like you. You know, with all the drinking and partying and—and uh. Sex. I guess.”

He can feel his ears burning and his cheeks heating up as he mumbles the end of his sentence. Dariax blinks at him and drops his phone on his face.

“Ow, fuck—okay. Wait. Are you saying that you’re a party-virgin and an actual virgin?”

“Oh come on, man, why do you have to say it like that? I’ve been to parties! But not—you know? College parties! And I never really drank alcohol before. It seems... I don’t know. Shifty.”

“Shifty”, Dariax repeats and a shit-eating grin spreads over his face, lighting up his eyes with a shimmer of mischief that Dorian finds very disconcerting.

“So you are a virgin.”

Dorian throws his pencil at Dariax and misses.

“So what? There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! We can’t all walk around like you sleeping with people left and right!”

Dariax chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.

“Very true, I’m one of a kind. So, okay. But you kissed people, right?”, he wants to know.

“Why is that even relevant?”, Dorian hisses. He decides to throw his pillow next and Dariax almost falls off the bed trying to dodge it as he laughs.

“It’s not, I’m just curious! You’re always super uptight and mysterious, I know shit all about you and you’ve basically seen me banging someone at least twice!”

Dorian tries and fails to keep his poise as he flails his arms around.

“I could’ve lived happily without having seen any of that!”

“So that means you never kissed anyone?”, Dariax asks again, his grin wide and his eyebrows offensively wiggling. Dorian wishes he had some sort of cake that he could press Dariax’ face into.

“No, never. Are you happy now?”

“Would you like to kiss someone?”, Dariax wants to know and leans forward on the bed. He seems to have decided that sitting upright is the better choice in case Dorian decides to throw something else at him.

“I—I mean. I don’t know? I haven’t found the right person to kiss yet!”

“Ah, you’re one of those guys”, Dariax says with a wise nod that drives Dorian up the walls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know? Like a romantic. True love and shit.”

“I wouldn’t—I. I haven’t really thought about it much. It’s not that important to me.”

Dariax pulls a face and nods, as if he understands perfectly what it means to not much care about kissing, sex or relationships. Dorian doubts that he actually understands with the frequency in which he drags people into his bed.

“I guess it’s not bad to wait for someone special”, Dariax concedes with a lopsided smile. “My first kiss was a total disaster, I didn’t know what I was doing at all and the dude told me it was like kissing a bowl of rice pudding.”

Dorian stares at him.

“That’s such a horrible thing to say”, he answers and Dariax shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. He could’ve been nicer about it.”

Dorian’s brain is reeling.

Dariax had his first kiss with a guy. Dariax doesn’t only like women.

“Oh gods, I wish you hadn’t told me”, Dorian groans and presses the palms of his hands on his eyes until he sees little, colorful specs dancing on the inside of his eyelids. “What if I kiss someone I actually like and it turns out to be a completely terrible?”

He lowers his hands and stares at Dariax who stares back at Dorian with an intensity that surprises him.

“I mean. I guess you could just practice”, Dariax says.

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll ask the first random person I meet in the hallway—“

“I would do it. Practice with you, I mean.”

Dorian blinks. He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows that his cheeks are turning purple.

“I—uh. That’s. Well. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll—I guess I’ll just figure it out on my own.”

Dorian chuckles nervously and glances back at Dariax who looks at him for a second longer before flopping back down onto his bed.

“Sure thing, buddy”, he says quietly and it’s probably just Dorian’s imagination that he sounds a bit disappointed.

“Dorian. Hey, Dorian!”

Dariax’ voice cuts through a dream about flying through space naked and Dorian opens his eyes. He is met with darkness and turns his head over to look towards Dariax’ side of the room. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and the confusion and sleep to drain out of him.

“Huh?”

“Hey, sorry. I—uh. I kinda had—I kinda had a nightmare?”

“Sorry to hear that”, Dorian rasps and rubs at his eyes, “was it the one about the giant dwarven woman again?”

“Ah, no. Not this time. I—uh. Do you mind maybe just… I don’t know. Talking to me a little? Or, ah—humming? I would scoot over but your bed is probably a bit too small”, Dariax rambles and laughs nervously.

Dorian is too tired to get flustered about the prospect of cuddling with his roommate.

“You can scoot over. But don’t hog the blanket”, he mumbles and makes room in his tiny bed, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his blanket up, his eyes already falling shut again.

“Oh fuck yeah”, he hears Dariax whisper. There’s a rustling, the sound of naked feet on a wooden floor and then the mattress dips and Dariax climbs into bed with him, his body way warmer than Dorian expected it to be.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers.

“You sure this is okay?”, Dariax whispers into the dark and Dorian makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat before letting the blanket fall down over Dariax. His arms simply drops which is probably way too close to a hug in this position as they lie face to face on the mattress that was not made for two people to sleep on it.

“Thanks a lot, buddy. You’re the best”, Dariax whispers. Dorian knows that Dariax is pretty dense simply because he’s a dwarf, but while he drifts back off to sleep he feels the tension in Dariax’ body. This nightmare must have been deeply upsetting for someone as carefree and jovial as Dariax to ask for goddamn snuggles in the middle of the night.

Dorian starts humming. It’s faint and definitely not his best and probably not even a real song, but slowly, ever so slowly, he can feel Dariax relax beside him as they both fall asleep again.

What his sleepy brain did not account for when Dorian allowed Dariax entry into his bed was how they might wake up in completely different positions to the ones they fell asleep in and how his body was a mean betrayer set out to humiliate Dorian.

As he slowly comes back to consciousness Dorian realizes how incredibly warm it is. The next thing he notices is that there is a quietly snoring dwarf pressed against his side, one leg pushed over Dorian’s legs. Dariax, sometime during the night, has curled into Dorian so his nose is now pressed somewhere close to Dorian’s ribs. He can feel Dariax’ hot breath tickle his exposed skin.

This is the most skin-on-skin contact Dorian has ever had with someone who is not related to him.

Dariax’ arm is curled around his waist and Dorian has no idea how he’ll be able to get to the bathroom without waking Dariax up or alerting him to the fact that Dorian is suffering a terrible case of a morning boner.

Yeah, he definitely didn’t think this through when he allowed Dariax in here. If Dariax pulls his leg up a little more his thigh will absolutely come in contact with Dorian’s dick and he is not ready for that to happen.

Not even a little bit.

Dorian can’t help but notice that Dariax smells kind of nice. And the feeling of naked skin on naked skin feels so much better than he imagined it would. He should probably not think about skin on skin contact too much in his current predicament but Dariax decides that this is the right moment to move his leg.

Dorian makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat as Dariax’ thigh rubs against his erection and before he can really consider what his best course of action might be, he’s already shoving Dariax off of him.

Since these beds are tiny, that also means shoving Dariax off the bed.

There is loud thunk as Dariax hits the floor and bolts upright with a yelp, his hair tousled and untidy, his eyes barely open.

“I didn’t do it!”, he slurs loudly, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender and Dorian can’t help but wonder what in the nine hells Dariax has been dreaming about.

“Sorry, man. You were—uh. Getting a little close”, Dorian says and sits up, carefully pulling the blanket over his crotch.

Dariax blinks up at him.

“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he mumbles and sways to his feet to stumble back over to his own bed.

Dorian immediately misses the warmth and the feeling of naked skin against his but he pushes the thought away and clears his throat.

“Did you sleep okay after your nightmare?”, he asks.

“Hmhm. Like a baby”, Dariax mumbles into his pillow. His face is pressed into it and he didn’t even take the take to cover himself with his blanket. “You have the most beautiful voice.”

Dorian’s cheeks begin to burn and he grips the blanket tighter.

“Thank you.”

“’S no problem.”

Dorian glances over at his roommate. Dariax looks surprisingly peaceful like this and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again. The quiet snore returns and his mouth falls open slightly. When Dorian finally gets up to take a shower, he shivers slightly in the cold before carefully stepping over to the other bed and pulling the blanket over Dariax.

“You know what, I feel honored that you’re going to trust me with your first time”, Dariax says, looking endlessly pleased with himself.

Dorian sputters.

“Excuse m—“

“Your first time drinking, buddy”, Dariax explains and laughs as he sees the flush on Dorian’s cheeks.

They’re both sitting on Dariax’ bed—because Dariax doesn’t care about getting spots on his sheets at all—with a bottle of liquor that is bright red and looks a little radioactive.

“Well, I think I would just—uh. Prefer it… to try this out with someone I trust before I make a fool of myself in front of a whole party, you know”, Dorian says. When no answer comes, he turns his head to look at Dariax.

Dariax’ eyes are shimmering with something that Dorian can’t quite read but it makes his heart race in his chest. Dariax never looked at him like this before. His expression is almost soft with the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Glad to hear you trust me, Dorian. I trust you, too.”

Dorian clears his throat and looks away, the tension in the air between them suddenly too much for him.

“I am very trustworthy”, he jokes and grabs the bottle to unscrew it and smell the liquid inside.

“Ugh—it’s revolting”, he remarks and coughs a little.

Dariax chuckles.

“That’s how you know it’s good”, he says with a nod and gestures for Dorian to take the first sip.

Dorian has tried some champagne before, some beer. Some wine. But never more than half a glass. He never tried drinking any hard liquor and this stuff is burning his throat and sending heatwaves through his whole body immediately.

“Wow”, he coughs and hands the bottle to Dariax.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax says and

“It’s terrible!”

“Yeah”, Dariax says with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t think a thing can be both good and terrible at the same time”, Dorian remarks, his face still in a grimace as he tries to get used to the burning sensation of hard alcohol in his throat.

“Nonsense, those are like, all of my favorite movies!”, Dariax says and takes a huge swig out of the bottle before handing it back to Dorian.

Dorian feels weirdly honored that Dariax decided to stay in on a Saturday night just to hang out with him and test the waters with his roommate while no doubt all his friends are out there partying.

“Like what movies”, Dorian wants to know and takes another careful sip out of the bottle. His mind provides him with the terrible thought that this might as well count as an indirect kiss, something that is entirely idiotic and not useful at all.

“Okay, so, you know when someone asks you a question about yourself and suddenly you have forgotten all of your interests and hobbies and favorites and pretty much everything about yourself?”, Dariax says, his brow furrowed as he tries to think of a movie that is both terrible and good at the same time.

“Tell you what. I can say that two of my favorite movies of all time are Pacific Rim and Mad Max, and those are not terrible, mind you, they’re just good. But if I manage to think of one that is both terrible and good, I’ll tell you immediately.”

Dorian has neither seen Mad Max nor Pacific Rim. When he tells Dariax as much his roommate looks aghast.

“Oh my gosh, Dorian. Buddy. My boy. That is—no. No, I can’t let this stand. Grab your laptop, we’re watching Pacific Rim right now”, Dariax orders and looks at Dorian expectantly.

This is how Dorian ends up crying about giant robots. And maybe also brothers.

Dariax hands him a tissue and sniffs.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax asks and empties the bottle as the end credits start rolling. Dorian nods and watches as Dariax throws the empty bottle to the side before pulling out a second one from under his bed.

Dorian is definitely tipsy. He drank way less than Dariax, of course, but he can feel a faint buzzing in his head and his vision seems to be slowed. There is a feeling of heaviness in his legs as he accepts the new bottle—this time the liquor is bright blue and tastes even worse—and drinks.

The new sensations in his body aren’t unpleasantly.

In a way, his soul feels lighter like this, less anxious, less unsure about things, which is pretty nice.

“So, what’s your favorite movie?”, Dariax wants to know.

“I—hm. I don’t know. I’m not much of a movie guy. I suppose I liked Lord of the Rings when I watched it a few years ago”, he says, thinking about the movies he has seen and which ones he enjoyed the most. Weirdly enough it’s exactly as Dariax said—now that someone asked about what he likes, Dorian can’t seem to remember much about himself.

“Good choice”, Dariax says with an approving nod that makes Dorian feel weirdly pleased.

“I guess we could totally do a Lord of the Rings marathon, you know? Get some snacks, order pizza, get fucked up. Hey, we could make it a drinking game!”

Dorian isn’t sure why there’s a tingling sensation under his skin, or why his heart starts beating faster in light of Dariax’ suggestion. Maybe it’s because he feels happy that Dariax wants to spend more time with Dorian. Maybe it’s just because the alcohol is getting to Dorian.

“What about your other friends?”, Dorian asks.

“What about them?”

“Well—wouldn’t you rather spend more time with them? You know—partying. Going skinny dipping. That sort of thing.”

Dorian knows that he’s fishing for compliments. He knows and he feels embarrassed about it but he can’t stop. Validation is something that he craves way too much for his own comfort, but the alcohol has lowered his defenses—or raised his stupidity. Either one of those.

“Well—you know when we went skinny dipping and they fucked me over, that was like. Not cool? And you got me outta there, even though you don’t really do that sorta thing, you know? So—that was not the first time I got fucked over by people I called my friends, but it was totally the first time someone bailed me out of stuff. So yeah. I’d rather stick with you, if that’s alright with you”, Dariax says, taking a few long gulps from the bottle of blue liquid.

Dorian feels a rush of heat under his skin. It’s not unusual for him to feel strongly about being praised or validated, but it usually doesn’t hit this hard.

He swallows and laughs nervously, grabbing the bottle from Dariax and taking a big sip that burns his throat.

“Yeah—yeah, alright”, he croaks and Dariax beams at him.

“I’m sorry, by the way. That—uh. That those people left you behind”, he adds quietly and hands the bottle back to Dariax.

“Oh, you know. I suppose it’s on me. I’m not very smart and I’m not good on my own, so I tend to follow people’s leads and they—uh. I guess they get bored with me, or something? Anyway. It’s not really important. Hey, how do you feel about watching Mad Max, too?”

“Hey, my friend is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want to come?”

“Are you kidding? Do I wanna take your partying virginity? Hell, yes!”

“Dariax...”

“Sorry buddy, I got carried away.”

Dorian is still thinking about rice pudding on Friday.

The fact that somewhere out there is a person who would tell someone else something mean like this makes him nervous to try and kiss anyone. What if he actually likes the person he’s kissing and gets told that his kisses feel like a bowl of rice pudding?

Or worse, something even slimier?

He’s trying to get another song for one of his bard classes done, but he’s unable to concentrate.

“Hey, Dariax”, he says and looks over at Dariax who’s watching cat videos on YouTube, “can I ask you something? About—uh. About... kissing?”

Dariax looks up at him with bright eyes.

“Sure”, he says and grins.

Dorian swallows.

“Uh—I was thinking. How—uh. How did you get better at kissing? Did you practice with anyone?”

“Nah, not really. I mean, not like that. I just went for it again and again until I got better at it. Guess it would’ve been nice to have someone around for practice, but I made it work anyway. No one’s been complaining for a while now.”

Dorian chews on his bottom lip and pokes the paper he’s working on with a pencil.

“So—uh. You said—“

“Yes”, Dariax shoots back immediately, as if he knows what Dorian is going to say next. Dorian feels the familiar heat rise up in his chest as he looks at his roommate who seems very intense all of a sudden, leaning forward and shutting his laptop, his eyes fixed on Dorian.

“I—uh. I don’t. I don’t really... I don’t like... guys?”, Dorian says and his voice sounds way too hoarse in his own ears. Dariax’ shoulders sag a little but he shrugs.

“Doesn’t really matter for this, right? It’s just kissing.”

“Right. Okay. Uh—so. If I—if I wanted to try this... how do you—how do we make this work?”, he asks.

His heart is beating so fast, Dorian is afraid it’s going to break his rib cage and fly out of the window. Dariax puts his laptop to the side and pats the mattress beside himself, his eyes still fixed on Dorian’s face with an intensity that makes heat pool in Dorian’s lower abdomen.

He pushes the feeling aside and gets up from his own bed to sit down next to Dariax.

“I know what this is about”, Dariax says with a sly grin.

“Uh—you do?”

Dorian doesn’t know what this is about aside from his own nagging sense of anxiety and the fact that he can’t stop thinking about kissing Dariax—which is entirely Dariax’ fault because he offered this whole practicing thing in the first place.

“Yeah. You’re going to check out some ladies on that party tomorrow”, Dariax says, his grin widening as he scoots closer to Dorian. Dorian can feel Dariax’ body heat and he presses his back against the wall, his fingers digging into the blanket crumpled below his legs.

“Ah—yeah. You got me”, he lies and laughs nervously. Dariax winks and gives him fingerguns.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha! I’ll be the best wingman ever. Here, just lemme—“

And Dariax climbs into Dorian’s lap, straddling him, his face so close to Dorian’s that Dorian can feel his breath on his cheek.

He holds his breath as he notices all the freckles on Dariax’ face, his scruffy beard, his hazel-brown eyes...

His heart is stumbling in his chest.

“Thanks”, he rasps.

“No need to be nervous, I’m sure you’ll be way better at this than I was the first time around. Just lemme take the lead, okay?”

Dorian nods.

If he gets hard now, Dariax will definitely feel it.

Fuck.

Dariax raises his hands and tilts Dorian’s chin up while his other hand gently cups Dorian’s cheek. It’s already almost too much for Dorian. His lips open slightly and his eyes widen as Dariax gets closer still, his nose gently touching Dorian’s.

“If you want me to stop, just smack me real hard”, Dariax whispers and his breath tickles Dorian’s lips before the distance between their mouths is closed and Dariax is kissing him, his hazel-brown eyes closed.

Dariax’ lips are warm and a little chapped and Dorian gasps against his mouth helplessly—something that Dariax seems to take as encouragement. He tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and then his lips press against Dorian’s in earnest.

Dorian’s heart stops for a few seconds before restarting with doubled speed.

His whole body seems to be on fire all of a sudden and he can’t help but raise his hands to touch Dariax—just touch him anywhere. He needs to ground himself, hold onto something, or he might just get lost in the feeling of Dariax’ warm lips carefully moving against his.

It’s a slow kiss, almost sweet, but Dorian’s skin is set aflame.

I don’t like guys, he thinks as his whole body decides that he must get closer to Dariax, wrap his arms around him, pull him in, cup the back of his head so he doesn’t move away—

“This okay?”, Dariax mumbles against his lips and he sounds so out of breath as if he just sprinted a whole mile.

“Yeah—I. Yeah.”

“You wanna try with tongue?”

Dorian swallows. There is still heat pooling in his abdomen. He should say no. He should stop doing this. This feels dangerous and stupid.

But it also feels so good.

“Yeah, okay”, he whispers.

Dariax doesn’t wait for another invite, he immediately leans forward again to close the distance between them and as Dorian’s hands dig themselves into the back of Dariax’s shirt and his heart starts racing even faster Dariax slides his tongue into Dorian’s mouth and Dorian’s mind goes blank.

There is a sound that is dangerously close to a moan and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from him.

He holds onto Dariax like a drowning man before he manages to kiss back.

The second their tongues slide against one another there is a sound from Dariax too, one that shoots directly into Dorian’s lap. His hips buckle up involuntarily, his arms wrap around Dariax tighter and Dariax presses closer, his hips grinding down against him.

Dorian is lost.

And he’s so, so fucked.

It feels so incredibly good to kiss Dariax. He forgot why he even started kissing him, all he knows that he doesn’t want to stop, that he wants to get closer, wants to touch more skin—

He’s hard by now, and so is Dariax. Dorian can feel his erection through the jeans that Dariax is wearing.

Dorian buries his hands in Dariax’ hair and pulls. Dariax makes a helpless sound and bites down on Dorian’s bottom lip before sucking on it lightly and Dorian is afraid that he might come in his pants just from kissing and the delicious friction of Dariax’ crotch rubbing against his.

Shit, shit, shit, shit—

Before Dorian can make a fool of himself Dariax pulls back.

He’s panting, his eyes are glassy, his lips red and wet from kissing and he looks so pretty, Dorian is momentarily stunned by the revelation that he might not be into girls or guys or pretty much anyone.

But he’s definitely, terribly, irrevocably into Dariax.

Fuck.

“S—sorry”, Dariax gasps and clambers off of Dorian’s lap. “That was—I’m. I—uh. I got carried away a little. Didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

Dorian swallows and stares at him, his eyes wide and his heart pressing against his rib cage.

“It’s okay”, he rasps. “I—uh. I got a little carried away, too.”

Dariax throws him a lopsided smile.

“Well. I’d say you’re good to go.”

And he gets off the bed and stumbles over to the bathroom, leaving Dorian behind with a rapidly beating heart, tingling lips and the revelation that he has the world’s worst crush on Dariax.

#doriax #critfic #exu fic #critical role #dariax zaveon #dorian storm #exandria unlimited #exu #fanfiction #screeching into the void #text #this has an M rating on ao3 jsyk #we have ~9k of practice kissing/college au magical realism here my guys #dorian #dariax

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neonacity · 3 years

Text

HYACINTHE | CHAPTER 4: JAEMIN X READER

SUMMARY:

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones.

Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul’s top organized crime family normal. There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word. So why, then, does he always find himself at the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here.

TW: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader

CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 /

FIC TRAILER

MASTERLIST

"Hi. Can I have one iced americano, no sugar, with an espresso shot, please?"

My hands froze and hovered momentarily on the drink I was preparing as I heard a male voice say that from the counter. I didn't turn around to check who it was, but my boss—who is currently helping me man the cafe today—was quick enough to dash the pit-pattering of my chest. He hooked the order slip on the board in front of me and my eyes immediately raised to read the name there.

"One to-go, americano for Youngho."

I sighed internally. Whether it be from relief or disappointment though, I don't really know. A part of me wanted to be in denial of my emotions, but I realized you can only go so far if the person you are trying to fool is just yourself.

It's been almost three months since that night that I last saw Jaemin. I wish I didn't know the exact number of days that passed since then, but I do and I couldn't help it. Every little detail of what happened was still marked fresh in my mind, especially the feeling of hollowness that exploded in my chest when I woke up that morning to see them gone.

If not for the chip on the edge of the table left by Jeno as he tried to hold a half delirious Haechan down that night, I could have easily brushed off everything as a fleeting dream. But it isn't. It is a nightmare, at least in my part.

He really meant it when he said he would leave me alone.

There were no calls, no messages, no visits, nothing. It was like he didn't exist at all, the past year spent with him nothing but an imagined illusion.

We were back to being strangers again, exactly like how he wants to. If you think about it, it's selfless of him to do this, but I hate it. I hate it with everything I have.

Why? Because now I have to live through the feeling that I'm the only one suffering from all of that has happened. I couldn't watch the news anymore without thinking about him. For heaven's sake, I couldn't even get an iced coffee order without freezing like a statue because I remember him. I hate it. I hate every single moment without him, as much as I didn't want to admit it.

I placed the plastic cover over the finished drink with a soft sigh before turning to hand it over to the customer. At least I can still manage to put out my well-practiced, service smile.

"Iced Americano for Youngho," I called out into the receiving area as I slipped a straw on the cup sleeve. A tall man looked up and walked over to me to receive it.

"Thank you for coming to Brick and Beans. I hope you visit us again soon," I said in autopilot, my words so well-rehearsed that I didn't even have to think through while delivering them. The customer smiled at me before giving me a wink.

"I sure will. Thanks for this, sweet cheeks." He turned and left the shop, leaving me slightly confused.

My attention was then called by my boss who had just finished wiping down the counter. The man—who really has been more of a father figure than an employer for me—gave me a warm smile and motioned me over.

"Can we talk? I have something to tell you."

I briefly glanced at the clock. It isn't my break time yet, but the store is empty so I guess it will be fine. I shrugged.

"Sure."

"Grab a cake for you and me while you're at it," he nodded towards the pastry fridge before walking towards the nearest empty table. I wordlessly took two slices of basque cheesecake, his favorite, before following him. The man has a mean sweet tooth and we both know it.

He was silent for a little bit as he took the fork to take a bite of his treat. I waited patiently for him to speak, hands politely folded over my lap.

"I'm going to sell the cafe."

I blinked and stared. I wasn't expecting that at all.

"You're… what?"

He sighed and leaned back against his seat. He looked a little sad over what he just said but he managed to offer me a small smile.

"I'm getting older. You know how much I love this place because I started it with my late wife, but I really can't continue to manage it anymore. My children, unfortunately, do not have any plans of continuing the business. And they've been asking me to retire, too."

I nodded slowly, taking the news bit by bit.

"Do you already have a buyer, ahjussi?"

"I do. It is kind of strange, actually. Someone offered to buy off the franchise at such a perfect time. And for a very good price, too."

That made me smile. I've had this job ever since I started college so it makes me a little sad that it's going to have a new owner, but I really am happy for him. I just hope whoever buys it off takes care of it really well. The old man loves this place to bits.

I felt him take a hold of my hands from across the table. I looked up and was met with a fatherly smile.

"Don't worry. You won't lose your job. The new owners said that they aren't planning to change anything here and I told them that they had to take you with them."

That made me almost want to burst into tears. I squeezed his hand back in return.

"Ahjussi... You didn't have to do that. I can always look for another job." Who am I kidding? I know it will be hard for me to land another sideline especially with all the financial hiccups I am already dealing with so this is really sending me over to the edge of tears.

"Nonsense. You are part of this business. You've done so much for this place so you deserve this. Don't worry, they said yes to my condition."

I gave his hands another squeeze and he answered back with a fatherly pat.

"Thank you…"

"You're welcome. Just promise me, when you become a doctor, you'll give me free checkups, okay?"

"No, I won't. Because you will always be healthy and won't need my help at all," I said with a wrinkle of my nose.

That sent the two of us laughing.

"When will the new owners take over?"

"By the end of the month," my eyes rounded with surprise and he nodded in understanding. "I know, I know. It really happened too fast. I can't turn down the offer though. To be honest it was way beyond what the business is worth."

I sighed. "Well… as long as you are sure about them."

"I am. For now, I'll be here for a bit with you. I just need to enjoy my last days here. So just don't mind your old man, okay?"

I grinned.

"Only if you promise to give me a free cake every day you are here."

He reached out to ruffle my hair.

"Deal."

----

It was a slow day at the cafe so my boss decided to turn down the jazz music that usually floats from the speakers in lieu of the television volume. It was an odd hour in the afternoon and I found myself smiling as I watched him flip the channels over to look for a good show to watch while I dried some mugs. Just then, the overhead bell on the door dinged, welcoming with it a pair of uni-looking kids.

My boss looked over, but I was quick to jump to action instead. "I'll take care of it," I mouthed to him, to which he gave me a smile before turning his attention back to what he was doing.

"Hi. Welcome to Brick and Beans. What can I offer you today?"

"We'll have one dirty chai latte and one irish coffee over ice. Make it to go. "

The couple offered their names and I nodded as I punched their orders on my POS. "Would you like some pastries to go with that?"

"No, that's all."

"Got it, you can wait over there to the side. I'll have your drinks with you shortly," I said with a smile. The girl pulled the boy over into the receiving area to continue their conversation.

"So what I'm saying is, we gotta go. Tonight is going to be epic. The bets will be high for sure. We can get some mean cash if we put it in the right car."

The other gave a soft snort and started drumming his fingers against the wood of the counter. I let their conversation act as white noise while I worked behind the bar.

"I don't know. You're not even sure who is going to be there."

"Jeno is in the line-up. That at least is confirmed."

I dropped the metal scooper I was using on the floor with a resounding clang.

The three others in the room looked over to me as I hurriedly picked it up with shaking hands. I gave all parties a sheepish look before turning on my back to continue what I was doing.

This time, I was full-on listening.

"If Jeno's going to be there, then it is a goner. There's no chance for others. It'll be full-on suicide," the boy said thoughtfully. The girl, however, shrugged in reply.

"They said the others might come, too. You know, to make the run a little bit more balanced," she offered.

"You mean the seven?"

"The Four, at least."

"Oh shit."

"Uh-huh. So I'm telling you, we gotta be there man. If we can't bet then fine, but we have to see it. It’s been ages since they actually went on lane."

I didn't really know how I managed to finish what I was doing, not with how hard my heart was beating in my chest. I'm not sure how many Jeno's there are in this part of town, but I am sure as hell that there is only one who is a member of a seven-piece 'group.'

"Here's your order," I said thinly as I pushed the finished drinks over to them by the counter. The boy offered his card and I took it quickly, all the while thinking of what I should do next. The few seconds of me typing away at the terminal was the longest quarter minute of my life.

"Here's your receipt. Thank you for coming and see us again," I said, my voice a little weaker than usual. The couple gave a quick bow before turning to leave, drinks in hand.

There are two ways this could go. I could let them out of that door and have my only possible chance of getting in contact with any of the boys leave with them. Or I could call after them and…

I whipped around to call out to my boss, my figure already halfway out from the bar.

"Ahjussi, I'll be back in five minutes, sorry. I promise I'll be quick!"

He had barely looked up when I started running out the door.

-----

"Excuse me!"

The duo looked back at me, then at each other in confusion as I tried my best to hurry up to them without landing on my face. God, why do they walk so fast? They were just a few seconds ahead when they left the shop! Thankfully, they stopped at my call, giving me a chance to skid before them as I tried to catch my breath.

"Um… Is there a problem? We paid, right?" The boy asked me with an odd look. I waved my hand before finally trying to answer.

"Yes. I uh—"

Well, I obviously didn't plan this out clearly. How do I say this now without sounding like a lunatic?

"I heard your conversation earlier. You were talking about Jeno."

The pair exchanged glances again, this time tinged with suspicion. It was the girl who answered this time.

"Yes, we were. What about it?"

"I… I just want—to maybe know where he is? You were talking about tonight's—"

"The drag race?"

I stopped for half a heartbeat before nodding.

"Yeah. The race. I wanted to come, too, but I don't really know the address."

The boy cocked his brow at me in blatant suspicion. It took all of me to pull out all the basics I learned from drama class back in high school to remain calm before his withering glare.

"You know Jeno but don't know the address? That doesn't make any sense," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "If you've been in one before you should have been included in the text blast."

Oh shit.

I could feel my palms growing cold from nervousness. Still, I tried pushing on.

"W-well, I was invited before by one of them. But then things fell apart and I started not getting any of the...texts anymore," I said, not having the slightest idea of what I am saying myself. What's ironic though was that what I just blurted out was sort of a half-truth, too.

Apparently—and miraculously—it also made sense by the look of understanding that dawned on their faces.

"I see…" the girl trailed off. She cleared her throat and looked at her friend before glancing at me again.

"Look, I can give you the address, but promise me that you never got it from me when someone asks, okay?" She asked. The boy looked at her incredulously.

"Are you crazy? She was already shadow banned!"

She shushed him and waved her hand off to shut him up. "Look, this is a girl thing. Don't mess with it. Just go ahead to the car, I'll take care of it."

He scoffed but stalked off towards the direction of the parking lot.

She turned towards me again and pulled her phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. I watched as she unlocked the screen before showing it to me.

"Do you have your phone with ya? Here, take a photo of this address."

I swear I could almost kiss her. I scrambled to get my phone from my back pocket and didn't waste another second to take a snap of her screen.

"Thank you so much."

She nodded in understanding before locking her phone again and shoving it into her pocket. "Hey, a girl's gotta stand up for another. Who was it? Was it Haechan?"

"Um…"

She didn't wait for me to finish.

"Really, whoever it is among them, I can't really blame you. They're all cute, but they do need to be taken down a notch when it comes to girls. Those boys," she tsked. "Dangerous."

Oh…

Oh. She thought I was an ex-fling who wanted to teach one of them a lesson by crashing the race. I let that sink in before a frown settled on my features.

Well, aren't you one? The devil on my shoulder cackled at me sardonically.

"Glad to have helped though. But remember, you didn't get it from me, okay?"

With a wink, she strutted off, leaving me staring at her retreating form.

----

I told myself I simply wanted to see him again.

I reminded myself that for the hundredth time tonight as I parked my car on a free space by a gravel road, my eyes roaming the darkness beyond. The place looked deserted, and I had to do one last check if I really put in the right coordinates on my map before finally turning off my engine. The road beyond was wide but uncemented and to its left is a half unfinished building with metal banisters reaching out to the sky like skeletal arms. I swallowed. Every little thing about the space beyond screams danger.

Which probably means I am in the right place.

I reached out to zip up my jacket and pulled the hoodie over my head before getting out of my car. My sneakers crunched on the gravel as I made my way towards a low wall circling the building beyond.

Just try and take a look. You don't have to talk to him. You can keep your distance.

I repeated that in my head again and again as I approached what I assume to be the entrance. A part of me still wants to berate myself for doing this but I am too far gone to try and play the denial game again. I want, no, I need to see Jaemin's world.

The moment I passed through a crack on the wall, it felt like I stepped into a different world. It opened up into an even wider area, the shadows of a multi-lane road behind the abandoned building beyond. Milling around is a throng of people, some smoking, others sipping on red cups on their hands. Some cars were parked against the wall I just passed, their headlights on with music booming out of their rolled down windows.

I tried to swallow the lump on my throat as I looked around. Already, I felt out of place in the crowd, but I steeled myself to push on, my hands digging deeper into the pockets of my jacket.

"Hey."

I looked up to see a boy around my age wave at me. He was also holding a red cup and what looked like a bundle of paper. My eyes widened as that came into focus when he got closer.

Money.

Wads and wads of cash.

"You put your bets already?" He asked as he stuffed the bills into a small belt bag hidden beneath his oversized shirt. He pulled his phone out then, unlocked the screen, and looked at me, waiting for an answer.

"Uh…"

He gave me an odd look.

"Who are you betting on?" He asked again.

I gave the first name I could only think of.

"Ja-Jaemin," I stuttered.

That earned me a low whistle from him as he typed away at his phone, probably to record my choice of 'player.' "I don't know, man. Dude seems pretty out of it lately, but whatever floats your boat." He stuck out his hand to me then, and it took me a few seconds to realize what he was asking for.

"Oh," I scrambled to grab my purse. I was in the middle of pulling my card from my wallet when I saw his face. Slowly, I put it back to reach out for bills instead.

"Cash only."

I sheepishly handed him the last few hundreds I have. He took them, expertly flipping through each bill to count them off.

"First time, eh?"

I nodded.

I watched as he slipped the money into his already overflowing belt bag, thinking that he would leave after that. Instead he nudged his head towards the direction of the building and motioned me along.

"Come on then. At least try and get a good look at your first race."

I blinked in confusion but ran after him as he started walking away.

We stopped at the front row of the half ring of people that had already gathered in front of the abandoned rafters. Just then, a huge spotlight shone over the road behind it, driving everyone to erupt in cheers. Parked in a single line at the foot of the road are five cars, headlights opening one by one.

"Jaemin's the yellow one," the boy nodded towards the one occupying the third lane. I stared. I know next to nothing about cars, but I know enough to be sure that none of the ones in front of me now are something you can buy from your run-of-the-mill auto dealer. Lowered, with shining reams, and a low motor hum that reverberated to where I was standing, I could only briefly compute in my head how much each of those customized rides must have cost.

I heard the boy beside me snort amusedly. "Your first race and you get to see this. I'm telling you, this happens once in a blue moon," he said with a smirk. I didn't say anything, my gaze never leaving the yellow car.

Slowly though, I noticed the crowd's noise die down dramatically the same time that a petite form walked out from the building. The woman stopped in the middle of the road and raised her hand into the night sky, a small pistol in her grasp.

Everyone has gone so quiet now that you could almost hear a needle dropping. Just then, the resounding bang of a gunshot pierced the air. Few other large spotlights turned on simultaneously, revealing the snaking road ahead that was disguised under the darkness earlier. I gasped. The roaring sound of engines blared beyond and with a new uproar from the crowd, the cars were speeding ahead, leaving trails of light in their wake.

My heart was beating so hard against my chest as I tried my best to follow the speeding cars ahead. I was only able to comprehend the real expanse of the road the moment each ride took over its lanes—the place looked more like an abandoned air dock field more than anything else. I was barely aware of my nails digging on the palms of my hands as my eyes switched from Jaemin’s car and the others, particularly on the deep red one that he was currently toe in toe with. The space between the two were a hair’s breadth away and I could almost swear their sides would collide any second.

That went on until a curve on the road appeared. It was the last turn before the finish line and the crowd turned wilder as the nose of each car tried its best to take the lead. I didn’t even realize that I was holding my breath until the last second when the yellow one took over the inner space of the road before swerving successfully ahead.

Everyone around me erupted in cheers. I gave my own gasp, hands covering my lips before joining the rest.

Jaemin’s yellow lambo parked on the finish line, the rest of the race participants trailing behind. I watched as his door opened, revealing his beautiful wide grin and tousled hair. He was glowing, cheeks flushed from the adrenaline. I was so caught up in the image that I barely noticed Jeno appearing from the red car, followed by Renjun, Mark, and Haechan from the other rides.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I watched with a smile as they huddled over Jaemin, playfully pushing and cajoling him for his win. They looked happy, carefree.

But it seems like they aren’t the only ones who were out there in the road. My gaze moved back to Jaemin's car when I saw his passenger seat open. As if in slow motion, a girl got out of it, wearing the same wide smile the others have. The group hooted at her as she joined their huddle.

That’s when I felt as if time has stopped.

The smile on my face slowly faded as I watched Jaemin wrap his arms around her before pulling her into a tight hug.

---

A/N: Hey guys! This is going to be the second to the last chapter of Jaemin’s side story! I originally wanted to finish it in one go, but I thought it would be nice to release the epilogue on Nana’s birthday! So yes, that’ll be out on the 13th, lol. Thank you so much to those who have continued reading this side fic! <3

Chapter 5 (END)

Taglist: @negincho, @springdaybreaks,

117 notes · View notes

brywrites · 3 years

Text

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand. You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

AHHH YOU’RE TAKING REQUESTS 🚨🚨🚨 Okay okay uhhhhh I can’t decide between 13 or 18 so you choose! With hurt Obi-Wan and caretaker Anakin, please!

I AM INDEED TAKING PROMPTS

And because you’re amazing and I love all your writing I have decided to write both 13 and 18 into one story, we’ll see how this goes yikes.

From this various prompts list

Anakin moved quickly up the hallway, trying to keep his footsteps as soft as possible.

It was very late — or very early, depending on one’s point of view. The low-lights were on, and Anakin felt like he was intruding somehow, in this residential wing that was almost entirely deserted due to the war.

The damned war.

Anakin clenched his fists. I can’t afford to be angry right now, he told himself. I need to talk to Obi-Wan and I can’t start out by yelling at him.

It was tempting to lash out at Obi-Wan.

They hadn’t had a proper conversation in months, not since the Hardeen operation and everything that it had entailed, and then Obi-Wan up and vanished on some discreet mission, stopping only to ask Anakin for a ship to borrow.

Anakin had discovered Obi-Wan’s return only when Acquisitions had notified him that his ship would be late in returning to his care due to extensive damage. Flight logs indicated that his Master had returned a full five days before. Five days without so much as a comm message letting his lineage know he was back home. Nothing.

For a few hours Anakin had foundered, stewing in disbelief and anger, but as night crept in he had begun to feel something different.

Concern.

And something that might have been the Force, prompting him, pushing him.

And so here he was, silently keying in the manual code to Obi-Wan’s quarters — technically still his own, although he spent most nights at Padmé’s or in a private room.

The door swished open.

It was utterly dark.

That wasn’t unusual; when he had the chance, Obi-Wan preferred to sleep in complete darkness. He said it felt more natural. No distractions tugging at his brain.

What was unusual was the state of disarray.

There was a kettle sitting on the counter, so near the edge it made Anakin nervous. He walked over and moved it a few inches, his eyebrows flying up when he felt the weight. When he lifted the lid, it was obvious that this was days-old, and untouched to boot.

Was Obi-Wan sick? Was he in the Halls? Surely someone would have notified him. Surely.

Anakin looked around and took note of the robe discarded against the wall, the boots left in the middle of the walkway. There was an empty mug on the reading table, and a holo-still sitting beside it, as if Obi-Wan had stared at it for awhile and then set it down — the only item that looked carefully treated.

On closer inspection, it was a holo of Obi-Wan, far younger than Anakin had ever seen him, next to Qui-Gon and a dark-skinned woman he had never seen before.

Qui-Gon was in the center, facing a little to the left, his eyes on the woman, a full smile on his face. Anakin stared. The Jedi he remembered had been understated, his smiles always a little sad. This Qui-Gon looked about to throw his head back in laughter. The woman was looking down at Obi-Wan, who stood on Qui-Gon’s other side. She was nearly as tall as Qui-Gon, her hair was braided into several intricate sections; she was smirking conspiratorially at the young Padawan.

And Obi-Wan was smiling shyly back. Although his Master wasn’t looking at him, he had draped one arm around Obi-Wan, and the boy was leaning into the casual touch.

They all looked ridiculously young and ridiculously happy, and Anakin didn’t even know who one of them was. He had never heard of this woman, or why she wasn’t around any more, because she must not be, and he had certainly never heard stories of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship. Not unless it was relevant to whatever they had been doing, or whatever lesson Obi-Wan had been trying to teach.

His Master was so damned secretive.

Angry again, Anakin replaced the holo-still and glanced around the room, thinking to check the Halls of Healing next.

Then he spotted something that made him instinctively recoil.

A Mandalorian helmet, sitting on the chair, painted in stark black and red and rendered in Death Watch’s style.

Heart hammering, Anakin picked it up and examined it, finding gouges and dents in the beskar alloy, signs of years of wear and tear.

Why was it here? Why was there a Death Watch helmet here, in their rooms? It didn’t make any sense!

His first wild thought was that the extremist group had somehow broken in, taken Obi-Wan, and left this behind. Then he mentally shook himself. That was beyond absurd.

So what then?

Anakin tucked the helmet under his arm and cautiously approached his former Master’s room, pressing the door aside slowly.

Obi-Wan was right there.

Sitting on his bed, dressed only in stained and scorched trousers and an undershirt, his head in his hands. His fingers were buried so deeply in his hair it looked as if he were trying to tear his skull open.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin burst out without intending to, the last few hours of anger, confusion, and momentary panic getting the better of him.

Except the older man didn’t react at all.

“...Hey. Obi-Wan.”

After a pause, the man on the bed shifted slightly, and then sat up. His fingers hastily brushed his hair back into order as he did, and his face, though white as a sheet, was a perfectly blank mask.

Anakin didn’t buy a bit of it.

“Obi-Wan... tell me what’s going on.”

The man who was Obi-Wan but wasn’t acting at all like him gave a slight shrug. “There’s a lot going on, Anakin, we’re at war. What is it you needed at one in the morning?”

Well, at least he knows what time it is.

“You’ve been back for days. I haven’t seen you.”

“Ah. Your ship?”

“I’m not worried about the ship. I’m worried about you. I don’t even know where you were!” Anakin said, his voice rising again. He cut himself off quickly.

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. “I was... on leave.”

“On leave?” Obi-Wan didn’t go on leave. Obi-Wan never stopped working, hadn’t since Geonosis. “You said it was a mission.”

The older Jedi passed a hand over his mouth before speaking again. “I... it wasn’t an endorsed mission. I undertook it myself.”

A non-endorsed mission... “You mean you went off on your own?” Anakin demanded, shocked. “Tell me you weren’t chasing Maul!”

Obi-Wan went white to the lips. He opened his mouth to speak, and then he spotted the helmet under Anakin’s arm and choked on his words, falling dead silent.

Anakin considered for a moment. Then he studied the helmet again. Taking it in.

Death Watch.

Mandalore.

A personal, self-assigned mission.

Satine.

Red and black.

Maul.

“...Oh, Force, Obi-Wan.” Anakin said numbly. Thinking of Padmé. Thinking of Obi-Wan and the confession he’d made to Satine, one that Anakin had not been meant to overhear. “I’m so sorry.”

Obi-Wan said nothing.

He just stared at Anakin for a few moments before nodding his head in acknowledgement.

Anakin set the helmet down on the desk and edged closer to the bed, his eyes on his friend, wary as if he were approaching a traumatized animal. “Can I sit?”

A nod.

Anakin sat down.

“...Is it all right if I hug you?”

A very long pause. A small nod.

Anakin placed his palm on Obi-Wan’s back, then slowly moved so his arm was around the man’s shoulders. When Obi-Wan didn’t pull away, Anakin drew closer, tilting his head down to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Like he had when he was younger, and his Master was the best in the Temple, in the whole galaxy, and there was no war, just missions and too much meditation and time enough to just sit like this when they were tired and overwrought.

Obi-Wan shuddered in his hold. Not repulsed, but something else. Like he was cold.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked.

His friend shook his head, but trembled harder, his breathing fluctuating.

“Obi-Wan.”

“Feel... nauseous,” the redhead mumbled, and then he doubled over, toppling head over heels towards the floor. Anakin cried out, lunged and caught him just in time, hauling his former Master into his arms and holding him, his heart pounding from the sudden shock.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept? Or eaten?” he demanded, thinking of the tea kettle.

“Mm... not since the night I got back. For eating. I don’t know about sleeping. I honestly... can’t remember...” Obi-Wan murmured. He was shivering now, his face pale and twisted with discomfort. He looked too weak to move, and he really must have been, because all he managed when Anakin cradled him closer and stood up with him in his arms was a low groan.

“We’re going to the Halls,” Anakin informed him curtly, striding out of the room with Obi-Wan in his arms, still trembling.

Obi-Wan made a noise of protest, but Anakin shook his head. “No. You need to see Healers.” He watched his friend’s eyes mist over vaguely, with grief or with illness it was hard to say. “I’ll stay with you the whole time,” Anakin vowed, meaning every word. “It’ll be fine. As soon as they’re ready to release you we’ll come right back here and you can sleep in your own bed.”

Obi-Wan mumbled something that seemed to include, ‘not a child.’

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m not your Padawan anymore. We still boss each other around. Just how it is,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, tilting his head against Anakin’s shoulder. He took a deep breath. Then another. And then he was asleep.

“Damn,” Anakin whispered aloud. “Damn, damn, damn, you’re really not in good shape. You shouldn’t be this easy to carry, for one thing. Dammit, Obi-Wan. Why do you have to be so secretive?”

Is he secretive?

Or have I just never asked, and never listened?

Anakin honestly didn’t know, and that bothered him.

“Sleep, Master,” he murmured, adjusting his arms so that Obi-Wan was more comfortable. “We’ll talk when you’re ready. I promise. I’ve got you. We’re going to make it through this whole damn war, together.”

#star wars #my writing #writing prompts #let the boys talk and hug #please #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #angst prompt #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #is this too ooc?#I can’t tell #it’s 1:30 am #I haven’t slept in two days #two days and two nights?#idk

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

Text

Bunny Boy (JJK x Reader)☁️⚠️🔪(💜)🔞 Part 3

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU, Stalker!AU, questionable romance, smut, Oneshot

Warnings: (oh boy) Stalking, Obsession, Yandere themes, cute Koo but aggressive, he ready to fight, graphic description of violence, blood, very twisted JK, oblivious! Reader, kinda Stockholm-syndrome Reader?, soft romantic lovemaking, body worship, Dom! Jungkook, Sub! Reader, Handjob (fem. receiving), oral (fem. receiving), protected sex because even with your mind scrambled up in a frying pan we still wrap it before tapping it y’all hear me STDs ain’t cute Susan

Summary: It all started with a hello kitty charm.

A/N:(IMPORTANT) I’d like to note here that I do not condone nor romanticize any of the things depicted in this. This is purely fictional, and only to be seen as a work of art, not as a depiction of real life relationships. For short: if he a creep, kick his balls, don’t kiss. Thank you.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

His eyes had seen the words written in neat lettering time and time again, yet he still read it again, trying to calm himself down.

They were trying to take you away.

Your parents were basically not as financially stable as you thought, basically having the audacity to ask you for money.

He was trying not to snap.

He'd known that your mother was a whore, already trying to safe your situation by digging up information he'd rather delete from his mind, forever scarred with the blasphemic image of her showing herself off to strangers on the web like a cheap commercial before a video starts, desperation being an understatement to describe her actions. Or maybe she did it only for the thrill.

She was a vile and distusting woman after all.

It was quite confusing to think of her as the woman who'd been responsible for bringing you into this world. He had a hard time believing it as he thought about your gentle and sweet nature, pure and caring while this sorry excuse of a human being did everything to play with karma it seemed.

Well, maybe he'd change his name for a day and play that role for her.

After all, she was an impatient woman he'd noticed from her constant reminding to buy obscene photos and short videos of her truly underwhelming body for an amount of money he'd rather spend on a coffee and a small breakfast to share with you, if he was being honest.

Why someone would genuinely pay for content like that was beyond him.

"I dont.. understand-" The female voice quivered on the other side of the line, making the corners of his lips turn upwards a bit as he listened to it, gaining some sort of satisfaction in knowing he'd gotten under her skin.

"Oh but I think you do." He said, voice smooth like velvet as he watched her pace back and forth in front of her admittedly bad webcam of her opened laptop. Living off of her husbands money couldn't be so luxurious he thought, if she couldn't even afford a decent laptop for the things she did whenever no one was looking.

It was truly making his saliva taste bitter merely thinking about it.

"If you think deleting your account will safe you, you're even more stupid than I initially thought." He mumbled into his phone as he saw her eyes widen, hands stalling as her gaze locked with the tiny device on top of her screen. She probably paled, yet the quality was too bad to tell for sure. "Everything has already been saved and will remain in my possession for as long as I have need of it." He stated, and clicked his tongue as she seemed to think of something to get herself out of it. "And remember; calling the police or informing any other authority will only result in you having to admit to your crimes as well. And I believe that isn't truly what you want." She snapped, hitting her table as she watched the camera, unknowing how Jungkook didn't even pay attention anymore, knowing he'd finally caught her head inside his noose.

"How much do you want?" She gritted out, and he chuckled, before clearing his throat.

"Your mindset truly disgusts me." He said, before sighing. "I don't want your fucking money."

He sat down properly again as he looked at his screen again.

"But I want you to do something for me.."

"It's nice to know that she finally found someone who can look after her." Your father stated, smiling at Jungkook who sat next to you at the table,taking your hand in his as he mirrored the gesture, spotting the way your mother tensed up in the corner of his vision, making him chuckle a bit.

"No, really, I am happy I've found her." He said, rubbing the back of his neck a bit shyly, making you giggle at his antics. Initially, you'd been a little worried when your parents wanted to meet Jungkook, not even knowing how they got to know about your relationship- your mother, however, had cleared things up for you, explaining that he'd updated them on your condition when you were in hospital. Maybe she did care, after all. "Right, angel?" He said, and you nodded, smiling with a bit of redness on your cheeks.

Absolutely divine.

"Alright, let me clean this up, You guys can head to bed, its already late." Your father said as he stood up, everyone else following after, when you'd suddenly grabbed Jungkooks plate and empty glass, smiling. Out of the corner of his he could see your mother empty her glass greedily, making him smile even wider.

Greed was a sin to be punished, after all.

"I'll do that, don't worry." You smiled, and he cooed at the sight. You were so absolutely sweet, he was always astounded at it, even though he should be getting used to it by now. He'd never get used to you, however. He nodded, giving you a kiss to your cheek as your father called for your mother, who'd been about to leave the table.

"Can you show Jungkook here where the guest room is? Help him set the bed, will you." He spoke, warmth as fake as her eyelashes as she smiled tensely, nodding towards Jungkook as he followed, comfortable with leaving you and your father alone for the moment. He wasn't a threat at all.

Your mother however, was a different story.

If she'd thought he wouldn't pick up on her dark gazes and blunt lies she truly was brainless. But then again, considering what she did with her freetime, he wouldn't be surprised to find her entirely empty.

Opening the door of the guest room, your mother closed the door behind him, slowly walking towards his back which was turned towards her, hands running over his shoulderblades as he shuddered.

But not with pleasure.

"I bet a young boy like you has stamina, heh?" She said, trying to form a seducing tone with her voice, yet failed as his eyes continued to stare forward, cold as ever as he stood unmoving, even when she came even closer. "Why would you get yourself someone like her anyways? There's nothing about her.." She chatted away, before stopping. "Wha-" She breathed out as she felt something poke her hip.

She was dead inside already, so why was she still up and walking like a zombie?

"You truly are disgusting." He murmured, turning around to hold his hand against her throat, backing her up until she could feel the wooden door against her back, chin pushing itself upwards as she looked at him with wide eyes. "To imagine that your rotten womb gave birth to an angel like her.." He said, eyes still trained on hers as he pushed a bit more, feeling and hearing her struggle, before moving away from her, snapping the knife he'd in his other hand shut to put it back inside his pocket as he opened the drawers, searching for fresh sheets. "I advise you to not ever touch me again if you want to keep your skin intact. It's nauseating enough that I have to share the same roof with someone like you tonight." He said, as he finally found what he was looking for, not caring as she swallowed hard, leaving the room and him alone, but not before running into you.

"Oh, sorry, I.. Uh, Jungkookie?" You asked, peeking into the room as his entire demeanor made a full 180 in front of your mothers eyes, body language suddenly speaking a different dialect it seemed, as he smiled, walking up to you, and leading you inside the room, closing the door with a last warning look thrown at her.

"Please angel.." He hummed against your skin, as you shyly touched his skin, making him sigh in bliss. He'd showered after his encounter with your witch of a mother, yet he couldn't help but not feel clean enough- he needed your touch, your salvation, to finally feel good again, to exorcise the demonic memories of her gut wrenching hands on his back, or her obscene words towards him. He needed your purity to cleanse him again, to give him back his wings you'd granted him.

"They won't hear." He promised, but in reality he wanted them to, craving deep down inside his being to drench the walls in your heavenly sounds, to clean this room of her presence with the help of the pleasure he was giving you. He felt you give into him with ease, smile warm and happy as his fingers entered you, knowing that he could not nestle himself inside you without sacrificing safety. And getting you pregnant was far from his mind.

No, the only thing ever being inside you would be him, and no one else.

You breathed out in sweet euphoria as he worked you with his hand, before dipping down, taking the covers with him as his tongue got in contact with your pearl, mouth feasting on you like a starving man enjoying his first meal, humming in pleasure as your hand found its way into his hair, gently tugging, never hurting.

He highly doubted you could ever hurt a fly.

And you'd never have to, with Jungkook at your side ready to soak his hands in the blood of anyone you wanted to have killed in cold murder, all of it with a smile on his face. He was ready to flood the streets in his own guts just to make more room for your praise and affection inside of him, he'd do it all for you in a time shorter than his heart could ever beat.

Your sighs turned into mewls.

He pushed your legs apart gently, hands reminiscing in the feel of your skin underneath his palms as he put even more effort into his actions, making you squirm in pleasure as your back arched like a feline stretching itself after a well deserved rest as you came undone with his touch, mouth finally parting from you, crawling upwards to your face as he kissed you, uncaring of your own residue on his lips.

You loved him.

He suddenly let out a short moan as he felt your delicate hands touch his bulge, eyes questioning as you silently asked for his permission.

Who was he to deny you anything?

As you pulled him out of his underwear he sighed at the view, your entire body showing off how lost you were with the task you'd taken on, making him smile as he began to help you, placing your hands around him in a proper way and showing you how to please him.

You learned quick.

Slowly growing more confident, you started to grip him with a bit more confidence, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you suddenly dipped down, making his eyes as wide as the moon before he huffed out a breath, head falling back as he could only stare at the white ceiling when your tongue touched his tip. Your soft lips took him in, inviting him inside the warmth of your mouth as you gently sucked before releasing him again, using your saliva and his own precum as lubrication for easier motions.

He was in heaven.

Of course he'd though about it, yet it seemed almost embarrassing how he fell apart so quickly under your touch, cum suddenly spurting out as he came violently, not prepared to last under such circumstances. He caught his breath, smiling apologetically as he stood up on slightly unsteady legs, reaching for some tissues inside his backpack near the bed before crawling back to you, cleaning up your face and neck with the outmost care as you suddenly spoke. "So, was that.. good?" You asked, and he scoffed, kissing you deeply before he rested his forehead against yours.

"Angel, you just sent me to heaven." He said, making you giggle as he made you lie down, cleaning between your thighs as to not make too much of a mess of the sheets.

His cum stained tissues however, he'd leave as a present for the witch to find.

If she was to wake again, that is.

"I'm so sorry, she isn't feeling well-" Your father apologized, yet Jungkook simply waved him off with a sympathizing smile. You nodded next to him, agreeing with Jungkook that this was simply a bad day for her. Everyone got sick once in a while. "I hope you have a safe trip home, and thank you for the wine Jungkook, you really have taste." He said, pale skin showing to him that he'd seemingly been affected as well. "We'll stay in touch." He told Jungkook, hugging him in a friendly manner as a form of goodbye.

He was collateral damage.

He actually liked the man a bit, noticing how calm and collected he was, even though he had to share his life with a woman such as your mother. He admired him really, for spending his time with her every day, for simply coexisting with her, without feeling the need to end his own life.

But maybe this man had exactly those thoughts he wondered, as he though about the wine bottle inside his car, evidence he'd taken with him to discard of in safe distance.

And as you both waved one last time, driving off, Jungkook only had one sentence running around inside his head as he thought of the witch that was your mother.

"This time, please just stay dead."

“I don’t have much space-“ he said, sitting on the engine hood of his car, patting his thighs as an invitation for you. “But it’s gonna be okay. I like having you close anyways.” He mused, voice low and drawled as if exhausted. You sat on his lap, legs hanging off on one side, head leaning on his chest, craving his warmth like a newborn kitten. He snaked his arms around your form, bathing in your presence in pure feelings of bliss as you sighed. He looked down on you, hand running over the top of your head. “What is it angel?” He said, worry a present undertone in his voice. You played with the buttons of his coat as he watched the sun set in front of you both, twilight slowly setting in.

“They.. won’t take me away from you, right?” You asked timidly, unknowing why this option scared you so much. Those were your parents; you shouldn’t be scared of them, should you? Yet Jungkook had told you to be wary of them, and you knew he was to be trusted- when has he ever been wrong? He only wanted your best, just like he said; he only wanted you safe and protected, and it made you feel oh so special. The pure option that you could be forced to live without him now seemed utterly terrifying, like a phobia you didn’t know you had.

“No, no angel.” He said, smile ever so present as if he’d just been gifted the thing he’d always wanted. You seemed so upset with the mere possibility of being away from him, it showed him that you had finally accepted him fully; you finally were his and his alone. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me.” He growled possessively, eyes growing cold as you leaned even closer to him, making him take a deep breath in fondness. “I’d rather die.” He whispered, and your head shot up, delicate hands on his chest, and an absolutely divine and desperate look on your face.

“Then I’ll die with you! You can’t leave me behind-“ you said, wide eyes looking at him in pure horror of the simple mention of his death, and he chuckled, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear with gentle hands, as he answered you lowly.

“Don’t worry angel-“ he said, his hand resting on your cheek, eyes watching you like a piece of art. “I’ll take you with me wherever I go.” He said, leaning in for a kiss you eagerly accepted, uncaring of how his hands gripped your waist tightly. Dangerously. And you were just as uncaring of his next words that left his lips between heated kisses.

“Even if I’d have to kill you myself.” he mumbled into you as you smiled.

You felt like Romeo and Juliet.

Or bonny and clyde for that matter.

The news should've hit you hard, yet it only left you with questions. You by now had your suspicions on what had happened, yet instead of igniting fear, it only left you with more things to wonder about. Why would he do these things?

Was he this scared to loose you that he even killed in his desperation to keep you close?

Would you one day be his victim as well?

"Angel?" He asked, standing behind you as his eyes scanned your form, noticing how you'd stopped packing your stuff, simply sitting in your old bedroom, on the floor, on your knees, in the middle of the room. "Are you okay?" He asked.

Well.. were you?

And if you were-

For how long?

Taglist:

#bts #bts imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts yandere #bts yandere au #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere bts

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #pope garcia #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x you #will ironhead miller #benny miller #triple frontier fic

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arkt-nehrim-archive · 3 years

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A Story in Spring : Renewal {1/3}

"I have a proposition for you."

The walls of the fallen seraph's humble hut had so far been something of a passive comfort, yet Lithirill found no sense of ease. Her host, and fellow Tel'lmaltath could certainly tell, eyeing her with some hint of concern, slowly rising to his full height, turning to face her once the fire had suitably caught. "Go on."

The encouraging mannerism was commonplace in their interactions thus far, but it didn't do much to make her desirous of speaking her mind, as images played in her head of all she had been plotting in secret, only thinking to bring the matter to him when she -knew- beyond a doubt she could -achieve- her goals. "It is a...personal matter, to you specifically. I hesitate to even ask, truthfully." At that notion, her company raised a sculpted brow. How he might've read her words differed from what she seemed to mean by her body language; a normally stood straight, confident woman now half hunched and barely maintaining eye contact. He simply watched, resting a hand along his hip. It was the only prompt to continue she was going to get. "...Right. -Arkt-. I will speak plainly." even then she hesitated, a sigh accompanying an expression of complete honesty, "...I want to reconstruct your wings. I would see you fly again."

There weren't many things reality could offer him that still surprised, but that had done it, the gentle carefulness in her tone most of all. It wasn't just an offer, but a plea. Arkt's gaze fell to his floorboards, called back to the moment she had seen the tattered remnants, and the conversation that followed where he learned much and more about the individual he chose to champion. Her perseverance in the face of impossible odds had ensured his second chance at freedom from past mistakes, yet here she was still giving. It was not debt fueling her either, but desire, leading him to a thought forgotten sensation; confoundment.

Lithirill only fidgeted in the quiet, narrowing her eyes in passive calculation, half braced for some kind of impact. It took him some several moments to recover, clearing his throat. The ever-present ache at his back he'd still struggled with flared up. Even to this day, the injury pained him, centuries "dead" had been his only reprieve.

"You are firmly familiar with the reasons I lost them in the first place..." he began, watching his company instinctively tense, ready for rejection; instead he would give her a question, "Knowing that, I must ask -why-? To what end would you go to such efforts?" Asked with genuine curiosity, over any manner of accusation; he suspected her of nothing.

Lithirill nodded, crossing her arms and easing her weight onto one leg. "History was one among a few reasons I have debated asking. As for why, well. I feel there are certain wrongs afflicted to those I’ve come to care for, and it is within my power to unravel those wrongs.”

Arkt watched her carefully crafted mask slipping, the woman ever at odds with herself. He wondered if there would ever be a time where she did not engage in the practice, and simply felt at home in his company.

"As you did with Arantheal?" he questioned, curious to see if he could keep her at that boundary.

Lithirill puzzled over the question for a moment, pondering if it was harmless comparison or an accusation. Foolish to think it the latter, knowing Arkt had no history of resisting her intent.

"...Yes. As I did -for- Narathzul." She corrected, offering a sideways nod and a shrug, "Know I don't need an answer -today-. I only wanted you to know that the idea lingered in mind long enough to...plan for.”

Ultimately, Arkt was touched. Shock still kept a whirlwind of emotions at bay at the mere hint of taking to the skies again, permitting the warmth of the smile behind his veil to only grow as he watched her. She was not having so easy a time, clearly having wrestled with herself on the matter for awhile.

"Is this what has kept you from your usual visits of late?" he wondered, gesturing with a hand in a motion pushing down from his midsection; 'Relax.' he said silently.

Her eyes followed his hand, flicking up to his face like the lash of a serpent's tongue before she took in a breath and let it out, chuckling to herself.

"In part. Alongside the politicking and the visits somewhere warmer. Thoughts?"

He sighed through his nose as he partly answered with the considering tilt of his head and a prolonged shutting of his eyes, continuing to chew on the notion.

"Too many to rightly voice in a manner composed or remotely understandable. Would you mind returning to Castle Darlan for the moment? I'll have an answer for you come the evening."

"Of course.~"

The professional manner in which she pulled herself together and turned from him showed a wall climbing between them that he had no patience for, the old seraph chuckling when she moved to open the door.

"Lithirill."

She twitched, shoulders bunching as her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, before she straightened again and smiled a familiar, shy curve over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up a touch when she saw he’d pulled down his veil.

"Yes?"

"...Thank you." he spoke, genuine appreciation clear in his expression.

A hint of color, and the wall scattered; his only goal in the moment. She departed with an amused, "See you soon.", quickly on her way.

~~~ As promised, Arkt had arrived that evening, uncharacteristically anxious, but Lithirill could hardly blame him. She could not imagine the weight of what her offer truly meant to him.

In times long gone, the loss of his wings, however deeply traumatic, had served a purpose; symbols had power, as much in their creation as their destruction and his fall signaled the end of an era where the Lightborn could rule without fear of repercussion. Yet now that all his battles were over, and this new life lay before him...

It was not long before the old seraph was waxing poetic, teetering back and forth in his words, as was his way. He all but danced between every sentence- whilst Lithirill only offered more wine when his glass neared empty. She refused to rush him in coming to a decision, simply enjoying his company, equal parts devilishly curious and genuinely empathetic.

Such camaraderie came to it's end at the dawn of the following day, Arkt admitting in the quiet of the morning fog that he accepted her offer; even with her many warnings of risk and pain, he had seen firsthand what she was capable of; he knew he was in good hands, even if a fair few of her achievements were with his shadowed aid.

Two weeks had passed since he agreed to her offer, wasting no time in getting started. The first bout had been the hardest thus far- having not yet known just how -much- it took to render a seraph numb, and having the unfortunate task of plucking the feathers he still had. A meticulous, painful, unexpectedly bloody process...but it was safer to start with a clean slate than try to rebuild all that was under them when half the limb had been shorn down to bare bone.

Trippling the dosages from there made things much easier, at least for Arkt. His struggle was not with pain in the familiar sense now, it came instead from a nameless sensation; the agonizingly slow return of what should never be, able to sense every -tiny- thread of what was lost reconnect. It was as torturous as it was euphoric, and it could only be overcome by sheer force of will.

Tonight would be no different. Lithirill had learned his tells after a few sessions. When in the throes of her spell work, she could spare little attention for observance, but awareness returned as she dialed back, murmuring gentle nothings mostly for her own comfort; though it signaled to Arkt he could stop taking such measured breaths.

The touch of the Sea crept away like the retreating tide, Arkt opening hazy eyes, idly stretching his fingers. He knew well enough not to move until his companion told him to do so, watching her over his shoulder. There was a slight notion of fear that kept him from immediately looking upon his wings, naked and ghastly as they were. He only had eyes for Lithirill's face, noting the knitted brow and how she clicked her tongue when observing progress, pondering how to proceed.

"I'd hoped to have had bone completely covered by now..." she lamented, drawing again the magicked circles that held his wings in subtle regeneration between sessions, "I've underestimated how deeply the burns go. I should’ve-”

"You need not fret, Lithirill." Arkt spoke up, a look of assurance crossing fair features, "This shall take as long as it will take, and you have plenty to grapple with without adding the unnecessary elements of haste and worry.~"

"...Perhaps. Still, I don't savor putting you through further pain I could have avoided." she spoke idly, glad he could not feel it as she undid the slings above, gently moving the humble beginnings to rest on cushions whilst she worked tension from developing musculature.

"We went into this knowing it would be difficult. We will endure." he replied, his tone as much an attempt to comfort as it was a statement of fact; she was far too deep in it now to safely -stop-. "Which for you to manage, requires heady use of those flasks behind you, as I recall."

It was a gentle, but earnest jab to not neglect her own health whilst taking care of him. She might have been Tel'lmaltath, but healing at -this- level for such prolonged bouts tested the limits of even legendary resolves, and Arkt did not fancy the idea of a Shadow God turned Oorbaya.

Satisfied with her ministrations, she sighed and nodded, letting her hand trail down his back as she turned and gingerly stepped away to pluck a flask of Ambrosia from a stockpile. The edges of a smirk tugged at his lips as she made a show of drinking half the vial like it didn't taste awful, raising both brows at him in a silent 'satisfied?'.

"...-Thank- you." he muttered, humming a chuckle, "Do not lose sight of your own well being in concern for me. I must stress, we have nothing but time."

Lithirill tilted her head at him as her eyelids drooped, well accustomed now to the odd heated popping in her ears as the Ambrosia did its work, blanketing the red pressure in her head and quieting the skittering under her skin.

"-Now- whose fretting?" she teased, setting down the flask so she could help him to stand, not letting his wings droop as she supported them from the base, "I don't intend to go hurrying into the arms of the Blue Death, I promise. Come now.~"

Twas a short jaunt to the spare bedroom within her personal quarters, Arkt leading the way and Lithirill matching his steps. The seraph counted his blessings that his pride could not be so easily wounded as she settled his wings into yet another set of slings, these ones arranged to allow them to safely hang whilst he rested. He knew -she- worried about such mental troubles, but he was far too old and that much more taken by fascination in all she insisted upon doing for him to care for foolish things like shame.

"Tell me something, Lithirill." he said, eyes on her as she arranged the vials that would help him sleep, and come the morn, ease his pain, "What do you suppose I'm meant to do in return for all of this?"

The question was laced with an undertone of playfulness that reminded her of when the seraph had taken an almost catty tone in Arktwend, all but making -gossip- of the infatuation between those who'd brought Narathzul into the world. She could only raise a brow at him in plain curiosity, willfully stepping into whatever trap this might have been.

"That is hardly a matter to burden the likely recipient, don't you think? Or am I -supposed- to be reading between some manner of line here?" The teasingly scrutinizing gaze she leveled upon him was nothing to the coy look he gave her beneath the messy strands of his hair, the two locked in a quiet contest before she relented; as she always did where he was concerned. "...ponder and plot all you like, my friend. But hold to that patience you've assured me with. I would say it is early yet to be planning anything more than recovery." she offered.

Arkt sighed through his nose at that, uncapping the cork to her sleeping drought and drinking it down with a quick chaser of water. Her answer was as good as any. Ponder and plot indeed then.

"Fair enough. Rest well, when you find it." he bid gently, offering only a smile. For a would be God according to most's definition, who had seen millennia pass and returned even from -death-, he seemed to be handling the life of a crippled patient quite well.

Lithirill could only take that profound patience and trust in her ability to heart; ensure no matter her doubts that she'd finish the job.

She returned the evening farewell and meandered to her own bed, falling upon it like a stone. All too swiftly would the sun rise, and the pair would be again until their great task of renewal was complete. Lithirill could only hope she'd be done by Spring.

~Fin~

#Vynblr #VynSpringEvent #A Story In Spring #Nehrim #Enderal #Arkt #Lithirill Andethil #Post-Ending

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puttingfingerstokeys · 3 years

Text

A little something I whipped up for @heamatic with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity.

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy.

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord.

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do.

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

#violence #cc #cw #mortal kombat #kung lao #shinnok #shinlao #gift work

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uwua3 · 4 years

Text

your name (pt.1)

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

part 1 — part 2 — part 3

summary: being an adult is tiring, tsumugi knows that all too well.

warnings: class divide (struggling financially), food

author’s note: this is the first ever series i’m doing! please anticipate the next installment of the “your name” series tomorrow :D i’m so excited to share this since part 01 is my first ever wip for a3 ever 🤍 please enjoy!

word count: 2,932

music: kimi no na wa soundtrack – radwimps

Running with reckless abandon, a boy trips amidst the bustling public traffic in the station, books flying out of his arms from the sheer force of his turn. Passer-bys barely spared a glance at the panicked tutor as he bent down to gather his academic papers, all imprinted by strangers’ shoes. In a moment of lifelong embarrassment, the world continued to spin as nothing rippled the fabric of time.

Murmurs spread across the crowd, daily small talk between people who would never see each other again on the complex train system. Students shared personal gossip too loud for their own good as their prestigious private academy skirts flew past him. Businessmen burdened themselves with client phone calls as they were all weighed down by the same leather briefcase. Employees wore their customer service mask, smiling politely before dropping their act immediately afterwards when they thought no one was looking. As expected, there was no time in the schedule to stop and help a recent university graduate out of his clumsy peril. Everyone was too distracted by their own problems to consider breaking their routine.

Perceptive by nature, Tsukioka Tsumugi didn’t need to glance at his watch to know he was late to his study session. The automated female voice sounded dull over the speakers, announcing his designated train was to depart in five minutes in a monotone attitude. Tokyo was a busy city with no mercy for those who didn’t plan every second of their future. That much was understandable by the aspiring teacher who quickly pulled out his outdated flip phone as he carefully eyed the assignments back in his possession.

A single tone rang before a drawl was heard in poor quality, with a shit–eating grin Tsumugi knew all too well.

“Tsumu, did you finally realize I don’t need your tutoring?” Settsu Banri mocked, the distinct background noises of his new video game obsession making Tsumugi speed walk even faster. With his books held tight against his chest, he sighed and almost pinched the bridge of his nose before realizing none of his hands were free. Placing the phone in between his shoulder and ear, Tsumugi rolled his eyes as he attempted to organize his mess.

“Banri-kun, please refer to me as Tsukioka-san. I am your senior by years, if I may remind you.” Tsumugi reprimanded, noting Banri’s agitated groan and muttered under his breath about the age difference between them. Unlike the other students Tsumugi tutored, Banri was defiant. Over–the–top, lazy, and arrogant—but deadly smart. Ever since Tsumugi carefully took off his shoes in the Settsus’ overpriced apartment, Banri took it upon himself to make his life a living hell by refusing to do the work but getting every question right. The only thing Banri cooperated with was talking about video games, which distracted him from his innate ability to be the best at everything. So on Friday afternoons, Tsumugi would visit to recap the weekly curriculum and try his best to stay patient with Banri’s snappy attitude.

“Why’d you call anyways? You’re late, by the way.” Banri pointed out right before Tsumugi fell through the two closing doors on the train, tumbling into a displeased but silent group as he gripped the overhead. Spectators only stared for a second before turning away as Tsumugi blushed under the attention, stammering back a half–assed apology of how he was going to be twenty minutes late for their session.

“Hold on, am I talking to the right person? Tsukioka Tsumugi, late? Real funny, just tell me you quit or something.” Banri feigned a bothered persona, but it was nice to pretend he was actually worried over the possibility of not seeing Tsumugi. Apologizing quickly to a corporate worker he bumped into, Tsumugi fixed the bag slung too low on his right shoulder as he took the phone back in his hand. At the same time, the zipper on his decade old bag gave out as it took his foot’s entire strength to keep the folders in place. Great, another thing to replace.

Staring outside the window, the school year was coming to a close as the heat of incoming summer air made him grip the phone in case of vicious sweat. “Banri–kun, you know I value our study sessions together.” He didn’t respond, just a resigned hmph before hanging up as Banri started swearing into his gaming headset. Tsumugi closed his eyes, getting his minutes of shut-eye for the first time in days as the sun glowed. Time didn’t stop for anyone, especially not Tsukioka Tsumugi.

After being greeted way too properly by the Settsu chain of servants, Tsumugi could hear the exaggerated game sound effects throughout the rather empty mansion. Walking carefully into Banri’s wide open door, Tsumugi grimaced at the sight of the energy drink cans crushed and thrown haphazardly near the trash can. Junk food wrappers were kicked underneath the expensive furniture as Banri was focused on his two–screen gaming setup. The rainbow LED keyboard was smashed expertly by Banri’s quick fingers all without looking down, getting him a #1 win as he boredly stared at the victory. As expected of NEO-san, a top league player. Or so Tsumugi’s heard by his other student, Taichi, who dramatically cries every time he loses against Banri.

“Banri-kun, please excuse my interruption.” Tsumugi announced, holding up the textbooks he had carried with a strained smile. Banri didn’t even look over as he logged off, saying something about GG to his teammate by the name of “Taruchi” before pushing the cat headset down around his neck. Spinning around in his black gamer chair, Banri raised one eyebrow at Tsumugi’s disheveled appearance panting slightly in the doorway. It was unlike his composed, proper tutor to be... like every young adult out there? Tsumugi didn’t seem like he had all the wisdom and knowledge in the world, he looked more... confused than anything.

“Geez, Tsumu. Didn’t think you’d sleep in, watched the meteor strike last night?” Banri smirked, rolling his chair across the room to his school desk as he put his legs up, stretching his arms beneath his head lazily. How he hadn't changed out of his white t-shirt and sweatpants was beyond Tsumugi as he sat in his normal chair silently, unlike the loud high schooler who glanced at the folder of work with a yawn. Grabbing some trendy bucket hat, Banri shoved the brim over his eyes as he took a break from the flashing neon blue light from his monitor.

“Meteor strike?” Tsumugi questioned innocently, attempting to hold conversation as Banri hummed a game soundtrack absentmindedly. Nodding, Banri pulled up his modern phone that made Tsumugi wince thinking of the price of that thing. Shoving the screen in front of Tsumugi’s wary red eyes, he blinked rapidly to adjust to the bright overpowering pixels. Tsumugi noticed an event marked that raved about the phenomenal light show the day before. Thinking back on the train incident this morning, Tsumugi remembered the excitement buzzing through the students a week prior as they whispered about a new chance to wear their best yukatas to celebrate. It had been so long since he was in school, that he completely forgot about all the childish euphoria that came with change.

“I must’ve slept through it. I didn’t notice at all.” Tsumugi admitted, tilting his head as he tried to remember the news every morning the past week. He couldn’t remember a single story of the astronomical event, although every day felt the same as usual. It was peculiar; Tsumugi was awake all night, too. He couldn’t sleep without his medication... maybe he should have looked up for once.

Taking his phone back to check the game notification popping up on screen, Banri chuckled as he shoved a stick of chocolate pocky in his mouth. “Mhmm, said it was a historical event n’ all. Supposed to be life-changing.” Banri offered bare minimum detail on anything and everything, but it was enough for Tsumugi to have a slight understanding as he set up the workspace. Banri noticed the distant look in Tsumugi’s eyes, the tiredness stifled underneath the graceful mannerisms as it looked like he was going through the motions. Attempting to lighten the mood, Banri’s voice came off meaner than he intended. “Aren’t you like? 25? How come you don’t know this stuff, you’re no boomer.”

Tsumugi frowned, glancing at Banri who looked away immediately with a flustered expression. Leave it to Banri to overthink whether or not he overstepped a boundary but refuse to acknowledge it. Tsumugi kept the meme going, sarcastically deadpanning, “Haha” before tossing a new eraser at Banri’s mushroom hair. Banri caught the gift in one hand easily as he slowly turned it over, turning his body to fully face his tutor. His feet dropped to the floor with a bang, startling Tsumugi to straighten his posture and stare directly into Banri’s curious face that had a glint of... concern?

“What’s all this? A gift to make me like you or something?” Banri jokes, nudging Tsumugi’s foot with his own. Tsumugi couldn’t help but notice the tight death grip Banri had on the small, game controller shaped eraser he had found at his full time work as a florist. Across the street was a one dollar convenience store, where teenage workers stood at the register on their phones as Tsumugi checked out the stationary. Wearing his dirt–stained apron, he remembered coming across miniature, adorable erasers that made him think of his students. Especially the red and blue Nintendo Switch joy con erasers that made Tsumugi think of Banri’s whole rant about the superiority of Fire Emblem: Three Houses’ Black Eagles for the potential wife girls. Sure, it was a hit on his already fragile bank account, but it was worth it to see Banri genuinely happy about something for once.

“You already do, I’m the longest tutor you’ve had.” Tsumugi didn’t need the thanks, because it was clear in the way Banri for once put something down without throwing it. Banri scoffed, mumbling a weak comeback as he flipped open his notebook. He even tossed his hat off his head, revealing the messy long hair tucked behind his ears. Oh, he did his homework for once, Tsumugi mused with satisfaction before trying to flip to the appropriate page in the school’s textbook. It was open to a section on meteors, and glossy colored pictures of the sky made Tsumugi’s eyes focus. The image seemed familiar. Perhaps he stared a moment too long, because Banri took the book himself and thumbed his way to the marked section, warily sparing a careful glance.

“Hey... you good? You don’t look... normal.” Banri roughly phrased, trying his best to emote like a normal human would. Tsumugi nodded, not convincing anyone he was off. Brushing his sweaty palms upon his jeans, Tsumugi pushed his hair back as he started reciting what he knew of the topic and reviewed the homework, failing to catch Banri’s attentive stare at Tsumugi’s cheap, hole-ridden pants and bag bursting at the seams.

Tsumugi went back on the same train. The people were the same, his schedule was the same. Banri was different today though, paid more attention today despite knowing it already. Maybe he just wanted to get it over with, probably some tournament tonight.

In the face of the orange sunset above the skyscrapers, Tsumugi walked home with a slow, natural pace that fit his time slot he allocated for transportation. The mental reminder allowed him to look up for once, seeing the birds fly together around the quieter part of the city as a golden haze reflected off the glass. Community members said their usual predictable greetings as he waved back, respectfully wishing good health to his elders and telling funny jokes to the youth playing sports. Yet, it didn’t bring him the fulfillment he got before when he was young. Being an adult, was tiring.

It was the same everyday, as Tsumugi left the residential area and climbed through the back alley to a slum part of town. Lights flickered as abandoned businesses creaked amidst the silence. He escaped the prying eyes of neighbors and unlocked the door to his dingy, unsafe apartment. Closing the door quietly, Tsumugi stared at the studio as silence overtook his surroundings. Dust floated in the golden hour as everything was where he exactly left it.

“Welcome home.” Tsumugi whispered, his own voice echoing in between his four walls. Alone, again. It was the same everyday.

Heating up the instant ramen expired in his cupboard, the microwave sparked every once in a while as Tsumugi leaned against the counter. Each surface he touched creaked with uncertainty, as if it didn’t know how long it could last. His one–room housing felt cramped despite the lack of furniture around Tsumugi. His run–down appliances, aged decor, and rising rent made the location even better as Tsumugi did the usual routine of eating half the calories he needed and staying up browsing job listings. This time, the ramen wasn’t as satisfying as the pastry Banri stuffed in his hand before he left.

“What’s this?” Tsumugi remembered asking, immediately feeling sick to his stomach once he saw Banri’s serious expression stare back at him. At the moment, it felt like Banri was his teacher. The sweet, strawberry mochi wrapped in plastic felt warm in his palm as Banri stood at the door of his own home, leading Tsumugi out with a gift.

“Mochi. You’re Japanese, dipshit. Just a thanks, I guess.” Banri bullshitted, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Tsumugi noticed they began to fidget a little bit as Banri tapped his foot against the welcome mat. “School punk named Juza bakes or whatever, has a family business so thought you might like it. Or whatever.” Banri elaborated, using one hand to tug at the already loose v–neck collar of his week old t–shirt. Was that a blush Tsumugi saw on his rather indifferent student? No matter, it wasn’t his business to ask about a troublemaker turned pastry chef.

He’d make sure to thank his student next time he tutored him, which would be (Tsumugi checked the wall calendar disappointedly) next week. Banri was a good kid, even if he had his teenage angsty rebellion phase for a while now. Privileged kids liked doing that, pretending the whole world was against them despite having everything, Tsumugi thought bitterly. Even he was slightly surprised and caught off guard by his own pessimism, before the microwave beeped, signaling its task was done.

When Tsumugi tried to pull open the door, the handle snapped off and a quiet sigh escaped Tsumugi’s lips. Guess no dinner for tonight, then. Tsumugi didn’t have enough fight in him to care, so he dropped the handle onto the counter with a clatter. Inside this studio room, there was nothing for Tsumugi here. Not even his own food.

So, Tsumugi sat down on the couch that groaned beneath his weight. Except, it wasn’t his own body that made his sofa creak—it was the stack of papers needing to be graded in his arms. With a red pen tucked behind his ear, Tsumugi began marking his students’ work. A minute passed before Tsumugi quickly turned the television on, letting the sound of the news distract him from the unbearable loneliness.

Sure, it was going to increase his bills but... the money would be worth it to make his thoughts quiet for a moment. Tsumugi had a job to do, and he wouldn’t let his mindset get in the way. Being an adult was something else, indeed.

When had he fallen asleep?

Tsumugi blinked slowly, finding that his cheek was resting against a substantially smaller stack. Another pile that was distinctly red ink was on the other cushion, the pen without its cap rolled across the carpet. Tsumugi subconsciously winced when he realized the T.V. was on, the same channel on in the background.

Lifting his head, Tsumugi tried to comprehend the visual of the screen through his blurry vision. Tsumugi’s glasses must’ve dropped somewhere; he hoped he didn’t step on them. From what he could hear, the duo of news anchors were animatedly discussing some supernatural phenomenon tonight. Tsumugi rubbed his eyes, leaning closer to the small box screen ahead.

There was no way he possibly heard that correctly. Yet, there it was on the T.V.: “Historical Meteor Shower Tonight!” in big bold letters at the bottom. Tsumugi could remember Banri talking about something like this, but it had occurred last night. Was there another one? How common was it for two meteor showers within a span of mere hours? Sitting up, Tsumugi watched the pair talk about the light show.

“This is said to be the first event of its kind in Japan!” The host exclaimed, the screen switching to a picture of the meteors. A sense of familiarity struck Tsumugi once more, the same feeling when he had seen Banri’s textbook earlier that day. “It’s said to be life–changing—” The other one replied, Tsumugi’s wide eyes focused on every single passing word and image. Could deja vu possibly last this long?

As Tsumugi fumbled for his phone, he made his way out onto his balcony. Something inside him was telling him to get some air as Tsumugi dialed Banri’s number. Before Tsumugi could confirm the call, a bright light appeared out of the corner of his eye.

Tsumugi looked up to see two bright meteors splitting from one another. At the sight, Tsumugi’s phone landed upon the balcony floor.

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tsumugi x reader #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi

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krabmeat · 3 years

Text

𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: Wilbur Soot

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: he/him

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: physical pain descriptions, paranoia, overdose, hospitalization, alarms, descriptions of hallucinations

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎:

this is the 2nd part to my 7 part series of making all of the songs from YCGMA into short stories! this one is for saline solution, hope ya like it! :]

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

One, two, three and four

The seconds tick by on the clock in my workroom. The sound sensitive LED border of the clock lights up whenever I cough. I find it hard to breathe, the wheezes between breaths are loud, so I take a puff of my inhaler sitting on my desk next to my pc. It’s been difficult to walk lately, I’ve made a steady recovery but my legs sometimes feel like the pores are being replaced with lead- heavy and cold. Despite this though, I make my way over to my bedroom. My roommate isn’t home yet, despite how late it is. The walls of the hallway echo my footsteps, the pain I’m in not reflecting with the sounds. ‘I need to take my meds…’ My room, surprisingly not as messy as I thought. Clothes here and there, an undone bed, but overall everything is where it should be. My legs shuffle into the bathroom connected to my room, locating my paracetamol and prozac. Click, click!

I think this time I'm dying

I open the paracetamol with ease, it hypnotizes me. Quickly opening the prozac, my breath becomes jagged- confused. Water flows after the pills, hindering the struggle it would have been, but I feel the same. Panicked and afraid. What's wrong with me? Do I need more? Is there something else? I'm scared, pissed off and lonely- ‘I'm overthinking this.’ But am I? Nonetheless, nothings happening. My legs still feel like hell, and the cold invisible hand is pinching the skin behind my neck, but when I claw at it nothings there. My eyes distantly shift to the pill bottles on the counter. I can feel myself trying to look elsewhere, but my general focus is on the pills. I need more.

I'm not melodramatic

Just 1 more of each should do. Just to be safe. I'm just being safe!

I'm just pragmatic beyond any reasoning

Better safe than sorry, right? I take another drink of water and wait for the relief to set in, but it never does. My legs are aching even more and the fact that there's no effects is just making me panic more. What's wrong with me? Why isn't it setting in fast enough-?!

For thinking I've got f*cking rabies or something.

More. I need more. Maybe that's the problem, I'm just not taking a high enough dosage! I look down at each of the bottles, reading the label for the prescription. “Take 2 per day when symptoms arise. Contact your psychiatrist if a higher dosage is needed” ‘I know what I'm doing.’ There's something wrong with me, I can't bother contacting anyone. I need relief now. Out of impulse, I down both of the bottles and drink more water to allow the pills to travel with ease. Then, I just wait.

I think this time I'm dying

Pain shoots up from my stomach and sprouts to my head like a sapling. The room morphs and shifts and scrunches up like clay. Am I in a dream? I look down at my hands to pinch myself, shaking, blurry and full of vibrant colors.

I think this time I'm dying.

F*ck.

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

I think I've lost my mind.

The world morphs and moves without my eyes permission. My stomach hurts more than my legs do. The reflection in the mirror, a pale, sad and confused blur. The pain isn't going away, it's growing worse and worse. Pins and needles pricking and scraping along the inside of my abdomen, there's millions of them. Every deep breath I take is a dulled stab into my chest. Was the original concern as big as I've made it now?

Blurring the fact and the fictions

Everything is so unreal. Why did I do this again? Where am I? My memory becomes a flickering bulb, dying out from being strained of its power. My concept of time and object permanence is foggy, but that's how I know something is wrong. But what? Am I blowing things out of proportion or is this bigger than a prescription?

While simultaneously fixing myself up with a girl named panadol.

I looked down at the empty paracetamol bottle, I did the right thing- right? My intentions feel like they've been beaten and whipped with a fork, scrambled and confused with each other. But I did what I did, it still hurts though. A pang of regret stabs at my throat for a second, but the desire for relief overrides it.

Bite the tablet, elixir

The elixir! My hands swiftly open the cabinet again, desperate for elixir. I quickly find, it- half a bottle of elixir should do. As quickly as I found the bottle, I downed half of it and quickly drank more freezing cold water from the sink.

Disintegrate, mouths a mixer

That's 3 different types of pills. 3 different remedies! I'll be alright now, right? I should be, but I can't stand steadily anymore. My arms are violently shaking and my legs are about to drop. The sight is horrifying, everything is flickering from absolute darkness to furniture and walls melting like an ice cube. Am I blinking? I can't tell.

I think I've lost my mind

I can't handle this. Am I in mild pain or are things dire? I want the pain I had before, less overwhelming. I have no control anymore. The front door opening and closing shut was barely audible for my ears. “Wil? Sorry I came home so late, I had a client come further into the day.” My legs give in, and a loud THUMP rumbles through the house as I fall onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. I feel the satisfaction of my eyes rolling into my head as my eyelids stay confused on whether or not to close or to stick open to stay alert. “Wil?! Wilbur are you alright?!” Her footsteps rush to my room and into the bathroom to see my frail and hurt body on the ground with the pill bottles strewn on the counter.

I think I've lost my mind.

“WILBUR!!” She rushes to my side and drops to her knees. Her shout was so loud, it made me snap back into the present. After checking my pulse and checking if I'm still breathing, she frantically digs through her coat pocket and dials 999.

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

If I could just break one more night

I can hear my roommate crying distantly after hanging up and putting away her phone. I don't understand...why do I need an ambulance? I was helping myself, wasn't I?

Maybe I could wake up and feel alright.

I could have gotten past on my own if she hadn't found me. I would have been just fine. I'm tired, just in general.

I optimistically set my alarm clock time

I had something to do today? I forgot. I can hear my alarm clock from my bedside table blaring at me, screaming at me to get up. There was a subtle jolt of excitement that shot up my neck, or was it anxiety? Fear? Adrenaline? Denial?

Serves only to mock me with flashing lights.

The sound seems to go on for longer, despite my roommate rushing to turn it off. Its turned off, but I can still hear the sound of it echoing through the room, bouncing into my ears. My hands raise to cover my ears, but the sound just gets louder and louder. I haven't gotten up yet.

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

I think I've made my choice

Everything is jumping around slightly, the paramedics in the ambulance looming over me, reaching for tubes and clear pouches. I feel something warm on my right hand, my roommate is sitting there with my hand in hers while trying to keep herself together. “Don’t worry Wil, they're gonna fix you up and you'll be just fine...!” She says it like she’s trying to reassure herself more than me- she's more worried about me then I am for myself. One of the paramedics sitting next to her speak up with a clipboard in hand. “You said he overdosed?” “Yes, I came home from work and there was a loud thud from his bathroom. I ran over and he was barely conscious on the floor with pill bottles all around…”

I’m a deceased playing victim

I...I overdosed? How did I not notice? No no, there was something wrong with me, that's why I took so many! But...was I wrong? I was just scared! I didn’t know that this would happen, its not my fault!

Slip the face, slip the victory.

I can't run away from myself, I’m my own shadow. I was scared. I am scared. This is all my fault. I took the pills, no one forced me to. It was me who did this. But, I’m not too angry with myself. Despite my impulsive actions, I don't hate the situation I've thrown myself into.

I think I’ve made my choice

If I don't make it out of this, I won't be disappointed. If I do, then that's alright too. I dug myself into this, so don't I deserve to suffer the consequences?

Sit secluded in hatred

I’m such a bother to her, this is the second time she's had to deal with me like this. The hospital probably hates me, but I won't bother to apologize. I meant what I did both this and the last time I was sent there, they shouldn't be helping me. But I’m not suicidal, I insist.

Void the plans friends are making.

I shouldn't have set my alarm. I would have stayed asleep, made things less stressful. Why did I even set my alarm? Nothing special was happening today, I don't have plans with anyone and the only thing I was supposed to do today is work, and that's later in the day. Most of my friends don't even like me that much, they don't invite me to places or acknowledge me so can I even consider them friends? The only person who even tries to pay attention to me is…is…

I think I've found my voice

“I...I’m..-” My roommate quickly looks down at me when she hears me speak. Her eyes show it all, shocked and relieved. Her skin is still puffy and red around her eyes, but she doesn't bother to hide it. “Thank the lord your alright...what were you thinking?!” She speaks in a hushed tone, intending to not startle or overwhelm me more than I already am. She doesn't deserve this, my paranoia and issues aren't hers. “I’m...I’m sorry..” I hear my voice for the first time in a while, it's gravely and dry. She looks down at me and her features seem to have softened. “We're almost at the hospital, you're gonna be alright.”

I'm a leech sucking blood bags

I've been living off of her this entire time. My hardships were always nonexistent, weren't they? All of my tolls were never mine to begin with, her generosity is what she replaced it with. And this is what I'm giving her, more and more to deal with. But she doesn't have to, right? It's her choice, it's her fault. I'm not guilty.

Taste defeat, it's a sandbag

As soon as the vehicle stopped, I was urgently rolled out the back and rushed into a hospital room. I can hear the doctors and nurses arguing back and forth rapidly, one after the other.

Saline solution

I hear from the wad of voices. Hm, so they're desperate as well it seems… My mind decides not to bother with their procedures, instead I just leave it all to them. It won't be on my hands if they fail after all, right?

Saline solutions to all your

A set of doctors rush into my hospital room while a nurse rolls in a cart filled with who knows what for me. IV tubes are hooked up to a hanging pouch and attached to my arms.

Saline solution to all your

My eyes are squinted from the obnoxiously bright lights scattered in the hospital, the white walls making me develop more of a headache. My head flops to the left, seeing my roommate outside the window in the hallway. She's pacing around frantically with her phone up to her ear. I then turn my head to the right to see a slightly foggy pouch of saline hanging above me, the IV tubes connecting the liquid to my internal damage.

Saline solution to all your…

One of the doctors helps me drink a small amount of the saline solution and then hands me a small trash can. My stomach is crying and screaming in pain and mercy. Tears prick the corners of my eyes from the guttural pain, but it'll be out of my system soon.

Problems.

#wilbur soot #ycgma #saline solution #angst #series #writing #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fanfic #mcyt fic #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Sunday, 12:40

Song: Peter Manos - In My Head

Lucas is surprised his dad hasn’t come to tell him how pathetic he is yet. He supposes it isn’t necessary. Lucas is more than aware of it himself.

He’d dragged himself out to go to the bathroom and get breakfast and managed to avoid a run-in. Now he’s curled up in his bed with the covers pulled up to his neck, trying not to feel too sorry for himself.

It isn’t easy.

He’s tempted to call Kes, but he’d called him yesterday, and he doesn’t want to be so needy. He’s thought about messaging Isa, but he isn’t really sure what he would say. He’s sure they’re all busy anyway. Possibly even hanging out together. Without him. As is likely the new normal already.

Lucas had been so sure he’d found his new normal already, too, but nothing feels normal about his situation anymore. He feels more stupid than anything. He doesn’t know what he’s been thinking. He doesn’t know how he has managed to mess everything up so massively already.

Jens was offering him friendship, and of course Lucas went overboard with it. Of course he’s a fool.

He’s spent the weekend rewatching the vlogs. He’s already in that deep.

It goes against all his rules, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He can’t get any of it out of his head. He can’t stop feeling Jens’s hands on his hips, or his breath on his ear. He can’t stop remembering the pump of his heart when Jens has done nothing more than smile. He can’t stop imagining what Jens might have done, if Lucas hadn’t pulled away from their dance, if Lucas had made up for it when Jens pulled him down to sit in front of him by leaning right back against his chest. He can’t stop considering all the possibilities that have never been possible in the first place.

He can’t stop seeing Jens with her, looking entirely at home.

He’d avoided Instagram entirely yesterday, resisting the temptation to open Jens’s message or stalk his page or Jana’s for any possible torture. He hates how dramatic his heart is being. He knew not to expect anything, and he’d let himself get much too carried away anyway. Jens had just seemed so close and so possible. Now Lucas is realising the boy is probably even more like Kes than he thought.

Lucas is long over that, but there’s still a leftover sting regardless, even as he cringes at his own thoughts and thoughtless actions. It makes him feel worse, sometimes, now that the feelings have slipped away, to look back at it, but he can’t quite bring himself to regret it.

It’s given him plenty of time to come to terms with everything. With himself. He can’t exactly bring himself to regret something that taught him so much.

It just obviously hasn’t taught him enough.

It’s in moments like this where a little of that self-hate returns with full force, and he can’t help wishing that he was just normal. It wouldn’t feel like this, if he was just crushing on a girl who didn’t return his feelings.

He might have no proof to back this up, but he feels pretty sure of it all the same.

It would be fine, if he thought it wouldn’t mess anything up with Jens. He’s mostly angry with himself because of how much he’s already letting it affect him. He had run from the party without even saying goodbye, and he hasn’t responded to the message that Jens had so sweetly sent him afterwards. Or to the second message Jens had sent him yesterday, saying that he hoped Lucas got there safe and was having fun. He’d laughed at the irony of it. He doesn’t know how to explain to Jens that he’s completely miserable, and that he hadn’t gone anywhere in the first place.

He’s lying in his bed in Antwerp, and he’s giving in and clicking on Jens’s Instagram story.

It’s a video of him at the skatepark, flying up the ramp towards the camera, grinning as he jumps off his board and pushes the person away. The responding giggles sound like they come from Robbe. He looks as beautiful as ever, and Lucas wishes more than anything that he could join them. The pained twist of his heart isn’t entirely strong enough to make him want to stay away. It’s just an additional ache.

He escapes the app in a rush and opens Spotify, hoping to distract himself. His fingers twitch, tempted to draw, but there’s already a cramp in them. It was all he’d done yesterday. He’d needed to get his thoughts out, needed to put his emotions on paper, in something real, and endless sketches had poured out, inspired by the past few weeks. He’d sketched Sander first, stood in the art shop with his camera and his smirk. He’d sketched Luca, taking care with her curls and her glasses, one eye closed in a wink, adding extra details as he refused to pour out his mind’s main focus.

It still hadn’t stopped him from creating a dozen sketches of Jens, most only half-completed, the image lost midway as another one came to the forefront.

He needs a break from feeling like this, for a while. Before he remembers that he has to return to school tomorrow, where it will be unavoidable.

He doesn’t get very far, unable to make up his mind, before a notification pops up at the top of his screen and destroys any notion of forgetting his feelings.

Jens has messaged him again. Undeterred, it seems, by Lucas’s previous lack of response.

hey, you’re probably still busy but I was wondering what time you would be back? I’m at the skatepark with the boys, and we’ll probably be here until late, if you wanted to join for a while

Before Lucas can even take this in, another message appears.

you’re probably staying with your friends until the evening though, so don’t worry about it

Lucas blinks at the message with furrowed brows. At first his heart twists, thinking Jens has changed his mind and is politely telling him not to come after all. But the rushed manner in which it had been sent makes him doubt himself, and he rereads it again, searching for the purpose of it. The meaning behind it. Another thought comes to mind, but he can’t quite let himself entertain it. That can’t be right.

There’s no way that Jens is nervous.

It sounds an awful lot like he might be, though, the more Lucas reads it over. He begins to feel a little bad. He hadn’t thought too much on what his distance might feel like to Jens. He hadn’t considered the idea that he’s being unfair. It isn’t Jens’s fault, that Lucas feels hurt. He couldn’t possibly know. Lucas hopes that he doesn’t know. To Jens, it probably feels like Lucas is ignoring him now that he’s with his friends in Utrecht. That he simply takes a back seat. Lucas is the terrible person for knowingly hurting him this way.

He can’t help but smile slightly, and then his hands are moving on their own, opening the message and typing a reply.

I’m already home

It appears as ‘seen’ almost instantly, and it takes just as little time for the typing bubble to appear.

you left early? is everything okay?

I never went

He watches the texting bubble appear and disappear a few times before quickly typing out another message.

came home to my dad waiting for me. he found my (very small) stash. wasn’t pleased.

The typing bubble doesn’t appear for long now.

shit

grounded? I was wondering why you hadn’t replied

Lucas hadn’t even realised that he was creating the perfect out for himself. It’s that simple. It probably makes sense, that his grounding would include a lack of phone privileges. It isn’t too extreme, especially if it includes the idea that he’d already gotten it back. He could let Jens believe that his father had dished out that mini, extra punishment. He won’t even be lying. Not really. He just won’t be mending Jens’s incorrect assumption. Skipping over a tiny detail.

yep. I am to remain in this house indefinitely

fuck

he couldn’t be convinced to let you out for even an hour?

Lucas blinks.

Could his father be convinced?

Can Lucas?

He doesn’t have to think about it too long.

let’s check

He locks his phone and slips out of bed, suddenly eager. Determined. Still, he’s slow and quiet as he opens his door, and he winces at the faint creak of the hinges. He tiptoes up the hallway towards the kitchen, running through what he should say, giving himself a bit of extra time. He needs to go into this with patience. He needs to stay resolute. His father will shut him down the instant he blows up, so he simply needs to keep his cool. Throw in some persuasion. It’ll be difficult, probably, but not impossible. Hopefully.

Only his father isn’t in the kitchen, or the adjoining sitting room. Lucas furrows his brows in confusion and moves back down the hallway. The bathroom is unlocked and empty, and his father’s door lies open, proving without any doubt that the room is unoccupied. He’s completely alone in the flat.

His heart thrums and his mind races in time with the quickening beat. He’s not the most passive person in the world, and he wouldn’t let himself be walked over, and he’s not a model citizen. This isn’t too far past his realm of disobedience.

His father is already beyond pissed, and while Lucas initially cringes at the thought, he shrugs it off.

Might as well go the extra mile.

He heads back to his room and pulls a sweater on over his t-shirt, a light pastel green Isa had once bought him. He snatches his denim jacket from the hook by the front door and swipes up his keys as he shrugs it on. He hesitates for half a second before returning to collect his skateboard from his room, and then he’s off.

I’m on my way

Jens’s response is instant.

fucking nice :D

Lucas’s lips quirk, and he shakes his head slightly, and feels unbearably fond. Jens is so easy. Everything he does is so easy. He’s a steadily burning flame, bright and warm and sure, and Lucas is another brainless moth. Drawn in and set alight.

He doesn’t even know how he’s managed to develop such a ridiculous crush so quickly. He just hopes he can get rid of it in the same manner. Maybe he should be giving himself more time, especially now that he has a genuine excuse. He could have stepped neatly away from Jens for a while with the excuse of his imprisonment and Jens would understand. Lucas knows he would. He knows that would be the best thing to do. It’s unfair to Jens and himself to indulge these feelings, the excitement and the urgency and the pleasure at the mere idea of seeing him.

But Lucas has been miserable the past few days, and it’s starting to make his head whir in much more dangerous directions. He just needs to appease it for a moment. He just needs to see Jens once and let his heart quiet.

He’ll be pleased, at this stage, to see any of them. It makes sense for him to want to join as many of these outings as he can. He’s just beginning to fit into this friend-group.

The skatepark is relatively full, as to be expected for a Sunday afternoon, but it takes Lucas no time to find them. His eyes seek out Jens automatically and he finds him easily where he’s now sat at the top of the half pipe, laughing at someone Lucas doesn’t bother looking at and occasionally glancing at his phone. Lucas has to pause for a second and gather himself, squashing down the mixed emotions that bubble up and plastering on a smile.

It’s only when he’s halfway towards him that he does a double take, catching sight of white-blonde hair. His smile slips into something more real, and some of his familiar bounce returns to his step as he heads towards them.

“Yo, Lucas!” The cheer comes unexpectedly from Moyo, and Lucas twists around until he can see him, jogging in the same direction to meet him as he finally stops next to Jens, kicking up his skateboard and catching the tip in his hand.

Jens smiles up at him, left eye squinting more than the right against the sun. He’s still wearing just a shirt and a deep red hoodie, but he looks soft and warm and pleased as Lucas sits down next to him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Lucas returns, feeling uncharacteristically shy, nerves twisting in his chest. The party and the hours before it skim through his mind, and then the hours after and all of yesterday when he’d attempted to purge himself of all unwanted feelings, pushing this boy away in the process. He doesn’t deserve the easy friendship Jens has handed him. He’s taken advantage of such an innocent thing, and Jens has absolutely no idea. He wouldn’t look so fond if he did.

“You got grounded?” Moyo questions him as he swings up next to them, dropping down on Jens’s other side with furrowed brows.

Lucas shrugs, twisting his hands together in his lap. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“What? Why?”

Lucas twists around to look at Robbe, who has finally detached himself from his boyfriend long enough to notice Lucas’s presence and migrate over. Lucas catches Sander’s gaze over his shoulder and Sander brightens, slipping around Robbe to greet him. Lucas allows him to clasp their hands together with a grin, but ducks away when he moves to ruffle his hair.

“My little protégé. I was starting to think these idiots were never going to let me see you again.”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head as Sander simply drops down to sit cross-legged behind him. Robbe looks at Lucas and rolls his eyes fondly, and Lucas watches with a twist in his stomach as he sits down behind Sander, wrapping his limbs around him and letting him settle back against his chest. “You say that like I listen to them.”

Sander raises his brows at this, nodding approvingly, and this is when Jens makes a small noise in the back of his throat, strangled with confusion.

Lucas looks at him to see him glancing between him and Sander in deep concentration. “Have you already met?”

“Yeah, on Thursday at the art shop,” Sander says easily. “We had a very educational chat.”

Lucas snorts, thinking of the mini lesson Sander had given him on all his favourite dead, supposedly-gay artists as he led him around the store and then to an ice cream stand down the street, instantly winning Lucas’s heart. It may not have been the most educational experience, but it had been enough for Lucas to learn that Sander is someone he could get along with.

Jens swivels to look at Robbe. “You knew about this?”

Robbe hums. “Yeah?”

“Since when?”

“That night?”

Sander takes in Jens’s expression of utter betrayal and snorts, and Lucas can’t help but raise his own brow in amusement as Jens turns his pout towards him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lucas tilts his head. “Why was I supposed to?”

Jens struggles to form a response to that, pout deepening, and Lucas really wishes he’d stop doing things like that. He wishes he would stop treating them as if they are so close, the way Robbe and Sander are close, sharing everything automatically and having a sunk-in understanding. He wishes Jens would make it easier for Lucas to let go of this idea of something more between them.

Sander knocks his leg against Lucas’s arm to get his attention, and his expression is dramatically serious. “Jens just gets a little jealous,” he mock-whispers, loud enough even for Moyo to hear him and let out a snort.

Jens’s pout shifts into a scowl and he rolls his eyes, and Sander knocks a leg against him instead in some semblance of apology. He raises his brows at Lucas, however, in a silent ‘told you’.

“What, you don’t seriously think Sander is going to steal me away or something, do you?” Lucas can’t help but tease, raising his brows in interest.

Moyo butts in with a laugh of his own, gesturing at Sander and hitting Jens’s arm. “Sander is basically a part of the group anyway, man. Where would he go?”

“That’s not the point,” Jens mumbles, mostly under his breath. Before anyone can question him on it, he’s turning back to Lucas and asking, “How’d you get your dad to let you out, anyway?”

Lucas shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t. He wasn’t there, so I just left.”

“Ahh, a little rebel,” Sander teases.

Robbe huffs a laugh. “A match made in heaven.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Jens protests, leaving Sander sticking his tongue out at him. His gaze turns concerned as he looks at Lucas. “Won’t that make it worse for you when you get back?”

Lucas isn’t sure it can get much worse, but he can say with certainty that this is the happiest he’s been this weekend. It’s bad. This familiar warmth flooding through his chest under Jens’s gaze. It would probably be best for him, to be locked up at home.

But he can’t bring himself to regret this, either.

He gives another shrug, allows himself to smile, allows himself to enjoy how easily Jens returns it when he says, “It’ll be worth it.”

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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