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horansqueen · 3 years

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Stuck With You - Chapter 23

Chapter 23: I Want You To Want Me

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6 🡪chapter 7 🡪chapter 8 🡪chapter 9 🡪chapter 10 🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17 🡪chapter 18 🡪chapter 19 🡪chapter 20 🡪chapter 21 🡪chapter 22

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'm begging you to beg me. I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me

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NIALL

"Boooo!" Devon yelled, throwing popcorn at the screen of my computer that we had placed a bit farther. "She's such an idiot!"

I glanced down at her and felt my lips curl slightly. It had been a few weeks since Devon came back to our room and I would lie if I tried to pretend my feelings hadn't grown again. Being close friends with her made me see an other side of things. When I thought there was something between Louis and her, I couldn't have been more wrong. Devon was affectionate and sweet with all her friends, including me, and I had to admit I enjoyed it a lot. She shook her head before leaning it back on my arm and I looked down at her leg pressed against mine. We were laying in my bed, our backs leaned against pillows and sort-of cuddling while we watched a movie. We did that several times a week and I liked it.

I had found out she was a big fan of romantic comedies from the 90's, and I let her make me discover a few despite myself.

"Okay, next movie." she pointed out, sitting up and grabbing chocolate from her purse. She opened it, pulling the paper down enough and handed it to me. I broke a piece, sending her a small smile, but hoping she'd just come back closer. "You've watched all the movies I proposed without complaining, and it's surprising. Anyone else I would have done that with would have given up a long time ago."

She took a bite from her chocolate bar as I pushed all of mine in my mouth, making her chuckle.

"How about a funny movie instead?" I proposed as she raised her eyebrows. "From the 90's, of course. Do you have any?"

"Alright, no more love stories, I get it." she replied with a laugh. "I know of one you may like, though. If you like Michael J. Fox!"

She moved closer to my computer and started searching for something, but all I could focus on was the way her shirt had moved up and that I could see the small of her back. I did everything I could not to reach out if only to feel the warmth of her skin on my fingertips and when I finally breathed in, I looked up at what she was doing.

"Hey, don’t check all my folders, will you?"

"Why? Would that make me discover what kind of porn you watch in secret?" she asked with a chuckle, glancing back at me.

"Yea, probably."

This time, she laughed and I smiled more. "When do you even have time to watch porn? I'm always here with you."

She didn't wait for me to answer, she just moved back closer to me and lied back down next to me. I could feel her thigh pressed on mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder, even closer than she was a few minutes before.

"I haven't watched porn in a while, if you must know."

She slid her head farther on my arm and raised her chin up to look up at me. I could feel her gaze on me and it seemed to burn the side of my face. I finally turned my head her way and sent her an amused smile. She frowned at me for a few seconds and secretly, I wished I could know what exactly she was thinking about. Her traits softened after a while and she shrugged, licking her lips.

"I haven't used Bob in a while, so I know what you mean."

Without an other word, she turned around and stared at the computer screen. I glanced at it too but quickly looked back at her, my eyes getting smaller as curiosity invaded me.

"Bob?"

"Yea, I brought my dildo with me. I thought a vibrator would make too much noise but a dildo seemed perfect." she explained, shrugging a shoulder and diving her hand in the bowl of popcorn between my legs.

My eyes followed her hand back to her mouth, traveled down to her breasts and ended on her legs. I didn't need this image but now, I couldn't take it out of my mind.

"Must definitely not be as good as the real deal." I simply let out after blinking a few times to get out of my thoughts.

"Bob is better than any guy I've ever been with." she argued, glancing up at me with her eyebrows raised before looking back at the movie.

"You've been with losers, then." I pointed out, staring at her.

I waited a few seconds and she finally looked up, her eyebrows still raised and when she tilted her head, her lips curled into a smirk. It made me want to kiss her and I bent down close to her, a cheeky smile appearing on my lips too.

"You know I'm right." I whispered, making her shake her head.

"When I find someone who makes me cum harder than Bob and my fingers, I'll let you know." she chuckled, rolling her eyes and raising her nose up. "But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"You don't think anyone can do that?"

"No." she shrugged, turning back to the computer. "And I also don't intend to have sex with anyone ever again."

I turned my head slightly to look at her, amused by the whole conversation. I smiled a bit and licked my lips as she remained motionless, staring in front of her. I could hear in her voice that it was a lie, and the way her body had stiffened and didn't seem to relax also told me that she didn't even believe her own words. I grabbed popcorn with my free hand, not wanting to take my other arm back, and pushed it in my mouth with a chuckle.

"What's funny?" she finally asked, turning her upper body my way.

She tilted her head, her eyebrows still raised but this time, there was no smile on her face. Her lips were slightly parted and I had to make an incredible effort not to run my thumb on it or bend down to kiss her.

"The way we kissed the last few times?" I asked, chuckling and shaking my head. "Devie, you ground on me like your life depended on it. You're the horniest person I know! Besides me, I guess."

Her face changed and her traits softened but she looked speechless and slightly embarrassed. I thought she'd argue back with me but she just shrugged a shoulder and turned around, letting her back fall on my arm. Immediately, my heart jumped in my chest but I didn't mention it.

"It was a moment of weakness." she tried to explain. "Besides, I've taken care of myself plenty of times since then."

"Plenty of times?" I repeated before she nodded. "But you still couldn't use Bob, and it's a shame."

She grimaced and pushed her upped body against mine, making me laugh even more.

"You're so annoying!" she groaned low. "You think I don't know that you jerk off every night in the shower?"

"I was not trying to hide it!" I admitted with a smile, bending down closer. "How many times did you think of joining me?"

I laughed and she turned around quickly, pressing her hand on my mouth to shut me up. It made me laugh even more and we started friendly fighting. I seemed to have the upper hand and ended up on top of her, holding both her arms up against the mattress, as the bowl of popcorn was now spilled on the floor. She struggled beneath me, squirming roughly, but it only made me laugh. I could feel her throw her legs around in hope to push me away but without success.

"I really hate you!"

"No you don't!" I replied with a laugh, bending down closer to her. "If you want to use Bob, you can ask me to leave for an hour, you know."

She pressed her lips together, staring in my eyes, and I could feel the right corner of my lips raising up. My grips tightened around her wrist a bit but I couldn't help and let one of my fingers brush on one of her palms as I still stared at her. I knew it did something to her when her lips parted and instead to keep holding her down, I slide my hands on her arms, slipping my hands in hers and intertwining our fingers. She frowned a bit and I glanced at her lips for a second before closing my eyes. I knew I should have moved away but I felt paralyzed and I could feel my heart thump hard against my chest. When I opened my eyes again, she was still staring at me softly and I licked my lips.

"Just... Just tell me if you-"

I was cut by the sound of her phone and moved off of her slowly, passing my hand in my hair as I sat next to her. It took her a few seconds to get back to her senses and she finally reached for her phone on the bedside table.

It was not the first time something like that happened between us. I had no idea what stopped me from trying to kiss her every single time, probably a mix of fear and respect, but I knew it was not easy. I knew she didn't want us to have sex, or try to have some sort of romantic relationship, but that didn't mean all the love and lust I felt inside me would simply vanish. It was still there, and it was stronger than ever. Have you ever realized that the longer you're denied something, the more you want it? Perhaps it's just a human thing that most people have to go through, or maybe it's instinctive and visceral. Either way, it's horrible to want something so bad that you can feel it under your skin, carved on your bones, and engraved in your heart. Sometimes, it was all I could think about. Be with her, be loved by her, feel myself inside of her... I would be fine with having just an other chance though. I knew I wouldn't ruin it like all the others.

"It's Louis." she explained as she typed an answer back. "He's asking if we want to join him at the bar. Apparently, Lewis and Daxia are there too."

I wanted to spend time with her alone but I knew it was impossible. I also knew she had spent a lot of time with me recently and Louis had mentioned it to me a few times. I had to stop being selfish and I knew it, but it made something stir in my stomach.

"Sure, we can go if you want to." I replied, sending her a small smile and making her smile back at me. "Get ready, I'll clean the mess."

---

As I guessed, the bar was crowded with students hoping to get drunk. We quickly found the table where our friends were seating mostly because of how loud they were. Louis was holding his beer up and I chuckled when I saw Lewis bend down a bit to kiss his cheek.

"Cheating on me?" I whispered in his ear as I put my hand on his shoulder.

He turned around her wrapped his arms around me to pull me in a hug, making me chuckle low. He let me go and quickly brought Devon closer, hugging her even tighter before moving back and staring in her eyes.

"Haven't seen you in a while. He's not too annoying is he?" he asked, moving his chin in my direction before looking back at her.

"No, don't worry." she chuckled, turning to look at me and sending me a smile. "I've just been quite busy with classes."

It was not a lie, we both had been busy with studying. The holidays were coming fast and all the teachers had made sure we had enough work until the very last day. It was just easier for Devon and I to hang out, or at least feel like we were hanging out, since we were living in the same room. Louis had joined us on a few nights but I suspected him to have a crush on a girl and spend a lot of his free time with her. I didn't mention it though. I would wait until he'd want to share this information with me before actually talking about it. I also had no idea if Devon knew and how she would react, but maybe I was a bit scared she'd be disappointed. I trusted her when she said she didn't have these feelings for Louis, and from the vibes I got, she was not interested in him romantically or sexually, but one thing I had learned from past experiences was that you never really know someone, and that people can be surprising, In good and in bad ways.

It didn't take too long for Louis to sit next to Dev and he slid his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer into a hug. It surprised me that I was not as jealous as I used to be but it felt good. It had no connection with my feelings, I knew I loved Devon more than I did back then, when I tried to suppress all my feelings, but I knew her better and I wanted to trust her. I was really trying.

I pushed my hands in my pockets and walked to the bar, ordering beer and a drink. I walked back to the table and put a glass in front of Devon, catching her attention. She turned and looked at it before turning to me. Her lips curled and she shook her head, chuckling low and tilting her head as I sat on the other side of her.

"Thank you!"

"It's to make you feel better, since I know you haven't been with Bob in a while!"

She started laughing and grabbed the glass in her hand, bringing the straw to her lips to take a sip. My eyes followed the glass and my lips parted as I stared at her mouth. It was stronger than me, I really couldn't help it.

"Wait, who's Bob?" Louis frowned, his eyes moving from her to me and back to her. "And what does it have to do with a 'sex on the beach'?"

She chuckled as she took an other sip, almost choking on her drink, and I smiled more, raising my eyebrows to Louis. "An inside joke."

"You know, I'm gonna start being jealous." Louis let out with a frown. "I thought I was your best friend, your soul sister, remember?"

She giggled and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "You are, you're my soul sister, Louis. But something is telling me you've been a bit busy recently."

It was the very first time I saw Louis blush and my eyes got bigger in surprise.

"We need to hang out more!" he just pointed out before tilting his head to catch my eyes. "With you too! Next weekend!"

I didn't know how long we stayed at the bar but when Devon and I took a cab home, she ended up with her head leaning on my shoulder, half sleep. I looked down at her hand on my thigh and slowly, I placed mine on top of hers. It made her groan low and she rubbed her cheek slightly on my shoulder and finally stopped moving again. I turned my head slightly and closed my eyes, inhaling her scent. I tried not to make it too creepy, but fuck, I loved how she smelled. I could feel my palm getting sweaty on top of her hand but it felt too good to take it off. It's only when the cab parked that her eyes fluttered open and she took her hand back without really noticing mine.

"We home?"

"Mmhm." I just said, giving a few bills to the drivers and following her out of the car.

She moved closer and leaned against me, making me chuckle as I wrapped my arm around her. I helped her inside and up the stairs and she waited, leaning against me with her eyes closed as I unlocked the door.

It took me about ten minutes to put her in bed, pulling the covers over her and she whimpered as she turned around to face the wall, grabbing her pillow. I looked at her for about a minute and when she started snoring, my lips curled and I shook my head. I walked to my bed and sat on it, grabbing my phone and quickly sending a text message to Louis.

'She's safe in her bed.' I quickly typed. 'Stay safe too, don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

'There's nothing you wouldn't do.' he replied, making me roll my eyes with a smile before he sent an other message. 'Except tell Devon how much you love her.'

I sent him a middle finger emoji and put my phone away before leaning my elbows on my knees, starting at her back. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't stop looking at her. The more time I spent with her, the harder it was not to tell her I loved her. The closer we got, the more I realized that falling in love with her was inevitable, and it was only a matter of time. I was getting swallowed by quicksand and I was loving every minute of it. Soon, I wouldn't be able to breathe and I was going to ask for more. The thing was, I didn't want to be in pain again. I didn't want to have my heart broken again. Somehow, I knew it would hurt even more this time because the feelings I had for Devon were stronger and based on more solid things than the feelings I had for my ex girlfriend. This time though, I couldn't blame it on anyone else but me, and it made me hate myself.

I didn't remember falling asleep but when I woke up, I groaned as the sun invaded the room. Devon was still asleep in the same position as the night before but was not bothered by the light since she was facing the wall. I forced myself to get up and walked to her bed, shaking her lightly as I yawned.

"Devie, love." I said, my eyes half open. "How about breakfast?"

"Mm?" she mumbled low, her eyes still closed. "Did you mention food?"

I chuckled tiredly and nodded. "Yea, get ready, okay? I'm starved. Plus, we have a conference to attend this afternoon."

"Who thought of a conference on a sunday. Pretty sure even God took a break on that day." she complained.

I laughed but just went to the bathroom without answering and when I got out, she was up. Her hair was a mess and she was yawning. I smiled despite myself and walked to the door.

"I'm still wearing the clothes I had yesterday."

"Me too, who cares?"

She just shrugged and followed me outside, rubbing her eyes and trying to wake herself up completely. It was endearing and it made me want to get back in bed but with her, this time. We were almost to my car when she suddenly stopped walking. I frowned and turned around but my heart skipped a beat at the expression on her face. At first, I thought it was surprise but when I took a few steps closer, I realized she seemed terrified.

"Devie, what's wrong?"

"It-It's him." she just whispered.

"Him who?" I asked, confused, turning around to see what she was looking at.

I saw a man talking to a few students and it suddenly hit me. He said something I couldn't hear and everyone started laughing. I kept staring at the small mob of people, feeling completely powerless and knowing Devon probably felt way worse. I didn't want her to go back to that feeling she had when he broke her heart. I was scared she'd fall back into that dark place she was after her story with him, and I didn't know how to stop it.

I walked up to her and brought my hand to her cheek, trying to make her look at me instead to stare at him. It took her a few minutes but she finally turned her head to me and my heart broke when I noticed a tear on her cheek. I ran my thumb on it to wipe it and shook my head lightly.

"Devie..."

"Niall," she whispered so low I barely heard. "Take me far away from here, as far as you can."

#niall horan #niall horan fluff #niall horan smut #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan au #niall horan college au #niall horan uni au #niall horan enemies to lovers #my fanfics #swy

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hellraisered · 4 years

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tommy jarvis x reader killing jason together

tommy jarvis / gender neutral reader || killing jason voorhees.

You've lost so much in such little time. Far more than you cared to comprehend.

People you'd bonded with, befriended, relied upon, now little more than bloodied spatters upon one white walls, smeared across mahogany shelving and only just barely recognizable as a person at all anymore. You'd vomited when you saw the first body. Mangled, hung and stuck upon a protruding branch, as if it was to serve as a morbid trophy, a territorial marking - a reminder of who the camp belonged to.

Despite the fact that'd they'd been dead for at least a few hours, the same gaze of revulsion and fear stayed frozen upon features post mortem. You had nothing with which to ground yourself - as if you were already accepting your impending death, your own safety now completely irrelevant or nearly impossible to attain. However, a hand upon your back interrupted your haze. Who the cause of the sensation was mattered little - for all you cared, it was the killer - the legend, Voorhees, here to tear you apart limb from limb until you're nothing but meat for roaming wild dogs.

"Hey," a voice, masculine and warm, sends a shock through you, a feeling not dissimilar to sitting by a fireplace during a cold winter night, hands cupped around a warm beverage. "I'm here, it's -" and you can tell he wants to say ' it's alright ', but catches himself on the lie. "I'm here now."

The shotgun on his back, and the confidence with which he held himself echoed an aura of comfort that only further drew you in, like a magnet you didn't care resisting. The mere fact that someone alive was with you made you feel better, but you still found yourself heaving once more into the dirt, even though you had nothing more to vomit. And yet, the entire time, he kept a firm hand upon your back. The gesture did not go unnoticed on your part.

Regaining your senses, through eyes blurred by tears, you faintly recognize him to be the man a pair of officers escorted off of the premises earlier that same evening. 'Thomas Jarvis', - a raving lunatic, they'd called him. Funnily enough, at this point, he didn't seem so crazy anymore.

He offers you a place in his vehicle which you graciously accept, and the interior, like him, smells of leather and sweat - but in a pleasant way - subtle, not overwhelming. It distracted you from his explanation a couple times, your new companion giving you almost annoyingly brief summaries of the occurrences at the camp, and dubiously snippy responses.

"I can drop you off at the exit; you can run and get help, or at least get out of here," he said, taking a left. You hadn't noticed before, having been busy vomiting, but he was kind of a pretty man. The way his brow furrowed slightly in worry, the subtle curve in his nose elegantly giving way to an inviting pair of lips.

"Well?"

You first realize you had been staring for longer than you intended to, and he likely noticed, but then the question registers with you.

"Well I think that's bullshit," your throat still stings from your stomach acid, but that didn't stop you from snapping at him. "The bastard killed my friends, and now he has to fucking pay."

You stand with an axe in your hand, tattered sweater just barely hanging on to your shoulders.

The hulking mass of a man approaches the both of you, blood trickling down the hockey mask faintly illuminated by the moon. You feel paralyzed - frozen in place, your knuckles paling around the wooden and splintering handle.

"Do what we talked about, alright? We can do this. But if you change your mind, you- you can still go, I can do this by myself."

Even the implication that one man would have been able to tear down Jason on his own would have made you laugh, but for him to say it out loud? That was even funnier.

"I can," and you swallow, still finding it difficult to speak, "I can handle myself."

Rivulets of sweat trickle down your forehead, and Jason continues to approach - almost mocking with his near leisurely pace. When he’s in reach of your blade, you lift the axe, and begin your assault upon his person.

A shotgun goes off, his mask falls, and you shout something, pretending to be his mother -

Jason is entranced.

Tommy seizes the opportunity, and tears the axe from your grip, raising it in the air, allowing it to come crashing down upon Jason’s head with no hesitation.

Jason's body sits there, bleeding from the skull, an axe having been jammed into a soured brain, rotten and maggot ridden. His corpse falls still to the ground, and you're not even sure he's dead yet - neither is Tommy, you discover, turning your head to look at him, alert with hands now clenched around the shotgun. The both of you stand silent like that for a while, able to faintly make out approaching police sirens in the distance.

You elect to break the trance the both of you found yourselves in. Each of your footsteps seemed far more louder than they should have been as you approached him. He's shaking - just barely, and his grip upon his weapon hasn't relented, as if he's expecting Jason to get up again, perhaps almost wanting him to, just so he could kill him once more.

A hand of yours outstretches to tentatively place itself near the small of his back, the other resting upon one of his hands, knuckles paled.

"It's over- " almost a whisper. " - you did it. He's gone. Please let go."

It's obvious he doesn't want to, by the way he reflexively moved the shotgun towards his torso, protective of it- it was his security - but he looks into your eyes, and doesn't need any further explanation to understand that this is the closest you can get to pleading in this state. His grip relaxes, and you take the shotgun in one hand, putting a hand on his cheek with the other.

He places his own palm on top of it. The skin on the front of his hand is rough and calloused, but has the same warmth his voice did - consuming, addictive, and suddenly all you wanted to do was place your face in his hands and never leave.

"We did it," he corrects you, quietly, and a little late. He kisses your forehead, pulls you into an embrace that you think might break your spine, and you can feel a few of his tears fall upon your own skin. His hand tangles itself in your hair, and he pulls you away from him, just enough to look you in the eyes once more.

"We did it."

#tommy jarvis x reader #jason voorhees #friday the 13th #tommy jarvis #crystallake #i proof read this once. I will Not Do it Again #FF

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mochalattea · 3 years

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It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything.. but I’ve “come home” to dl again recently, and in reviewing some of the stuff I’d written in the past, I wanted to write a response to something I wrote a few years ago.. as choppy as it is, I’m trying to get my creative gears turning again.

Winter whipped up around her, in violent gusts of relentless snow and ice that pelted her frigid body. She’d gotten her wish: to succumb to the cold and watch the inky black figure of the being accompanying her vanish in the white-grey distance. Her fingers curled weakly in her gloves, feeling hot enough to burst under the pressure and cold. The storm quieted in her ears as her senses dulled and eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

There was hardly any reaction at all when a tall creature encroached on the tree-lined path. A faint flickering up of her eyes came when she sensed it, but over the rim of her glasses with her consciousness already slipping, she couldn’t make out the long white hair which elegantly whisked around. Nor could she see the golden eyes that were so inhuman. No—this entity shrouded in billowing maroon robes was hardly perceived at all. A mildly intrigued snap of his fingers sounded and got carried off by the winds; lost, now. He disappeared just as inexplicably, leaving her stuck in time, slumbering through the storm.

❈

There was no dawn, nor midday, nor dusk, nor night when she awoke to the oddly gentle sound of glass—ice?—shattering. The snow and ice that built up on her back weighed on her, now that it was no longer suspended over her in a delicate, timeless cocoon. There was only stormy winter and ambiguous white-grey that blurred the division of land and sky.

When she looked up, it appeared that there were eyes in the sky. Dozens of single, unpaired gold eyes blinking at different intervals; what would have been surrounding skin and eyelid blended in with the expanse of cloud. Fear jolted through her spine as these eyes began squeezing shut and popping, audibly, until the illusion broke and sky returned to normal. Dizzied and repulsed by the sight, she coughed hard enough to expel blackened bile, rolling slightly from her front onto her side, and gasped against the cold snow as the snow that had encased her crumbled off of her.

Her clothing crunched as she moved, stiff like cardboard with the slightest bit of give. She had no sense of the time that had passed. Had it been moments? Her brain reeled wildly. Days? That’s impossible. Years? Even more so. Suddenly, it came back to her—those fading memories of a black coat drifting over the banks, being peppered with white snow, freshly falling. Her stomach churned again, and she wretched once more, but nothing except strings of saliva came up this time. Tears pricked her eyes. Terror gripped her, as hot as an iron pressed into the small of her back.

…I don’t want to fade away and disappear!

Shakily, she began to move. Her fingers stung, ballooned and swollen from the conditions that they were dumb, and hardly braced against the ground beneath her as she struggled to rise to her feet. The trees shuddered; sheets of snow collapsed from branches and landed thickly on the banks below. The howling of the winds were sick laughter. The bare branches chattered against one another in the wind, mocking her.

❈

It was unclear how long she ran in the winter. The winds hushed her cries, muting her until her voice was hoarse and dry. So thoroughly oppressed by the weather, it played with her relentlessly. Frost creeped into the bridge of her nose and tears froze on her cheeks as quickly as they fell from her eyes.

At last she stumbled upon her destination and threw herself against the heavy oak door, the closest one she happened across, up an abundance of stairs. A newly installed one that must have been a renovation completed during her undetermined absence. Her arms were paralyzed and uselessly fell to her sides. Again and again, she hurled her shoulder against the door, uncaring as to how bruised and battered she became, until it opened, and in through the doorway she fell.

It is a wordless encounter. She only sees the fine tailored dress pants and polished shoes before black begins to eat at her vision.

Reiji’s eyes fix on her. His lips press into a thin line. He gives a wry laugh, bending down to clutch the collar of her jacket and drag her up on her knees. “Oh? I see. So on the brink of expiration, you thought of nothing other than returning to my side.” His voice is measured, but the words sound unmistakably barbed to her ears. They are neither whispered nor hissed.

The door shuts firmly, hitting her feet in the area it sweeps across. She doesn’t flinch.

His hands worm their way under her armpits and lift her until her feet dangle freely with no ground beneath them. He chuckles against her ear, nose pressing through her hair—matted from the wind and overgrown since she’d last been in his presence. Fear, too, was something the cold has numbed her to.

“Did you think this would please me? I know not whether to praise you for returning to your senses,” his nails dig through the layers of fabric nearest to her flesh, “or to wring your neck the rest of the way myself.” He drops her. “I have absolutely no need for an expired vessel.”

Her legs fold in on themselves and she collapses under her own weight. She pools onto the now-wet carpet of his study. She breathes choppily, still unable to muster words, but finds the sights and smells familiar comforts that make her weep. Reiji leaves, going into an adjacent room after muttering that her reaction was so undeniably human, giving her time to collect herself some. The study is blurry through her tears, but she can tell it is much like she remembers it. A fire burns in the fireplace.

“Stand on your feet and come along, you unbecoming thing.” He stoops some once he returns and helps her along to the bathroom. The process of shedding her winter wear is a painful one, and he scolds her, speaking of the very real possibility of the fabric bringing her skin off with it. Perseverance prevents this, and a new set of dry clothes are swapped out for the wet and weathered ones. The warm knits crunch faintly as he brings them around her shoulders, the threads not used to being stretched after sitting unworn for so long. Reiji removes her glasses, polishing them with a square from his pocket before placing them back on her face.

He next sets about working through her hair. “Well, I suppose even at its best your hair tangled easily, but this…” Starting at the crown of her hair is futile, and so he changes tactics, swiftly bringing the comb through the matted ends. He speaks few words otherwise, aside from the reminder for her to keep her head up, occasionally slipping his gloved hand under her jaw to level her head as it tips forward from fatigue. Once he finishes and can see her hair cascade in limp waves past her shoulder blades, halfway down her back, he readies the scissors.

Locks of her hair fall in coils onto the floor. Slowly, her head feels lighter as her former hairstyle is restored, the ends of her hair narrowly kissing her shoulders. She’s shaking, from the cold and exhaustion, as he brings his fingers down the short length of her hair and curls the side pieces in to frame her face.

“It is finished,” he says, “your appearance is as it should be.” His smile is somewhat pleased—but who’s to say that it’s more of a matter of admiring his own handiwork or the final result itself. He ushers her back into the study and into his armchair as he retreats back into the bathroom.

❈

The fire is warm, almost too much so, as she finds herself sitting more at an angle to protect her legs from the immediate heat coming off of the hearth.

She looks around the room, languidly surprised at its abnormal state of disarray. Books are off of the shelves and sit in thick piles. Skimming some of the titles on the spines, she recalls them as having been recent additions to his ever-growing collection not too long ago, yet now they are in need of repair. She averts her gaze, not wishing to question how much time has passed and how it’s even possible that it’s been long enough for her to witness such decay. At Reiji’s desk are more books at various stages of being restored and rebound. Stained pages being aligned and pressed between wooden blocks, ready for glue to be applied. Another book has a threaded needle sitting atop of it, ready to be bound by hand. There’s paper and card used to stabilize covers, and odd bottles and jars of glue.

Still finding her at a loss for words upon his return, he accepts her silence. It’s a return to normalcy. Before, he’d grown accustomed to her company. Something about it is nostalgic to him. He readies another kettle of water so that he can remove the glue from the loose pages soaking in a shallow container on a side table.

Once the kettle starts whistling and he removes it from the burner heating it. A nice aroma fills the room as his tea steeps. After he tends to his work, using the rest of the boiled water on the pages needing glue removed, he turns towards her and starts across the room, cup and saucer in hand. “The temperature is less than ideal for drinking, so I no longer need it. You, however, will not protest to drinking it, I trust? Your tolerance for hot beverages was always quite low.”

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble…” Her first words.

He sighs. “Good grief, must you make me repeat myself?” He sets it down on the table beside her chair. “You have increased my workload plenty with your reappearance. This is simply not allowing my previous efforts to go to waste, understood?”

She nods meekly.

“Speak of your gratitude in a way that is acceptable. Open your mouth; use your voice.”

She thanks him, taking the cup and saucer to her lap before bringing the cup to her lips.

“Very good,” he praises. He swiftly returns to his desk again, beginning to handle the wet papers and scrape the seams clean.

❈

Time passes. After she’s had her fill of warm tea, she begins to doze, and finds herself slouching in her chair. She’s never out for very long, and once she’s up again, she watches how he is always switching tasks, seeming to make quick work of the array of books that are repairs in progress. He pulls thread through perforated pages in slow, strong motions. She nods off again.

Eventually he finds himself at a standstill, waiting for glue to set, letting wet paper dry, and weighing down a leather cover that he retouched the gold lettering of. Only then does he bring his attention back to her, still seated in the chair he set her in. He notices that some colour has returned to her cheeks. Her lips and eyelids are no longer an icy purple either.

He saunters over, bringing himself to her level. “Well, how are you feeling? Your condition looks noticeably improved. Come now, sit up properly. You are a lady, after all.”

She’s easily coaxed into shifting in her seat once his words stir her.

He’s so close to her now; the hand she’s had on the armrest is where his falls to, covering it delicately. “Your temperature, now…” He brings his other hand to her hair, smoothing down the back of her head so that her forehead presses against his, and his fingers and palm settle against her neck. “…Could be improved.”

She musters a half smile.

His voice falls to a whisper; softer, gentler. The tone she was hoping he’d greet her with. “Warm yourself soon, for cold blood is as unappetizing as cold tea.”

#mocha's musings #mocha masterpiece #it's been a while.. reiji..#this doesn't hold a candle to what i used to be able to do.. but it's a start

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mbat · 4 years

Text

i wrote a short story ^_^

so i finally finished editing the story i had written last night!

i had seen @pyralart 's drawing (see below) of corrupted steven and i couldnt help myself, it had such story potential even if the story is short.

note that i didnt immediately notice certain details other did so some were added after the initial writing ^_^;

any criticism is appreciated as im still learning and please forgive me if this story isnt the best oof,

(insert weird attempt at a seperation i hope it doesnt look weird when i post this)

\-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-/

Steven lay lashing in his bed. He was having harsh nightmares he'd only vaguely remember when he woke up, but they were enough to leave him sweating and groaning as he tried to escape them desperately in a plane of existence outside of his control.

It was only with a jolt of physical pain did he finally awake, and he had just about screamed when he did. It took him a moment to remember where he was and that he was okay....or well...mostly okay. He was feeling physical pain actually?

He yawned and stretched, not planning on returning to such painful sleep just yet. He stood up and went to go turn on the lights when he saw a patch of darkness on his arm. A bruise? he thought, wondering how much he'd been moving around in the night. He flicked the switch to the lights and got a better look at the splotch. Looked like a bruise....but when he poked it, it didnt hurt.

He inspected his other arm to see...another spot? And another! Were these spots....spreading? He looked at his legs. There were more there, growing and growing faster. He started panicking which only made it worse.

It took all of his willpower to not start crying or screaming. He didnt want to alert the others. This is probably nothing after all right?? maybe hes just hallucinating, or ate something weird and is having a reaction! Yeah, just something along those lines surely.

He wasnt entirely convinced by his panicked excuses though. He was breathing heavily and went to go put his hands on his head to ease the headache he was suffering from and squeaked at what he felt upon his head. Sharp horns. HORNS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

Now he was ready to scream, but he still didnt want to be bothersome. He could fix it! Just go to the bathroom and use the diamond essences! Those will surely stop this!

He quickly walked to the bathroom, having a hard time seeing straight and walking straight too. He just about fell on his face trying to open the bathroom door.

He didnt bother turning on the light, he ran straight for the mirror and gripped the mirror with a much too tense hand as he just about slammed it open. His hand was so tense in fact that you could hear the mirror crack. He winced, the noise being louder than life yet impossible to hear over the pounding of his head. He turned the sink on and grabbed the bottles and quickly poured a few drops into the water, hands shaking. He went to go turn off the faucet but he had broke the handles before. He didn't have time for this!! He grabbed the faucet and twisted it. it kept rumbling but he would deal with it later once he was better, surely. He then splashed some water in his face, just about poking his own eye out with a claw that had sprouted from his hand.

He took a moment to pull the mirror back, accidentally cracking it some more as he finally saw himself with the help of the waters glow. He couldn't help but gasp loudly and just about pass out. His eye. Black sclera with a pink pupil. horns sticking out of his head and purple splotches ever so slowly growing and mocking him.

He stuck his face in the sink water trying even more to make it work. It did nothing. He went for the bath and started it full of panic, and tried to settle his beating heart while he waited but to no avail.

He stopped the faucet and went to go grab the diamonds bottles and ended up knocking everything off the rim of the sink in the hurry, crashing and crashing. He hoped no one could hear but the fear of them seeing him at any second was overwhelming. His mind raced like a horse as he poured the entirety of the diamond essences into the bathwater, desperately. They couldnt see him like this. They couldnt. No one could. It would be the end of the world and they'd know how much of a monster he truly was. He couldnt hide it anymore now.

He climbed into the tub, the water swirling calmly around him and illuminating the entire bathroom softly. He didnt bother to take off his clothes that he'd been wearing. He put his hands to his face, trying to not see what was happening but he wanted to know. He peeked between his fingers and watched, fearing the worst that was only getting even more worse.

The splotches still kept growing and spreading. He wanted to keep the tears from falling but the lump in his throat betrayed him and his vision blurred with tears and pain. He tried to choke out a sob uncontrollably but he couldn't even do that.

He lay paralyzed in place, uneven breathing and shifting water being the only noise in the whole universe to him. His mind spinning out of control as he drowned in his own trauma all swelling back to him like a tsunami.

He could see through the blur just enough to see his skin was almost entirely purple now. He felt pain all over as strange extra parts were ready to fly out of his painfully small skin, and he felt himself slipping away into a consciousness that he couldn't anymore comprehend. He finally let out a loud, piercing scream before succumbing to the pain and transformation.

#hope at least one person enjoys that #i wrote the initial unedited story between 1240 am and 120 am last night. 40 minutes #i was inspired and couldnt help myself. such a great picture prompt #shout out to pyralart for creating that drawing in the first place cause its so damn well done?? the details??? oh my stars???#its just a beautiful picture. i hope i did it justice with my short fic.#my art #my writing #steven universe #corrupted steven theory #steven universe future #12.13.19

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

Text

Alight Pt. 3 (Loki x Reader)

"That," he wiped his bleeding cheek, "was a big mistake."

He was gonna retaliate right then and there, the life leaving his eyes and rage consuming him. You prepared. He'd already gotten in a few licks leaving you pretty weakened. Arms were throbbing from blocking blows and your head burned in white hot pain. You're no match for Dickhead. But at this point if you died fighting him, so be it. It'd be better than living the rest of your life here.

As he lunged, he suddenly froze in place, and then your blood ran cold. His face disappeared - then reappeared in an instant.

Your heart beat so fast that your entire body was rendered paralyzed. Hallucinating - definitely hallucinating.

But it happens again; his face glitches from its brooding, bloodied features to a blank sheet of skin and back again.

He chuckles. His voice darkens robotically as his face goes in and out, like a TV with bad reception. "Looks like you damaged my screen."

The ground wobbles beneath your feet, but there's nothing around to steady yourself except for your own head - and it could explode at any second.

"What? Now you're scared?" He takes a small step forward, you take the same step back. "You should've been scared this entire time. You're not back home on Earth."

... What? How?

"Don't act surprised. But it's not an act, is it? You really thought you were smart. Humans are so laughable sometimes. Steadfast? Sure. But you're all so easily broken. That, and your inherent ignorance was the dead giveaway to your origins."

His dark, artificial eyes repeatedly go in and out and return to yours each time. He clears his throat and places his arms at ease. "Allow me to explain a bit about myself, since you were gracious enough to oblige me in a similar nature," he smiles, gesturing to his injured human cheek.

Your skin itches all over. Your mind is sending distress signals everywhere it can. Which, clearly, isn't far.

"I am a Chronomonitor. We are created and assigned whenever and wherever a reality is altered. I would normally explain the development process of how we're created, but I'd bet you don't know the first thing about quantum technology. Just like I'd bet you don't know the first thing about gamma radiation," he smirks.

Fuck ... what all do they know?

"But that's besides the point. I was created when the reality of Earth in the year 2012 was tampered with by undercover parties. I will cease to exist when my job is complete, which is to eliminate the threat and restore reality as it is. Until then, you're stuck with me indefinitely."

Wonderful, you bitterly think to yourself.

He dares to take another step closer, and despite yourself, you dare not to take one back.

"See how much easier things can be, if you're a good little human?"

A voice interrups through his radio, shouting urgently in their verbal codes. He tilts his head to listen and in an irritated rush he responds with an affirmation.

Now completely faceless, without concealment, he turns to leave. But not without a final word. "I feel like we've gotten to know each other a little better. No more secrets now. Right, Doe six one eight? Or, rather, little L/N."

He had the nerve to whisper your last name.

When the cell door shuts behind Mr. Chronomonitor, you start crumbling. Your legs nearly give way as you stumble back, back, until you hit the concrete wall and slide down, your throat constricting. They tracked you. They tracked the breadcrumbs, and you just gave them a freshly baked loaf with your name written on it.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think straight. All you could do was cry.

All you wanted was Loki.

Loki would know what to do.

Loki would know what to say.

Loki would protect you. He wouldn't let these forces get anywhere near you. He didn't! That's why your steadfast, laughable, ignorant fucking self is here in this space pit. Because he died protecting you from the true forces of the universe, and their crimes.

You wished that wasn't your last memory of him. That's why you've forced yourself not to think of him during this imprisonment. But things always come full circle. You should've known better. Loki always compared your feelings to a body of water, and said that the levee reserving the riverflow was made of fire. The flames will always succumb to the water at some point. Goddammit, you miss him. In the most selfish way possible.

He was one the few people in your life who accepted you unconditionally; he loved even the worst parts of you. Looking back, you took that for granted. A little voice keeps nagging you about it as time goes on, and in all honesty, you're starting to believe you deserve to stay here indefinitely.

You miss him. The hot, fiery tears leaving streaks down your swollen cheeks are the testament to it. You miss the real Loki. A far cry from who's out here in the timelines running amok.

It's the broken, vengeful, brainwashed monster that Thanos created in 2012 that's left. You think back to that distant, original little spark of hope; that maybe the real Loki is still alive and lost in there somewhere. Maybe you could find him, bring him to the light.

But that was then. Now, the chances of ever finding Loki are slim to none, and your chances of staying prisoner here are rising.

Oh for Heaven's sake. It was just getting good!

The melee had to end right when the mysterious neighbor had done what he couldn't do (what he truly wished to do if he hadn't a main objective) and that was provoke that oaf of a guard to the breaking point. But he remembers there's been no provoking whatsoever. Only silence.

And then a beating ensued, and even Loki had to turn away. He's not a sadist. He's more of a curious panther that's been reduced to a pathetic house cat.

Indeed while the voice of the Other continues to berate him for his childish approaches, and in a similar nature, Loki has chosen to ignore it. Temporarily, of course. It's not his fault that the daft creature cannot function under anything but its own direct orders. Loki enjoys chaos. And in this place, he doesn't even have to be the perpetrator.

Although useful in that he now knows a great deal more about these bots and their facility, this sort of chaos isn't exactly what he had in mind. Unlike the Other, as well as the Titan, hurting people fruitlessly doesn't interest Loki.

"Knock, knock," a voice sarcastically sounds outside the cell door.

Loki's ears perk and the hair on his neck dares to stand on end, but he doesn't allow it. He leans against the gray concrete comfortably, awaiting his visitor.

"Time for my interrogation already?" he chirps. The Chronomonitor - information accredited to his neighbor - opens the heavy door, bringing in shadowy dim light from the hallway. It appears as the same burly man with educated eyes and sturdy limbs, and a faint scar on its cheek. Loki cannot the smirk on his face as he eyes the robot, relishing in the secret knowledge he has. He distantly wonders how he'll use it to his advantage later.

"Afraid not," it shakes its head. "That's why I'm here. Mobius has chosen to delegate more time to another case over the next few days, so you're off without questioning today."

"What a shame. I was looking particularly forward to my session this afternoon," Loki feigns disappointment. He then inquires, "What could possibly interrupt such a cured routine?"

The robot ponders Loki, but in the moment, does not deem him disingenuous.

A mistake.

As if it's divulging a secret, the robot lowers its tone. "It's the person right next to you, as a matter of fact. She's been an absolute pain ever since she was apprehended a month ago. Mobius is even sicker of it than I am," it nearly growls, before recollecting. "But now he's finally ready to do something about it."

The way the bot's teeth shined in sticky enjoyment struck a nerve in Loki.

He tilts his head, playing along. "What do you think that something will be?"

"That's to be determined. Oh, and you didn't hear any of this," the bot threatens.

"Of course," Loki assures. Even though he heard every word of it.

The bot nods. It then scans the cell, as Loki crosses his arms and slides his tongue over the grooves of his cheek. The robot's eyes land on the uneaten breakfast tray next to the bed.

"Better eat. The cooks never cook that good."

"Merely saving it for later," he responds, voice clipped.

Awkwardly, the bot turns to leave. "Won't be another meal for a good few hours."

"Four hours. To be exact."

The bot looks back at Loki with bewilderment. Loki notes how easily angered they can become, if outwitted. Without another word it waves an arm dismissively and locks the door tightly behind.

It's just at the surface. But how did his neighbor do it so effortlessly?

A girl, he remembered. The robot referred to a girl.

He lay his head against the hard pillow of the wall, still propped against it. Outside his ever-racing mind, the world around him became quiet. Impossibly quiet; quiet enough to hear. Maybe enough to hear a pin drop, or a mouse scatter across the floor.

Definitely enough, he learned, to hear soft, barely audible cries through the thick walls of his cell. His eyes widened.

Female cries, he notes.

Loki's curiosity is getting the best of him. But he decides he'll deal with whatever repercussions there are.

Just for kicks, he creates a duplicate illusion of himself, leaving it on the bed. Then, cloaked in invisibility, he enters the cell next door.

The cells are similar - dark, unkind concrete. A bed. A sink. A toilet. A mirror, and something his own cell lacks: a door with a small window with a view, of another door. Loki's not surprised.

The prisoner is what surprises him.

A woman, indeed. Scrubbing at her face over the white sink, washing it in red. She pushed her hair back as it kept falling in her face, sticking to her blood. Wearing the TVA prison suit identical to his, her exposed arms were marked by violence. She turns off the sink and looks at herself in the mirror. If Loki were visible, they would've locked eyes right then and there.

She looked innocent, even babyish in the face. Something felt familiar about her. Strongly, strangely familiar, but he couldn't place how. It bothered him. The dark bruises littering her skin bothered him more; they pinched and scratched at his nerve endings.

He can't look away. In fact, he contemplates making his presence known to her, but hesitates as she moves to the cot.

Loki breathes.

Upon having a face to match with the body, he wonders. He's always been a good judge of character; what could that face have possibly done to be treated differently than he? He hadn't been assaulted by any guards or agents, even when he'd provoked them. Make no mistake, he's treated with less than respect, but not to the point of beatings at least. So what is it about this normal, non-threatening woman?

Still unable to look away from her, she lays on the cot, facing the wall - away from Loki. From this perspective she seems almost like a child. He sees her deep breathing and hears her silent whimpers; he watches her until she eventually falls asleep.

Resigning himself back to his own cell, he too lays on his cot. It's so boring here. Even with new guests, they fall asleep just as the story begins to barely unfold. A pity.

Who is that woman?

There's two sides to the coin that is Loki's thought process. It would be a lie to say he wasn't glad that the quiet one finally cried herself to sleep. But when has it being a lie ever stopped him from saying something?

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 021 [Dragonlings]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,464

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“We’ll win, we’re sure. We will endure. And though our goal is far, We’ll be the ones to touch the sun. The triumph will be ours!” Jeff Williams & Casey Lee Willaims, “The Triumph”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Shit!” I stumbled backward, barely dodging the metal club that nearly slammed into my skull. Bakugo was a few feet in front of me, surrounded by enemies. He was doing just fine, but the sheer amount of orcs around us made crowd control impossible and because of my low level, the enemies auto-targeted me. He was doing his best to keep aggro, but there were just far too many enemies. We were in a stone hallway, about the width of two cars and the length of a river. The hallway was underground, beneath a stone castle.

I grunted when the metal club collided with my sword, making me slide backward.

With every enemy that Bakugo destroyed, my experienced jumped and my level increased, but I’m still a long way off from being a hundred and these bastards are still red for me. My boots slid against the stone floor, kicking up dust. I could smell the foul breath of the ogre as it breathed through its mouth, thick saliva dripping from its pointed teeth. He pushed again and my arms gave out. I quickly fell to my knees, avoiding the club as it slammed into the wall above my head, sending chunks of stone flying.

“Goddamn it! Get the fuck outta my way, losers!!” Bakugo roared angrily, slicing and dicing his way through the crowd.

My experience kept going up, refilling my stamina and raising my max health. It became easier to dodge and parry, but I still couldn’t kill the damn thing. I guess I just have to keep chipping away at its health until it finally dies.

I huffed, dodging another swing of the club as it slammed against the ground where I had been standing. I moved my foot backward and heard a loud hissing coming from behind me, followed by a sharp pain in my ankle. “Fuck!” My leg gave out underneath me and I fell onto my ass, noticing a black snake scurrying away. A small screen popped up in the corner of my vision: ‘You have been poisoned!’

As if my numb leg wasn’t enough of a clue, thanks game!

The orc grunted, its long arms swaying back and forth as it shambled toward me. I scooted back, wincing in pain. Shit, my health is draining pretty fast from the poison. “Uhh, Bakuhoe, I could use a hand, bro!”

“Shut up, I’m fucking trying! Die!!”

The orc raised the club and I squeezed my eyes shut. Aw, shit, this is gonna hurt like a mother fucker.

A whoosh of wind rushed past me, followed by the sound of metal clashing. I peeked my eyes open to see… Red?! He was kneeling in front of me, two daggers crossed as they held the club between them. He wore a tan vest similar to Bakugo’s, with matching tan pants. A red and black scarf was wrapped around his neck, with a matching one around his hips. Two black rings pierced the outer shell of both ears.

“It’s not very manly to attack someone so many levels beneath you!” He grinned, pushing the orc backward before slashing at him with both daggers. The ogre roared in pain before exploding into pixels and vanishing. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You okay, Winchester?”

“Poison,” I groaned, feeling the snake’s venom slowly creeping through my veins.

“Ah, crap! Hang on!” He panicked, opening up his inventory and pulling out a purple liquid in a glass bottle that was wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. He kneeled beside me, pulling the cork from the bottle. “Quick, drink this!”

I took the bottle, the smell of elderberries invading my nostrils. With a gulp, I quickly downed the contents, nearly gagging at how thick the consistency was. Shit tastes like fucking grapefruit that’s been sitting in the desert for six decades. Fuck. It worked, though. The feeling started to return my leg and my health slowly started to regenerate.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

He gave me a bright smile. “Happy to help!”

“Oi, shitty hair! Make yourself useful!”

“Leave it to us, okay?” He winked before standing up and rushing at the group that surrounded Bakugo. Seeing the two of them fighting back to back is honestly majestic as fuck. They’re perfectly in sync, even without even verbalization. Within just a few minutes, the horde had been defeated.

Bakugo stomped over, scowling down at me. “How the fuck are you still so damn low?!”

“Because it takes time to go from level one to eighty, you impatient twat!”

“The fuck did you just call me?!”

“You should get your ears checked, grandpa!” I scoffed, pulling myself to my feet. “‘Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine’, my fucking ass! Jeez,”

“You shouldn’t be so damn weak!”

“I just started this fucking game!”

“And?!”

Red sweatdropped, putting himself between the two of us. “Come on, guys, calm down!”

Bakugo humphed, turning around and stalking down the hall while muttering under his breath.

I ruffled my hair in frustration, picking up my sword off the ground. He’s like an annoying ass younger brother that you wanna stab but also love at the same time. I followed down the hall, making sure to keep plenty of distance between us.

Red walked at my side. “So, you just started, huh?”

I glanced at him. Does he ever not grin? “Yeah, couple hours ago.”

“And you’re already level forty-nine, that’s awesome!”

“Not really. Bakuhoe has done all the work. I’ve just kinda… been here.”

“Bakuhoe,” He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. “The two of you seem really close!”

My brow furrowed at the comment. “Not particularly. We just kinda… tolerate one another cause we got no one else.”

His grin morphed into a smile, his hand finding my shoulder. “I consider both of you to be friends, so don’t hesitate to come to me, okay?”

I stared at him for a moment. “What’s your name?”

He sweatdropped. “You don’t know my name, Winchester, how cruel~!”

I shrugged. “Red it is,”

“No, wait! Eijirou Kirishima!”

“Look alive, losers!” Bakugo screamed from the end of the hall, his vermillion eyes glaring through the low light of the dungeon. “We’re about to enter the boss room! Don’t fucking die or I’ll kill you!”

“There’s no PVP in this game, though.” Kirishima tilted his head, a dumb look on his face.

Oh boy…

“I meant in real life, shitty hair!” He scoffed, pulling up the game menu. A screen popped up in front of Kirishima before I got the notification that ‘RedRiotx’ had joined the party. Bakugo pulled the chain hanging above the door and the hallway started to shake, dust falling from the ceiling. The metal door creaked and groaned as it slowly slid up, leading into a large throne room. Four pillars stood on opposite sides of the room, strange symbols and pictures carved into the stone. The ceiling towered above us and I got the distinct impression it was like that to accommodate the size of the boss.

Speaking of which, this room is eerily quiet…

The metal door in which we entered through slammed shut, the metal slamming against the floor. Kirishima lifted his head, nose twitching as he sniffed the air. His eyes grew wide, “Bakugo, move!”

A howl filled the room, rivaling Present Mic when he uses his quirk. The entire room shook from the soundwaves and I covered my ears, gritting my teeth. No, this sound doesn’t rival him, it’s worse!

Bakugo jumped back just as something large fell from the ceiling, landing in the center of the room.

Holy. Fucking. Tacopool. That is, by far, the ugliest motherfucker I have ever fucking seen in my life. His feet were the hooves of a horse, connecting to hairy legs bent at an odd angle. His beer belly jiggled at the slightest of movements, covered in coarse hair the color of salt and pepper. His arms were thick and full of muscle, leading to huge hands with three thick fingers. Ripped leathery wings sprouted from his back, the spikes dripping with green goo that sizzled when it hit the ground. His head was a mixture of a minotaur and a pig, with gnarled teeth that shot up toward his snout. Red, beady eyes were watching Bakugo hungrily.

“Ugh, I remember this guy.” Kirishima stuck out his tongue, face screwed up as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “He’s a real pain in the ass to beat, even as a group! Maybe we should -”

“Shut the fuck up! He’s not stronger than me!”

“Bakugo, wait!”

But it was too late. The blonde charged at the boss with his cutlass raised. With a grunt, the boss swatted at him like he was a mere fly, sending him skidding back across the room. This continued on with Bakugo unable to get close enough to strike.

“Hey Winchester, do you trust me?”

I glanced at Kirishima. His red eyes were trained on the two, his expression dead serious. “Not really, no.”

He nearly fell to the ground, turning his body to face me. “W-Well, at least you’re honest…”

“You got a plan or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But I have to form a contract with someone in order to use it.”

“I’m sorry, the fuck?”

Bakugo was thrown against a pillar, his health taking a significant hit.

“There’s no time to explain! Please just trust me, Winchester!” His eyes bore into my own as a screen popped up beside me: ‘Dragonling RedRiotx has requested to form a contract with you!’

I glanced at Bakugo, who was breathing heavily but not relenting in his assault. Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? I pressed accept and Kirishima took both of my hands in his, eyes closed as his body started to glow a bright red. The light expanded to cover my own and my stamina drained rapidly.

His body started to grow, morphing and changing as he increased in size until a red dragon took his place, large body barely able to move in the room. He flexed his wings as best as he could in the tight space, his loud roar shaking the room and paralyzing the boss for ten seconds.

“You’re a fucking Dragonling?!” Bakugo yelled in disbelief, striking at the frozen boss.

What the fuck is a Dragonling? I didn’t see that race on the character creation screen… is it one of those pay to win races?

Kirishima tilted his head back, filling his lungs with air before exhaling a burst of fire that flew straight at the boss, taking a large chunk of health from it as it flew across the room from the force. He huffed, black smoke coming from his nostrils. “That barely did any damage!” His voice was deeper and came out as more of a growl than anything.

What is he talking about? He just took like three inches off his health bar. I squinted across the room, glancing above the boss’ head so the health bar would come into view. A second later, the numbers popped up over it. “T-Ten million health?!”

“He’s a raid boss, one of the toughest in the game.” Kirishima turned his huge body to the side, his tail whipping over my head and slamming into the boss as he rushed toward him. The boss went sliding backward. “He was designed to be taken out by a group of at least twenty level one hundred players!”

My eye twitched as I stared at Bakugo. That fucking idiot sure knows how to aim big, don’t he… Damn, this sucks ass. I can’t do shit to help out here and even if I tried, I’d just get in their way. With a sigh, I pulled up my skill tree to get rid of that annoying notification in the top right of my vision. Damn, that’s a lot of points to spend. Wait… what’s this?

‘Warriors Shout: Release a loud battle cry, inspiring your party members and buffing them for five minutes. This ability can only be used once every fifteen minutes.’

Well, that could be fucking useful. With all of the points I had accumulated, I was easily able to max out the skill with points left over. Now to confirm it… okay! I spread my feet shoulder-width apart, lifting my arms a bit and clenching my fists like Goku does when he’s about to fuck some shit up. I sucked in a deep breath, activating the power as I exhaled. My voice came booming from my mouth, sending red shockwaves toward both Kirishima and Bakugo. Their bodies flashed red as their stats jumped up.

Bakugo grinned wickedly, dodging one of the wings as he sliced at the boss’ shoulder. “Why the fuck didn’t you do that sooner, tiger?!”

“‘Cause I didn’t know I fucking could, obviously,” I muttered under my breath.

The boss’ health was steadily decreasing now and it was getting more desperate in its attacks. It spread its wings wide and jumped into the air, disappearing from sight. I heard a crackling behind me and I glanced over my shoulder, jumping out the way just as a large green ball whizzed past me. There were dozens of them moving about the room and Kirishima’s large body made it impossible for him to dodge them. I saw his health bar appear every time he took a hit, but his health barely moved. Fuck, he has hella high defense and health.

“Brace yourselves!” Kirishima growled. “He’s coming!”

The balls disappeared and the boss reappeared, folding his wings around his body as he fell through the air like a ten-ton truck. The impact against the ground sent a shock wave of air through the room, throwing me back against the door. Everything started to flash red as I coughed, clutching my shoulder. I glanced at my stats, a bead of sweat rolling down my cheek.

One. Fucking. HP.

Bitch, how am I alive right now? All of the durability on my armor is gone, too. That’s probably the only thing that saved me. Sheesh.

I coughed up blood, breathing heavy as I leaned back against the metal door. This is so damn annoying! Why did I let that blonde idiot talk me into this?

The boss zoned in on me, snorting and stomping his foot like a bull before rushing at my with incredible speed. I willed my body to move, but it was no longer in my control.

“Winchester!”

“Dodge, you dumbass!”

Farewell, cruel world. I closed my eyes and awaited my fate, thinking about the glory that belongs only to the taco.

“Slice!”

A flash of green.

A huge burst of wind.

A cloud of smoke.

What the fuck just happened?

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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caffeinatedtimdrake · 5 years

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Hey There, Hot Tea

A/N: 3k of Dick Grayson/Nightwing fluff in which Nightwing doesn’t spill any tea but Dick Grayson doesn’t know how to keep secrets.

When I awoke on that fateful Thursday night to the sound of incessant scratching against my bedroom door, my first thought consisted of several profane words. My second thought wondered what ungodly hour the clock read (barely past three, witching hour). My third thought manifested in an agitated grumble of my cat’s name. Rolling out of bed, I cursed at the sudden loss of my warm cocoon. “This is why you can’t sleep in here, Chip. Because you’re annoying.” I told him, opening my door so he could scamper out into the living room. “You play with my heart and make me think you want to cuddle, but no! You wake me up at three a.m. because you want to sleep in your own bed.” I continued to gripe ineffectively through my mouth guard, squinting through the dim lamp lighting at Chip’s canine sister, Dale, snoring blissfully on the couch. “Why can’t you be like your sister, huh?” “Meow.” I chugged half a glass of water and turned to hightail back into my bedroom and snuggly cocoon, only to be interrupted by more scratching. This time, Chip clawed at the front door to the apartment. A flash of panic ripped through me and my thoughts flew to the baseball bat beneath the couch and the butcher knife in wooden block on the kitchen counter. Dale raised her head, ears barely perking up as she glanced towards Chip disinterestedly. When Chip’s ceaseless pawing was met with neither intimidating banging nor a mafia member from the Bronx ordering me to open up, I crept cautiously towards the door. “Dale, if this is how I die, because Chip wants me to let a murderer inside, please tell my mom I love her.” I squinted through the peephole for several moments before concluding that I was blind without my glasses and that there was possibly a man unconscious in the hallway. Though countless horrific news stories of young women being murdered in their homes played through my head, it was absolutely impossible for me to disregard someone in need. You might call it my kryptonite. Perhaps that was why I chose nursing as a profession, not neglecting the fact that I get to wear absurdly patterned scrubs. I ditched my mouth guard for proper vision and fuzzy slippers, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. Once again, I glanced through the peephole to confirm my suspicions. Indeed, there was a man slumped on the floor of the hallway just outside my room. As a matter of principle, I yanked the baseball bat out from underneath the couch and placed it against the wall near the door. Just in case. With a shameful, sheepish smile, I realized that this presented an opportunity to knock on the door of my devastatingly handsome neighbor, Mr. Richard Grayson, for help. The prospect of spotting him in his pajamas – no matter that my own consisted of panda flannel pants and a worn tee that told the world I survived my first trip to Central City – made my stomach lurch. It seemed that in the past few months, I’d developed a mild crush on my neighbor, something that caused me equal parts anguish, fear, and excitement. I scolded myself for it often, but no matter how intently I tried, I couldn’t quite shake the warm affection I felt when he flashed me that sweet smile or told me good morning in his sleepy urban drawl. Our periodic interactions were barely substantial enough to constitute a friendship, but I took what I could get. We often bumped into each other in the mornings, sharing the elevator, equipped with steaming mugs of coffee and friendly smiles. Though I wasn’t much of a morning person, his gregarious energy and charming mannerisms quickly changed my opinion of seven-thirty a.m. for the better. Once, we even got stuck in the elevator together. We were both half an hour late to work, but I embraced that mishap because it allowed me to learn that he worked as a detective downtown, enjoyed old horror films, and substituted copious amounts of breakfast cereals for proper meals occasionally. He was chivalrous and pleasantly flirtatious and very easily filled the spot in my heart reserved for feeling weak around handsome and polite young men. Plus, Chip seemed to adore Dick. This was impressive because most humans offered him minimal intrigue and Chip would sooner bite your ankle than purr and rub his head against your legs. (Dale believed that no human harbored ill-will, but that’s why she wasn’t a guard dog.) I shoved my cellphone in my pocket, should the seemingly unconscious man warrant a 9-1-1 call and took a deep breath, switching on the lights. I cracked the door open slowly, peeking through the opening not unlike a groundhog. The man, lanky yet well-built, was sprawled out against the opposite wall. He was clad in inky black and…leather? His face was angled towards the wall, dark hair tousled. I broke the eerie silence of the hallway. “Uh...hello?” My greeting received no reply, unless you count his heavy breathing. Gingerly, I inched closer and nudged him with my foot. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “He’s like a rock.” His frame was so toned – or maybe it was this suspiciously leathery suit – that the pressure of my fuzzy slipper against his side barely made him budge. Though he could certainly be a serial killer praying on young, independent women, he seemed groggy enough that if need be, I could dive back into the safety of my apartment and call the police. I kneeled down, arm’s length away, and tapped his shoulder, which was also brick-like. And very, very warm. Something about that shaggy mop of hair and sturdy frame was awfully familiar, nagging at the pit of my stomach, but I was still too tired to register the gut instinct – or, maybe, I felt silly for admitting that the unconscious man before me reminded me a bit of Richard Grayson. Inhaling deeply, I leaned over and tugged his opposite shoulder to flip him onto his back. When he groaned, I gasped and stumbled backwards, banging my head against the wall. “Holy shit.” The man in front of me was, in fact, not my hot neighbor. The blue silhouette of a bird nearly glowed against his broad chest. “Well, Nightwing, I guess I’m glad we’re meeting here, while you’re passed out in front of my door. Not because I’m being mugged in a dark alleyway.” I laughed nervously to myself. He groaned again and I jumped again, but his eyes were still shut tightly. His mask didn’t give much away, save for that sharp jawline and slightly parted lips. Hesitantly, I patted his face. “Um. Mr. Nightwing?” Nothing. Forcefully, I shook his shoulder. “Maybe you should get out of the hallway?” I received a pained sigh in response. “Should I, like, call an ambulance? Do superheroes like their well-being treated institutionally? Do you even have health insurance?” I continued babbling, further perplexed about how to proceed. Inhaling deeply, I did the only thing I could do. I pinched the underside of his arm. A startled yelp left my mouth, but not before a strong hand encircled my wrist and I ended up flat on my back in the middle of the hallway, the breath knocked out of my lungs with a sharp wheeze. “No, no, and...yes.” His voice was a low rasp, one that left me reeling, no matter that my head had recently collided with a wall and the ground in the recent past. I blinked up at the ceiling, paralyzed by both fear and embarrassment. “Okay.” I croaked. He appeared above me, hovering. His gaze was warm and sky blue. When he smiled, it lit up his whole face, even beneath the mask. “Sorry.” He apologized sheepishly, helping me sit up. There was that nagging feeling again in my stomach and I shook my head, more for my sake than his. “Oh. It’s fine. Getting flipped over by a superhero? I can check that off my bucket list.” He helped me to my feet, hand lingering for maybe a moment too long against the small of my back, still smiling bashfully, looking much more like a flustered teenage boy than the savior of this city. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but snort. “Are you okay? You’re the one who was just passed out on the ground!” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Wait! I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I don’t want to seem mean. Thank you, Mr. Nightwing, for protecting our city.” He chuckled lowly. “It’s no problem at all, sunshine.” Sunshine? I squinted at him. The only other person who calls me sunshine and laughs quietly like that is Richard Grayson each time I end up with him in the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask how you ended up…here?” I quirked an eyebrow, smiling at him shyly. He deadpanned, but his mouth twitched playfully. “If I can get a cup of tea, you might just find out.” I pursed my lips. “Deal. But if you, noble Nightwing, try any funny business, my dog will end you.” His laugher filled the hallway with light. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Hey there, hot tea?” He read off the mug. In spite of myself, I blushed. “It was a gift. Would you prefer the cat one?” “No, thanks. This one is flattering.” I didn’t expect to spend the early hours of Friday in my kitchen conversing with a superhero, but my mom and Disney always taught me to expect the unexpected. The sleepiness had faded, but I still felt a little delirious. Chip was perched happily on his lap, purring like Nightwing had all the tuna world. However, I easily learned that Nightwing smelled more like earth and the stars and gracefully worn-out nylon, not like canned fish, as he leaned across the island just barely dancing on the fringes of my space. “I am not in your building because of villainous activity, if that’s any consolation.” He told me. “Right. Because that explains why you were knocked out in front of my door.” He smirked, glancing down at the mug dwarfed between his palms. “I was just…checking in. But I guess I’ve had a rough night. Little aster, lots of disaster.” His eyes flickered up to meet mine, silvery and dancing. “It’s definitely gotten better though.” Is a superhero flirting with me? I cleared my throat, heat rising in my cheeks once again. I turned to put my own mug in the sink and shrugged. “Glad to be of assistance.” “Want to be a nurse off the clock?” “Of course.” And then I froze, gazing at him with wide eyes. “How do you know I’m a nurse?” He wrinkled his nose slightly, before he beamed and placed his forearm on the table, dark gash caked with dried blood. “I’m just in the loop, you know?” I frowned but grabbed the first aid kit from my cabinet. “Superhero connections and all that jazz.” The memory of Richard explaining his vast knowledge of the best coffee shops in the city and their owners played across my mind. “Nothing can top my five-year-old coffee pot and store-bought cream.” He smiled at me warmly. “You gotta try Duke’s. Or Cool Beans.” “Am I supposed to trust your word?” “Yes. I’ve learned all the best coffee spots. Detective connections and all that jazz.” I felt uneasy, but not necessarily uncomfortable. He rolled up the sleeve of his suit easily, wincing. I dampened a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting.” “I’m sure I’ve felt worse than – OUCH! That burns!” I blew against the wound to dry it faster. “I’m sorry! I did warn you!” He huffed unhappily. This fine specimen, radiating heat and masculinity, morphed into someone boyish when he jutted out his bottom lip and, of all things, pouted. I wrapped his forearm tightly in gauze. “It’s not too deep, but it is long, so try to take it easy, okay?” Nightwing placed his opposite hand over my own as I taped the gauze. His skin was warm, fingers calloused, and I couldn’t help the little shiver that ran down my spine. “Thank you.” His Atlantic eyes bore into my own. A few moments of silence followed, but his eyes spoke so many words, deep and dark. Looking at him was like looking at a word search. I knew if I looked close enough at the letters, I might be able to decipher what he wanted me to know. I swallowed hard. “You’re welcome, Nightwing.” He smiled, but this one was sad. “I should get going.” I nodded slowly. “Right. You should. With a city to save and all,” He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again when I walk him to the door. “You sure you don’t want to launch yourself through my window? Wait, actually, don’t. That wouldn’t help your arm.” “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, winking. There was a pause, and my heart jumped into my throat. “Take care of yourself.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You too, sunshine.” He disappeared down the hallway in the blink of an eye and I drifted to sleep to the sound of his laughter ringing in my ears.

The next time I woke up, it was to the sound of my alarm blaring beside my head. Barely raising my head, I fumbled around before I managed to slam my hand down on the OFF button. I debated skipping out on my morning jog, but Dale woofed encouragingly, and I didn’t want to break the two-week streak I had going. I must have pleased the powers that be, because I had the day off from work. I washed up and almost convinced myself that last night was a weird dream until I walked into the kitchen and the flirty mug was in the sink and my first aid kit remained on the counter. There was a little frost on the window, but once I was outside and running, I found that the cold air was refreshing. I welcomed each deep exhale, crisp air creating a slight burn in my lungs. I allowed the run to sort through my jumbled thoughts, plagued with charming smiles and sparkling eyes. By the time I dragged Dale and myself up to the eighth floor, we were thoroughly winded. “Good work, Dale.” I congratulated her, the memory of the unconscious superhero barely bothering me as I lugged myself down the hallway. Until the door across the hall swung open to reveal a humming Richard Grayson, carrying a basket of laundry and, maybe, the key to my heart. The humming ceased and he looked almost startled to see me. I wondered if it’s because he was hoping to break into song and I disrupted that, or if it’s because I look like a hot mess after several miles of jogging. Self-conscious, I ran a hand over my hair, hoping to quell the disobedient flyaway curls. “Hi, Dick.” I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. The leash fell from my grip and Dale bounded over to him, tail wagging furiously. He set the basket down and leaned over to rub her ears and coo her name. I approached them slowly, praying that I put on enough deodorant. He glanced up at me through warm honey eyes and I froze. “Hi, Y/N. And hello to you too, Dale.” I nodded at his pile of clothes, trying to disregard the plaid boxer briefs at the top. “Long day of laundry ahead of you?” He smiled affectionately and my stomach churned. “Three more loads after this. I’m lucky I’ve got the day off.” “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” “Says the nurse who works the late shift. What are your plans for the day?” “Nonexistent. I think I wanna crawl back into bed after a hot shower and some oatmeal.” He smirked. “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” Dick mimicked me and I could only blush in response. I clicked my tongue at Dale. “Dale, let’s leave our nice neighbor to do his laundry.” “Dale, you can keep me company anytime. And your sweet mom, too.” My face burned, and I ducked my head. “Well, maybe, if you’re not busy tonight and you want some company and like Chinese, there’s this – ” I started asking if he wanted to grab dinner, but then I saw the gauze wrapped around his forearm. My mouth ran dry and I could not stop from staring, though I knew I really needed to. He followed my line of vision and cleared his throat. “Chinese is good. You have good taste. I trust your opinion.” I snapped out of it and blinked at him. “I, uh, yeah. Chinese. For dinner maybe?” I sounded breathier than I would have liked, but last night’s events were playing over again in my head rapidly. He smiled, but it was tense. “I’ll let you know.” Disappointment flooded my chest. “O-okay.” We were silent for a few moments. He stared at me, calm and level, but I practically gaped at him. The hallway was empty, and I couldn’t help but wonder. My voice was shaky, but I still asked. “Dick, how’d you hurt yourself?” His gaze remained measured, but his eyes flashed intensely. My insides twisted. “I had a rough night last night.” All I managed was, “Oh.” He straightened his posture, glanced right, glanced left, and promptly yanked me inside his apartment. I yelped, stumbling forward into his chest. Dale sniffed curiously around the kitchen while I stared at my neighbor, paralleling her curiosity – but I was tainted with rising panic. I breathed deeply, all earth and stars and cinnamon. Richard Grayson might be Nightwing. So what? I scolded myself, talking down the instinct to panic. Dick ran a hand through his thick dark hair, stepping back from me only a little. His bangs flopped onto his forehead, cheeks flushed. “When I told my dad that I wanted to get to know the cute nurse across the hall better, this isn’t exactly what I meant. This is a disaster, emphasis on dis.” He told me bashfully. I continued to look at him, perplexed, but then his words registered. “Wait, what?!” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Got any more of that hot tea, hottie?” “If I can get an actual explanation, you might just find out.”

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alo-piss-trancy · 5 years

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What Lurks in the Shadows (P/5 Omo Snippet #7)

((BIG BIG PLOT SPOILERS FOR P5 BELOW!!!!))

((This was going to be a 3 part omo whumpfest about Akira's time after captured by the police/Akechi. 1st chap would be his time in confinement w/Sae and then the car ride with her after escaping aka normal playthrough, 2nd was the Bad End w/Akechi which was going to be absolutely brutal, and THIS was Chapter 1.5 (took place directly after Sae's chapter which had 1 wetting. Makoto stays the night in leblanc to keep an eye on him since Sojiro and Sae can't. Akira is super fucked up from all the injected drugs, Tae's meds, and the trauma. Out of all my snippets this is the one I was most invested in and would love to finish if I ever had time/motivation.))

((Forgive the not-so-accurate injuries, I had planned to research and edit those to be more realistic/close to canon after the basic draft. Same with his paranoia it was gonna be more fleshed out.))

The haze of sleep had faded as he gradually became aware of the various signals coming from his body. His head was pounding... he wasn't sure how much was from the man's foot kicking into it when he'd first woken up in that cell, and how much was a side effect from the drugs still coursing through his veins. It was enough to make him feel nauseous, but the churning in his stomach was nothing compared to the sharp stinging every time he tried to breathe. His sides and back were killing him.

Everything hurt… he just wanted to drift back off...

But there was one other thing he was aware of that would make that impossible. His bladder, heavy and aching badly enough that he had to squeeze his thighs together, huffing under his breath. Right. Normally he was fine during the night, but after what had happened earlier and all of the fluids he'd had to drink to combat the dehydration, he guessed it made sense that those muscles would be weaker than usual.

Licking his lips, he reached towards the nightstand, fumbling around for his glasses. His sides were screaming in response to the simple movement, but he finally managed to get his shaking fingers to grasp them. As soon as he put them on though, he swiftly wished he hadn't.

His vision was still bleary anyways from the sleepiness, but the slight bit of extra focus he gained made the darkness of his room seem much more threatening than it had been a few moments ago. It had been hazy before, but now he could make out sharp shadows and bulky figures, some of which he swore would move the moment he turned his head. He couldn't gain a clear image, but they were there, lurking in the edges of his vision, the briefest flashes of legs or arms, shined shoes, smug faces. Sharp teeth, inhuman masses, bloody necks without heads.

Shadows can't manifest here, can they?

Arsene. Arsene, can you hear me?

He couldn't sense the rush of unrestrained power, that rush of confidence and flair that let him know his Persona had come to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't feel anything but his heart beating faster, the tremble of his shoulders as he pulled his arms closer to his chest.

Another flashing face out of the corner of his eyes and he was forced to clench them shut. How many of these things were there? Where were they coming from? Ow, sitting up like this really hurt... every inch of him hurt...

There's too much I'm trying to focus on... I can't think clearly enough to contact him…

Nibbling his lip as he squeezed his thighs together against his body's insistent nagging, he risked a glance towards the left side of the bed. Makoto was still lying there, sleeping peacefully. The sight was somehow both comforting and painfully lonely. Yes, it was nice to know someone else was here with him, but if they weren't actually awake to see the danger in the room...

But... she's always aware of things. She's the one who triple-checked the door, and made sure both our phones were charging. If there was really an intruder here, she'd wake up immediately, right?

There's nothing here. There can't be. We're the only two things alive in here.

Those things that he was seeing... they must just be hallucinations. Terrifying, but not real. He fought monsters weekly anyways. He could handle a few spooky apparitions.

Taking a breath, he forced himself to look back at the rest of the room, his eyes straining to see what the strange forms and shadowed areas could be. Well, he knew some of the lumps by memory... the crafting table, and all of the junk on that one shelf...

I can feel my way through the rest.

But just as he started to work up the nerve to shift his legs, he caught sight of the door. The doorway, cloaked entirely in darkness, and leading the way down into a pitch-black café. The café everyone had been gathered in so shortly ago...

Someone could have seen Sae's car... And if Futaba had bugged the place once, surely the much more advanced resources the police had access to could do the same... They could have followed him here, and they could be waiting, right down there, and he'd come down and they'd pin him again, and he couldn't fight back, not like this, and they'd-

His breath quickening, he'd finally let himself lie back down, pulling the blanket over his head. He couldn't risk it, he couldn't go down there, not when there could be an ambush...

Just listen to yourself! You got away! You had that whole plan, and it worked, you know it worked! Makoto's here, Sae's on our side... you're safe here…

He knew he should trust logic. But... if there was the slightest chance that they could be here, that he could go through that hell again...

He could wake her, ask her to walk down with him...

But if he was right, then they might beat her, or drug her, or do something even worse, and he couldn't allow her to be put through that...

And if he was wrong, which was just as likely, then she'd just think he was wasting her time and being paranoid, and he was their leader, he was supposed to be confident and strong and totally not scared about the way their plan had gone, because if they knew he had doubts, they wouldn't focus, and then they might not be able to stop Shi-

I can't ask her. I can figure something out.

Well, he couldn't hold it until morning, and he definitely wasn't going to piss himself, so he'd just have to suck it up. Whatever was waiting down there, he'd just have to brave it.

Just run down there, it'll take two minutes tops. You'll be back up here in no-time, and then you can go back to bed and sleep it all off.

He couldn't bring his legs or arms to move. They were just frozen in place, paralyzing fear running though his body.

The pulses were getting stronger and stronger with every minute he stayed lying there, each steady throb forcing him to bite down on his lip harder, forcing his hand to squeeze his crotch tighter. He wanted to squirm around so badly, but he couldn't risk waking her. Squeezing his watery eyes shut, he rocked his hips a little, nearly rutting into his hand in a desperate effort to take the edge off. It wasn't helping, damn it, nothing was helping, it was just getting worse and worse...

It's just a room away, damn it! Just get up! All you have to do is get up!

He couldn't help moaning as another urgent spasm sent pain ramming through his abdomen, a slow trickle of warmth dripping out for a few seconds before it stopped, not enough to give him any relief at all. He was already in enough pain, and yet this hurt so badly...

Just slide off the fucking bed. The plant's right there, you don't even have to go downstairs. Just stand up and walk a few feet.

The dim noise of a dog barking outside assaulted his ears, and he clutched himself tighter, his crossed legs shaking as his bladder continued to spasm, waves of pain rolling through him as he fought to breathe quietly. He needed to go worse than he ever had in his life, and yet he was stuck laying on his side, panting into the pillow. He couldn't even work up the nerve to throw the covers back and sit up, knowing they were his only shield from everything else outside his protective bubble.

If I go out there, they're going to kill me... Akechi's going to be there with a gun, or they'll wrestle me to the ground and cuff me again first…

Another burst of warmth started streaming into his boxers, leaking through to wet his sweatpants. His face was blazing hot, sweat starting to drip along his skin, and he groaned, pressing his face harder into the pillow. He felt sick. It felt like the room was starting to spin, and he could barely find the strength to clench himself off before he leaked any more.

I can't piss myself again... I... I can't…

But I can't get up, not when they're right there…

It was too easy to hear the voices floating up from downstairs, those deep tones and firm orders, heartless, merciless. It was too easy to feel the sharp toe of a boot against his ribs, or the cold metal pressed against his head, the sting of more needles jabbing into his skin. He could taste the copper in his mouth, the warm heat bathing his tongue as he tried not to swallow mouthfuls of his own blood...

His entire abdomen was throbbing and pulsing, shudders running up and down his spine as he whimpered under his breath, squeezing as hard as he could against the burning in his crotch. The wet fabric rubbing against his skin kept teasing him, and little spurts kept slipping out to soak them further.

Please... if I can just hold it until the sun comes up…

If he could just wait until Sojiro came in the morning... it would prove he was safe then...

A new jet shot out to flood his thighs with warmth, coming out so harshly that he had to bite down on his knuckles to muffle the gasp. When he breathed it caused the fabric to shift slightly, little dribbles of the liquid sliding around on his skin. He could feel every inch of his lower body throbbing, the stinging urge to release aching at the very edge of his member. Grinding against it wasn't doing anything to ease it anymore. If anything, it just made his need worse, forcing tiny leaks to drip out with the added pressure.

If I could at least slide off onto the floor, that'd be easier to-

Bang!

The click of a gun, aimed at his head as Akechi walked through the door, striding over to find him on the floor and helpless.

The creatures were still flashing at the edges of his vision too, dancing around in the dark patches. One could easily be lurking under the bed, waiting to drag him under and rip him apart.

Another harsh burst started pouring into his pants, and he tightened the grip on his mouth, hoping to imprison the sob trying to escape. Sojiro was going to kill him for this.

I can't... I just can't...

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't hold it anymore. It was gushing out now, heat drenching between his legs, his thighs, and pooling around his waist. The muffled hiss against fabric sounded way too loud in this room, and he squeezed shut teary eyes, praying nothing was attracted by the noise. It felt so good to go, but the relief only made him feel sicker, his stomach twisting into knots as he felt the blankets around him and the sheets below begin to soak into a pool.

He was trying his best not to sniffle too loudly, nose running from the light smell that was trapped under the covers, but he felt the bed shift as what he dreaded most began to happen. Makoto was moving, starting to stir with a soft groan, and he was nowhere near finished.

Stop, please stop... please stop...

But no amount of shame was going to force his body to put itself in more pain just to spare his feelings, and he could only lay there in dull fear as urine kept gushing out of him.

"What... What time is it?" It was the softest of slurred voices, but he still flinched as Makoto sat up. She was probably rubbing at her eyes, but he wasn't about to risk making eye contact to check. No, he was keeping his eyes firmly closed, doing his best to try and shut out whatever visual horrors lurked around him.

"Why is... The bed feels..." His breath hitched despite his best efforts, fresh pain shooting through his chest, and that was enough to awaken her more fully. "Akira? Akira, are you crying?"

He didn't answer, trying his best to keep quiet even though it was impossible. His breathing was becoming more ragged as his nerves and the pain caused by them set in, and a few of those shameful tears were sliding down his face. He couldn't wipe them with both hands busy.

"Akira?"

((He's ashamed, but is still too panicked by everything else to be too upset about the actual wetting. She's very gentle when she comforts him, listens to why he couldn't leave. ))

((when she finally helps him move to sit in the floor, he's in agony from his injuries and still dizzy from the drugs.))

"You're wet..." She yanked her hand back from where she'd been touching him, squinting in vain as she tried to inspect her skin in the dim glow of moonlight. "You shouldn't be wet there."

"Sorry... it was kind of a lot, so..."

She shook her head quickly. "No, it can't have been that, it's too high up. Let me see your shirt."

Before he could protest, she reached out to grasp the edges, tugging the cloth up until it was just below his armpits. He shuddered, both from the pain of having to keep his arms stretched up out of the way, and because of the chilly air hitting his skin.

"Akira, you're bleeding!" The moment her fingers stroked the bandaged area (light as her touch was) he flinched, gasping and gritting his teeth to try and trap a mewl of pain.

"Oh, sorry, I'm so sorry! That's near where your ribs were broken... I'm going to have to change your bandages though, and get another look at that wound. I think all of your moving earlier pulled open the scab."

((takes him downstairs to clean up in the bathroom, washes him very carefully and avoids his privates. He hates that she has to see his injuries in full, but has no choice.))

((after he gets re-bandaged, she quietly suggests he wait in the booth while she fixes him a snack because he didn't eat earlier (he chooses to hide out in the bathroom instead, still paranoid about the door. She agrees to stay in there with him) ))

((At one point while they're downstairs, Morgana and him make brief eye contact through the shop window. Mona desperately wants to come in and comfort him, but Akira signals for him to stay outside like they originally planned. Mona knows the best way to help Akira is to stand guard seriously, even if his heart is being torn to pieces seeing what a wreck his best friend is...))

~~~

"I told you, I'm really not hungry..."

"Just some light broth, and a few noodles. I'll go fix it, stay in here and rest until I come get you."

((when she comes with his food and some light pain meds, he sees her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. She's been bawling in the kitchen, but forces herself to be calm for his sake.))

((they can't do laundry for the bed at 4am, so she fetches some clean blankets from the closet and they lay bundled up on the floor ))

((makoto tries to comfort him with sympathetic story of Kaneshiro's harassment and calls, when she was terrified he was going to break into her house and how she dealt with the paranoia to keep from breaking down since she couldn't tell anyone.))

((More angst fluff and both trying to hide their emotional anguish from each other as they fall asleep huddled on cold tile bc I am nothing if not a cruel bitch))

#omocute #omorashi #fandomo #fictomo #persomo #bearfic #again i'll edit with formatting in a sec!#but anyway this is the last snippet and it's my fav out of the batch tbh

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the-lady-frost · 5 years

Text

The Plummet

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13375997/1/The-Plummet

https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost

A/N: This is a one-shot Cleon.

-The Plummet –

Day 1:

8:17 a.m.

"What are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying it's bad. It's bad. He fell, Claire. The details are limited. But they're saying he fell. It's all over the office. He was in the Silverback Mountains. And he…fell." Moira's voice was so soft. It was so tender. She was being so gentle about it.

Was there a gentle way to tell someone their world had fractured?

Claire shifted where she sat, feeling the warm sun on her cold face. "Leon Kennedy doesn't fall, Moira. He flies. Where is he?"

"Hawaii. They've got him in a safe house there. It's not good. The reports are limited. But Claire…?"

Claire was already rising. She was already paying the check.

"What?"

"They're saying it looks like he's paralyzed."

Her fist closed around the bills in it. She crushed them. She crushed them in her fist while she pictured her best friend in the world in a wheelchair…broken.

"I'm coming. Tell him, I'm coming. I'm already there."

Leon Kennedy was broken.

There was no place else in the world she'd be now than at his side to help him rise again.

......

Day 10:

5:16 p.m.

The cup hit the far wall. It burst and threw water in a wet mess. The physical therapy assistant cowered, shaking.

"GET OUT! You fucking twit! You IDIOT! Get out and leave me the fuck alone!"

The girl bumped into Claire as she fled, crying.

In the doorway, the redhead leaned, watching him. He was paralyzed. The swelling around his spine was impossible to determine to an extent. Maybe he'd walked. Maybe he'd never walk again. It was too soon to tell.

But he wasn't dealing with it well.

He was so angry.

A god of a man-made mortal by a fall to Earth. He'd lost a battle on that mountaintop and plummeted. And it had broken his wings. His face said he'd never fly again.

Claire? She didn't believe any of it. She never had. She'd seen him get up with a bullet in his chest and fight on. She'd seen him climb out of the dark and battle back from the abyss. She knew he was capable of getting out of that chair.

She just had to get him to believe it too.

His face was heavy with a beard. He was a little smelly and a little dirty and ripe. He would NOT allow the nurse with them to bathe him. "A fucking bed bath? Like some invalid!? Get the fuck out of here!"

So, he sat in his stench and marinated like a piece of chicken.

Claire eyed him now, brow lifted.

He sneered a little. "What? You too? Come to stare at Humpty Dumpty? Go ahead, laugh. It's not like I can get up and slap the fuck out of you for it. So, chuckle it up. Why not? Har Har."

Claire shifted into the room. She shook her head and picked up the blanket that had fallen off his lap to tangle in his wheelchair wheels. He gave her a dirty look as she placed it on his lap and tucked it around him.

"You're being a big baby, Leon. You know that."

"I give a fuck, seriously. Am I not entitled? I'm a fucking cripple, Claire. You want me to be thrilled about it? Maybe I can have a party? A cripple party. We can have wheelchair races and play "who's piss bag is fuller". Because remember, I CAN'T FEEL MY FUCKING DICK TO TAKE A PISS BY MYSELF."

Claire knelt in front of him, giving him no sympathy. Although she felt it. It rolled in her and made her ache for him. But that wouldn't help him here.

"You're pissed, and that's ok. That's right on. I'd be fucking pissed too. What happened to you? It fucking sucks shit. It's awful. It's really fucking bad. But you're not dead, Leon. You're just wounded. So, you can choose to sit here and curse the Heavens and gnash your teeth and gripe at the world…or you can start working on getting out of that goddamn chair. Your choice."

She rose and turned to leave him to his misery.

He called, "Hey! Can you give me my cup back at least? I'm thirsty."

Claire gave him a cool look over her shoulder, "Get it yourself. We both know you can."

He cursed her as she left the room.

.....

Day 32:

11:14 a.m.

"Why won't you just GO already!? Get out of here and leave me alone! I said I can't get up there again. So, leave it THE FUCK alone, Claire!"

She eyed him across the PT bars that waited for him to mount them with his hands and pull himself up. She was sweaty. He was sweaty. They were both exhausted and on edge and angry. He resisted her at every turn.

He gave up. He whined. He was a real pain in the ass.

Where was Leon Kennedy? This was his shadow. This was his doppelganger made of weakness and regret. She needed him purged to find the real Leon in that shell.

The beard was ridiculous. He was so stinky it hurt the nostrils. He was getting worse instead of better.

And she'd had enough.

She knelt in her tank top and yoga pants. The muscles in her arms bulged as she grabbed his filthy shirt and jerked him out of the chair. He shouted; she cursed, and she threw him on the bars.

He could either grab them or fall to the floor on his face.

He grabbed them.

"BITCH!"

"Shut up! Enough of your crying. ENOUGH. Put your fucking feet down and WALK!"

"I CAN'T! Do you hear me!? Are you deaf!? I CAN'T WALK!"

"YOU CAN! YOU'RE JUST NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!"

He was shaking. He was panting. His arms bulged beautifully beneath the dirty shirt with muscles that glistened. He was in pristine shape. He was better off than any other man alive. He could do this. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to. Because if he did it and failed…well…then he wouldn't be Leon Kennedy anymore.

He'd just be a mortal man.

And Claire was afraid the fear of that would defeat him.

She ducked under the bar. She grabbed his thighs in her hands. She looked up the line of his filthy body and spit, from between her teeth, "Move your goddamn legs, Kennedy. And stop bitching. You want to me to stop? I'll stop when you MOVE!"

He cursed at her.

But he grunted…and he moved his left leg. He grunted…and he moved his right leg.

Claire steadied his hips. She held on but she didn't help. She crouched on the floor while he cursed her…and kept on pushing.

.......

Day 36:

11:02 p.m.

"He won't relent, Ms. Redfield. I begged. I pleaded. He won't let me help."

The poor nurse. She was trying so hard. Leon was belligerent. He was rude. He was hateful. He was so angry at the world. At himself. At his body for failing him.

The swelling was coming down. The spine was intact. But it was still too soon to know how bad the damage was otherwise. He was slipping further down with each day that passed.

She could force him to do the work in physical therapy. But it was always trying. It was always tiring. It was always emotionally exhausting. They shouted at each other. They fought.

She left him afterward shaking and raw.

They weren't best friends anymore. Not like this. She hated him. Because he was letting this destroy him.

"It's ok, Kara. I'll take care of him. Thank you."

Claire went into the huge bathroom. It was steamy. Kara had run him a bath at Claire's instruction.

Naturally, Leon wouldn't get in.

The tub was huge. A whirl meant for a trainer and a subject. It was big enough for five people. It was mostly a hot tub meant to promote muscle and nerve stimulation.

It swirled hot water and bubbles in the quiet room.

Claire eyed him in his chair. He was all beard and angry eyes. He'd been wearing the same clothes for so long she figured they'd probably have their own zipcode by now. They were stuck to him like glue with old sweat and stench.

Enough was enough here.

Claire moved toward him. He eyed her angrily. "What are you doing?"

She said nothing. She grabbed his blanket and jerked it off him. He wrestled her for it and lost. Claire grabbed his shirt and he slapped at her hands. "Quit!"

"No!" She shouted in his face now. "NO! Take it off, you son of a bitch or I will kill you!"

"Get out! LEAVE ME ALONE! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!? Go away, Claire! Before I say something I regret and we aren't friends anymore."

"Leon…you douchebag. We're already there." She turned to the nurse's cart in the corner. He watched her, eyes narrowed.

She rattled drawers, searching, and finally turned back…with a pair of shears.

He blinked and grabbed for his wheelchair wheels. Claire stuck a boot in the wheel and went around back. She hit the lock pedal and stuck him there.

Furious, he shouted, "Don't you do it, Claire! I mean it!"

She put the shears against his eye and snapped them. He froze, fuming.

"Shut up. You hear me? You shut up. Not another fucking word. Or I will rip off your pants and make you a eunuch. Do you hear me?"

She put the shears to the neck of his dirty shirt and started cutting.

She cut it down the center and ripped it. She ripped it off his arms while he sat there, roasting in his righteous anger.

Her hands shifted to his pants and he slapped at them. She narrowed her eyes and snapped the shears again.

He dropped his hands with a curse.

She jerked open his fly and yanked his pants down his legs. She did the same with his underwear. He would NOT look at her.

Not even a little bit.

She shoved him back in his chair and turned to the sink. She dug through drawers and found a bar of soap. And then she turned back to him.

"Easy or hard, Leon. Your choice here."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Hard it was.

Which he was. His body was redonkulous. He was all muscle. He was scarred pretty heavily but that happened in his line of work. His hips and legs and tummy were all beautifully made. His chest and shoulders were crisscrossed in places with claw marks and bullet wounds and slashes.

It just made him look like a survivor. It made him beautiful. He was beautifully made.

No lie there.

For a big fat baby.

Claire set down the soap and whipped her hair up into a sloppy knot on top of her head. She kicked off her shoes and unlatched her belt.

His angry eyes turned to her. "What are you doing there?"

"What does it look like? I'm getting naked so I can put your stinky ass in the bath. Don't be such a girl, Kennedy. You've seen plenty of women in their birthday suit. Nothing new to see here."

But there was. He'd never seen her naked. Not in twenty years of friendship. Not once.

She was all curves and creamy skin. Freckles danced over her shoulders and her cleavage. Her breasts were nearly too much in the ugly white bra she was wearing. She was all tits and ass and hips. Stocky, strong. Her smooth flat belly flared nicely to show her hourglass shape to the soft bathroom lights.

She stripped off the bra and her breasts bounced beautifully over her ribs. Her nipples were pink and pale. And tight. Why were her nipples tight? Anger? Jesus.

He looked away, jaw clenched.

And then she pulled her panties off. And her little red mound made him shift in the wheelchair.

Unconcerned, Claire set the soap down on the tub and turned around. "Last chance. Easy or hard?"

What a question. He glanced down at his lap. And he wasn't. He wasn't hard.

But he wanted to be. For her. He wanted to be hard.

And it rolled in his guts like fire that he wasn't. That he couldn't.

And he was out of time here. Because Claire grabbed him and jerked up from his chair. She stumbled under his weight and he had to grab on to her shoulders so she didn't fall.

"Jesus, Claire. Take it easy. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Then HELP ME, you asshole."

She shifted and settled his arm over her shoulders. He grunted and started helping. She felt something shift in her. Because he just started helping.

No fighting.

He just helped.

He did pretty well in the small distance to the tub. But it tired him. He was pretty easy to urge into the warm water. And once in it? He actually sighed with delight.

"See? Bathing is good, Kennedy. Stop being an asshat and take a fucking bath next time."

She started to rise and he grabbed her wrist. His face was so solemn. "Where are you going?"

"To get a razor. It's time to ditch the beard, Dumbledore. Unless you're planning to become the headmaster of Hogwarts."

And he laughed.

He just laughed.

And she'd never felt better in her life.

She slid into the hot water with him and offered him the soap. He took and started soaping his body while she went after his man of the mountain beard. He was patient and surprisingly receptive. She slicked the razor over his face expertly.

He eyed her, soaping his chest. "You shave a lot of angry dudes in bathtubs?"

Claire laughed and rolled her eyes, "Not recently. But I learned to shave beards when Chris was in that coma for a month. Turns out, a comatose brother makes for good practice."

Leon eyed her while she swept the razor up his chin. He said, quietly, "He's ok now?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks. He's hard-headed. That shit in Louisiana with that Baker family fucked him all up. But he's getting better."

She slicked the razor one last time over his cheek and knicked him. Just a little. It bled and she made a sound. "Shit. Sorry. Sorry."

"S'ok." He murmured it now, watching her eyes while she doctored the tiny cut. It was nothing. He'd be cutting himself shaving all his life. "But you made me drop my soap."

Claire leaned back, looking at him with narrow eyes. "You dropped the soap? You kidding?"

He gave her a wide-eyed look.

"Is this the start of a prison porno?"

And now he laughed again. And she ached a little. He was her best friend in the world. She missed his laughter.

"Hold on, butterfingers. Let me get it." She slid down into the water, reaching. It brushed her over him. The tips of her breasts brushed his arm and hand as she rooted around in the water for the bar of soap.

"I think it slipped away. I can't find it."

She was fumbling around his ass and legs with absolutely no grace. He said nothing, watching her face. And she finally found the soap lodged under his butt. With a laugh of triumph, she tugged it free and raised it over her head. "Ta-Da!" She called it musically, "Who's the hero now?"

She turned her grin down to him. He had shaving cream patches still on his smooth face. And the little trickle of blood from where she'd nicked him.

He wasn't grinning.

She offered him the soap.

He took it and said, quietly, "I need to wash my hair."

She eyed him, heart beating a little harder in her chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Help me?"

Jesus.

She eased up and spilled some shampoo in her hands. He went back to washing his body with the bar of soap.

And she slid her fingers into the thick mane of his hair.

She talked while she worked, a little nervous. She was never nervous around him. What was this? It was interesting.

"If you want, we can really get you moving tomorrow on the heavy bars. Kara said you twitched your toes this morning. That's great, Leon. That's huge. It's a big step. It means the nerves are reconnecting."

Claire rose to her knees beside him and rinsed his hair with a cup of warm water, watching the suds spill down his chest and over his belly into the water. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and let her.

She turned his face to make sure she got it all.

And she heard a plunk and plop of water.

Clearly, he'd dropped the soap again.

Claire said, "Christ, I don't know how you even hold on to your gun sometimes. I've never met a man who drops as much shit as you do, Leon Kennedy. Seriously. Reflexes like a cat and fingers like a cl—"

The sentence ended on a gasp. He'd turned his face to the side and filled his mouth with her breasts. It was so unexpected it stole her breath.

Claire dropped the cup in her hands. Her fingers tunneled into his hair. His hands came up and pulled her over his lap. She straddled him, gasping.

And he tried to kill her with that mouth.

Really, what had she expected? She was ALL TITS. And she was brushing them all over his arms and his side and his chest. What did she expect here?

He molded them. He mashed them together. He used teeth and tongue and suction. He tried to fit a full one in his mouth and watched it bounce when it popped out of his mouth. Christ. Why hadn't he been sucking on her tits as long as he'd known her?

His hands shifted, his mouth let of one tortured nipple with a pop of sound, and he dragged her down to him. His palms cupped and slid against her face. Hers shifted to mirror it.

She fucked his mouth with her tongue and moaned. Holy hell. She was on fire. Her best friend in the world. He was trying to kill her with that tongue of his. It raped her mouth. It swirled with hers. He grunted and shifted his hands around to grip her ass.

And she was undone.

Her mouth broke from his, gasping. One of his hands clasped around her throat and held. The other slid over her hip and cupped her firey little mound. Red, he thought wildly, like her hair. She was red everywhere. And the question of whether or not she was a natural redhead was finally answered.

He bowed her body back to see it. He bowed her body back to see HER as he filled her full of fingers. She bucked, she cried out, she rode his hand like a wild thing. Christ. He'd been wasting years being her honorary brother or something.

Stupid. STUPID.

He drove his middle finger into her heat and thumbed her slick nub at the top of her dripping sheath. Claire grappled for his arms and caught, looking for something to hold on to. He pulled her back to him by her throat and tongued her mouth, wetly. It was the wettest kiss she'd ever had.

He was something. He didn't quit. He slid three fingers into her and drilled her body like he'd kill her. She cried out and took it, bouncing. His mouth went back to those bouncing tits and feasted.

Claire tightened around his fingers, creaming, shaking. He watched her face and waited for her to get there. She tightened painfully around his thrusting digits and he shifted, he shifted, he slid down into the water and his fingers slid out of her. His hands skimmed over the insides of her thighs and she couldn't do anything but watch, watch him, watch while he moved in between her straddling thighs and filled her up with his tongue.

That was it. She was done.

Claire screamed, loud, desperate. She grabbed his face and ground him there against her needy body. He laughed, muffled in the heat of her, and it felt like a vibrator inside her. She humped against his questing tongue and came, she came so hard it hurt. She came gasping and rocking and flopping.

She figured she'd never seen anything more beautiful than all that shaggy blonde hair between her thighs destroying her.

Shaking, she dragged him up by his face to kiss him. It was wet and fluid. It was filled with her spasms and gasping. The aftershocks were trying to destroy her.

She slid her hand down his belly to touch him.

And she'd forgotten. She'd been on fire for him. She'd been so wrapped up in him she'd forgotten. Her hand slid over his body and he wasn't ready for her.

Of course, he wasn't.

She watched it echo on his face and hated herself. She'd forgotten.

And she felt like a bitch for it.

He shifted his hands and cupped her hips. He set her away from him in the swirling water.

Claire said, softly, "Leon…I-"

"It's ok. It's fine. Just…can you go? Can you go, Claire?" He shifted away, staring now at the wall. He was stiff and cold. Because he WASN'T stiff and warm. And it nearly killed him. "Please…just send in the nurse, ok? Please, Claire."

How could she say no to that? He wasn't being cruel.

He was just being broken.

And she'd just made it worse...by trying to love him.

...........

Day 64:

3:16 a.m.

"YES! You see?! I TOLD you, you could do it."

He huffed out heavy breaths and sat down on the bench. He'd just crossed the heavy bars himself. It was the third time in three weeks. He could shift his left ankle now without prompting.

It was amazing progress.

Claire offered him a bottle of water. "Good job. Seriously. How do you feel?"

He eyed her, sipping the water. They were both sweaty. They were slick with it. She was something else. She absolutely would not quit with him. She just kept pushing.

She'd been pushing him for 20 years.

She was heaving out-breaths in that tiny sports bra she wore. Her flat tummy and heart-shaped ass were taunting him. He laughed a little. "Good. I feel good. What about you? Feel good to know you're right?"

Claire chugged water, watching him in the sunlight. The gym was big and open. It was backed by the Hawaiian countryside. It was all sand and sea and sunlight out there. It made his blonde hair look gold.

It made his eyes like seafoam.

She said, "Honestly?"

"Yeah. Honestly. Wanna have an I told you so moment? Go for it. Can't blame you."

"Not feeling good. Not yet."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Because I'm horny."

Admittedly, he set himself up for that. He returned, gruffly, "Sounds pretty bad. Want me to spring for a hooker?"

Claire laughed. She just laughed. And he had to grin at her.

"You're an idiot, Kennedy. A real dumbass. No hookers. But thanks for the offer."

She patted his shoulder and moved past him to get his wheelchair. He grabbed her wrist, tugged, and spilled her over his lap like a dirty Santa Claus. "Let's see if I can help you instead."

Claire whispered, "Seems fair. I've been helping you all afternoon."

"True enough. Claire…damnit."

He kissed her like he'd eat her from the mouth down.

She let him roll her back on the bench and shift over. She opened her legs and he shifted in between them. He jerked up her bra, jerked down her pants, and went to town.

Naked, she quivered.

He spilled her thighs open to fill his mouth with her. She came almost instantly, gasping and humping around his tongue and fingers.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't. She grabbed his face and pulled him up to her. And whispered, "Let me…ok? Just let me."

She pushed and spilled him to his back on the floor. He made a sound to stop her as her hands molded and painted him. She smoothed over his belly, his chest, his hips.

He made a little sound of distress and grabbed her wrist as it skimmed his groin.

"Don't. Claire…just let me. Ok? You don't have to do this."

Her eyes shifted to his face. He was so worried about it. He was so distressed. It was all over his beautiful face. What did he think she'd do? Mock him? Make him feel like half a man?

She slid her hand around his softened shaft and rolled him in her palm.

He made a small moan in his mouth and grabbed her face with his hands.

Her eyes studied his face. And she said, softly, "Can you feel that, Leon? Can you feel me touching you?"

He whispered, "Yeah. I can feel you. I can feel it. I just…I can't…I just can't."

Her heart swelled. It rolled in her chest. It beat. It ached.

And she realized she was in love with him. She probably had been all her life.

He was so afraid he'd never be able to please her that way. He thought it mattered. Didn't he understand? It didn't matter if he couldn't ever get hard again. She was crazy for him. She'd take him paralyzed or blown up or crippled from the neck down. She'd take him any way she could get him.

It wasn't his dick she loved.

It was HIM.

So, she breathed, "That's ok, Leon. Because I can."

And she slid down his body to show him. She took the whole length of him into her mouth. Soft, he fitted there perfectly. She could swallow all of him and savor. He cried out and grabbed handfuls of her hair.

She milked him. She worshiped him. Her nails carved over his chest and played with his nipples. And she tried to swallow him whole.

.....

Day 87:

2:13 a.m.

She stepped out of the shower, sighing.

It was a long day. A set back in the gym had sent Leon angry and hurt to his room.

He hadn't come out again all day.

He was improving. Daily. He was dedicated to it now. And he was the strongest thing she'd ever seen. He got up. He got up. And he got up.

He never stayed down for long.

But he was still down.

He hadn't touched her since that day in the gym. She knew he was hating himself because he had no control over his erection. He couldn't get one.

It made him feel like half a man.

It was that simple.

It was that painful for them both.

She'd told him, "Why does it matter, Leon!? It's just a stiffy! Buy a fucking dildo! Who cares!?"

And he'd shouted, "I CARE! I CARE, Claire! I DO! Imagine if you never got wet again. Imagine if I slid my fingers inside of you and you felt NOTHING. Imagine it! And ask me again why it matters!"

"Leon…it's just one part. Just one. You think you can't make love to me without it?"

And he'd laughed, dark, lost, angry. "I'm a MAN, Claire. A MAN. A strong, virile, HORSE of a man. I LIKE TO FUCK! I love it! How can you stand there and act like it doesn't matter?! I WANT TO FUCK YOU!"

Oh, he'd shouted it. It thrilled her. It made her excited to hear it. She'd NEVER had a man yell it at her before. Oh, lord. She loved him.

She'd shouted right back, "THEN DO IT! WHAT'S STOPPING YOU!?"

And he'd laughed again, derisively, "MY DICK! MY DICK IS! BECAUSE I LITERALLY CANNOT DO IT! AND I CAN'T TAKE YOUR PITY ANYMORE!"

She'd blinked. She'd relented. And her heart hurt. "Leon…you think I keep touching you out of pity?"

"Why else? Why else, Claire? Twenty years and you've never even once tried. Why now? Because I'm a cripple. And you're my friend. And you don't want me to give up because I'm not a fucking man anymore. So, you toss me a pity throw down to make yourself feel better and make me feel less like a fucking disgrace."

She jerked as if he'd slapped her. She rose. And she'd spoke low and soft, "You're hurting. You're mad. But you won't ever talk to me like that again. You won't ever suggest I'd sell myself short like that again. EVER. Do you hear me? I have NEVER felt sorry for you. Ever. The only person here worried about your god damn dick is you. You know where to find me when you're ready to apologize."

And she'd left him alone in the gym.

Two hours later, he'd fallen off the heavy bars and had enough.

He hadn't spoken to her since.

The small knock on her door had her moving to open it. He was there.

Standing.

He was there standing with a set of crutches under his arms. And she forgot to be mad at him.

"OH MY GOD!"

She laughed and grabbed his face. "When!?"

"The last few hours." He grinned at her. "The CT Scan came back clear, Claire."

Her eyes jerked to his face. She'd been looking at his feet in those adorable socks he was wearing to prevent slipping. She blinked again. "What?"

"It came back clear. No permanent damage to the spine."

She grabbed his shirt and fisted her hands in it. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Say it again."

He laughed. He laughed and said, "All clear, kid. This guy? Not paralyzed."

"Oh my god," She was kinda laughing and crying as she wrapped her arms around him. He shifted on the crutches and laid his cheek on her hair. "Oh my god. I can't stop saying it!"

And he laughed again, loving her.

"Good. I'm kinda glad about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. After the CT Scan, I was sitting in the car and thinking about you. And I just thought…why hadn't I been burying my face in your tits all these years? I couldn't find the answer, you know?"

She shifted, picturing it. Her face warmed and the excitement of it pooled between her thighs. "Hmm. I'm curious myself."

"Stupidity probably. Or insanity. But anyway…" He limped into the room on the crutches. He pulled them out from his arms and settled them against the wall. Claire shifted, looping her arm around his chest to hold him up.

"Easy, Leon. Careful."

"No. Not easy. Not anymore." He caught her by the hips and threw her. He leveraged her in one arm and tossed her on the bed behind her. She bounced, laughing a little. "Not easy, Claire. And not soft."

Her eyes shifted to his face. She blinked again. "What?"

"Not soft. I thought about you today. And I wasn't soft. Not anymore."

She made a small sound. He kinda flopped down on the bed. Not graceful but it did the trick. He grabbed her ankles and jerked her toward him.

Claire made a small sound of need.

He jerked the towel off her body. She spread her legs.

His cock didn't claim her. His cock conquered her. It split her in half. He fucked her so hard it came out of her mouth in screams.

She was afraid HE'D come out of her mouth and through her body.

He ripped her apart with each thrust. It was like dying and flying and breathing. It stole hers. It was wet and meaty. It was raw.

He held her down, all muscles and slick skin. Her hands grabbed his hips. And he SHOWED her why it mattered. He showed her why he needed his dick to claim her.

Fat and hungry, it plunged into her creamy heat while she keened. He pressed her knees back, she held them open, his hips shifted to her hips to grind her into the mattress as he used her. He used her body like a whore. He fucked her as if he'd kill her. Like he'd brand the shape of his cock into the core of her.

She was so wet she was soaking the bed under her. And his mouth.

His dirty mouth.

He tongued her mouth in time with his plunging body. He spoke into her ears. Dirty, raw, needy. How much can you take, Claire? How much can you take?

His hand wrapped around her throat. His other gripped her hair. He jerked her head back to take the relentless thrust of his tongue into her gasping mouth. She was so slick with sweat, he was soaked in it.

He didn't even take off his shirt. His pants were tangled around his knees. It was so filthy. Her hands grabbed his ass and yanked him faster, harder, deeper.

He grunted, he ground himself into her. She bowed, shaking, jerking. He hit the end of her with every plunge. Her needy center sucked him in to savor each sticky drip of want that swirled with her juices to brand her.

He licked her tongue, sucked her mouth, and kept on plowing her belly while she made some kind of sound like a leaky balloon. He grunted, "This is why Claire. This is why. I like to fuck. I need to fuck you like this. Like this. I need to fuck you. Do you need it?"

Oh my god. He was so dirty. She loved him. She craved him.

She gasped, "Yeah. I need it. Harder, you son of a bitch."

And he laughed. He laughed and fucked her so hard it hurt her. It hurt. And she loved it. She grabbed handfuls of his hair to jerk his head down. She sucked his tongue. She smashed her hips into him to take each driving, fat, sticky inch of his plunging dick between her soaking thighs.

He grabbed her face. He grabbed her throat. He shifted his hips and rolled hers into him, angling her down into the mattress like he'd smash her into it and leave her for dead.

And he growled, "Scream for me, Claire."

Jesus.

She screamed. Because he was driving her into the headboard. He was spilling her half off the bed with each thrust. She pushed on him and rolled him. They grappled. And she slapped down on him like a red storm.

He filled his hands with her breasts. He filled his eyes with her face.

She was all sweaty hair and freckles and slick pale skin. She dipped down to wetly take his mouth. And then she rode him like she'd kill him.

Slick and wet, hard and fast, she pistoned her body atop his like she'd take it with her when she came. Her soaking cunt sucked him, fucked him, and furiously destroyed him. He grunted, he groaned, and he rose to sit up and spill her in against him.

His hands jerked her hair, his teeth savaged her throat, and he shifted her. Just a little. Just a tiny change of angle. And somehow it was the one meant to kill her.

He crushed into her cervix with each brutal thrust. She screamed into his mouth, she bounced on his lap to take more. The dirty little thing that she was, she fucked his mouth and forced him harder into her body.

He jerked her into him, grabbed her hips, and forced her down on his driving body so hard it echoed. It slapped. It sounded wet and filthy and raw. She mewled, she gasped, she actually fought against it…and then she came all over him.

She came, bucking and grunting and gasping. She tossed her fiery tresses and grabbed his and ground her sticky release all over his lap.

And he FELT it all.

Jesus Christ.

He felt her.

And he raped another scream from her mouth as she plowed up into her two more times and came in her pulsing heat. He actually cried out with the pain and pleasure of it. It robbed his breath. It robbed hers. It was nearly scalding in her slippery cunt.

He tongued her shivering breasts and humped her through his release.

And Claire felt the world dip and roll around them.

She leaned back, watching his face through the sweaty tangle of her hair. He'd fallen. He'd broken. But it was her that was wounded.

It was her.

Because she'd fallen too.

And there was no CT scan on Earth that could tell her she'd be ok.

She'd plummeted. She was paralyzed…and in love with Leon Kennedy.

#cleon #claire redfield #leonskennedy #resident evil #biohazard #smut and angst #theladyfrost #fanfiction #archive of our own

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assortmentofodds-n-ends-blog · 4 years

Text

Glitterytomboy

This is how I strongly felt up until the end of August even though it's a burned out numbness I was so tempted to go out and ask the past few weeks if anything would have mattered. Things hit me so hard, more than I realized they ever could. I still don't know what to say where and it just sounds like a pity party. I need to learn to let go better even when it's critical for me. I have a lot of conflicted feelings about sending you anything about throwing myself in an abyss I almost went through with it and being best to leave anything unsaid if its selfish of me my thoughts were I don't have anyone else though, I don't have anyone else I care to say how I felt about them wishing things were different. I had recurring dreams where I can't talk you where I have to avoid you, they started to turn into one's where I could and it wasn't that big a deal to talk to you and I can handle those ones even less. I feel like I'm nuts.I've been struggling for 10 years in survival mode I'm 36 this year was especially rough my life shut down I almost my ability to keep going to the gym feeling at my breaking point. It's not just you/ it's too many thing I'm overwhelmed by life status ect. But it's a heartbreak that hit me hard despite not really knowing you I haven't been able to shake it. I don't want to be harmful to you. I didn't want to be manipulative of you. if someone in your life is not beneficial for your well being and is causing you some form of discomfort then cut them out. I just hate that moment I failed with you. I'm particularly vulnerable to my thought. You don't understand I was feeling so motivated, I was working so hard to move forward. I'm just going around floundering now. I had concussion a few years ago and I lost two years from that after years of avoiding people and social withdrawal and I've never had the same peace of mind I used to it gave me life long tinnitus 24/7 where I just can't escape to a quiet place with my thoughts when I really need it. I feel like I'm out of the small things that keep me going that I'm not enough for myself anymore. Any time I see someone holding hands I look and forget what that feeling is like. I don't know if you're a William Burroughs Jack Kerouac or Samuel Beckett fan but this me sputtering out. Any spot I pass where I had a heart broken thought is a heart broken moment for me, too many things are tainted. I feel like I burnt out every new friendship connection while I was tying to use them to not rely on you so much and I ended up overwhelming you with messages regardless.. Falling out was deeply personal to me and it mattered. I thought it would be best to burn a bridge, I thought I could just shut myself off with you and best we went separate ways and make sure I drove you off in a way and then I couldn't go back on it and all my frantic words just failed. I was reminded of the one thing I life I never wanted to be reminded of again and that stuck with me trying to shake it. It's a hard memory and to lose someone for those reasons was something I never wanted to happened in life. I didn't want to lose you over that. It felt next to impossible to give time and space over it. I knew it was going to wreck me long term. I really wish I gave it more breathing time and had my words together.I tired to find a way to do things in person I went to that Jack White concert because I wanted to fix things with you, It felt so important to to try to say something in person.I was only brazen because of every ounce of me had to try to say something I made up my mind I wanted to have your back in everything and things were impossible to say and feeling impossible to say nothing. I felt so blindsided with myself I wasn't ready to say what it was and then when I was it was too late I couldn't have a written report of the most personal things in my life it would have crushed me. I knew I was going to affected to some long lasting negative extent but I didn't imagine it would be this bad for me and I was trying to avoid It But I also don't get how you couldn't see how into I was, I don't get how that could have been invisible to you. words just failed. I creeped your feed I couldn't handle you looking sad whether I was misinterpreting it being from myself cause I'm dumb or other things going on in your life creeping your stories and seeing looked sad it made me want to message you that I had to fix it. Any look in your eyes affected me for much. You don't know what a hold on me they had I didn't want to show it when I met you. And to find that in someone and not know who they are but small glimpses. I keep trying to let it out as a sigh. Trying to fill in the gaps I can't shake the feeling that I lost more than I ever lost with anyone.I had this girl that was a friend before I had a concussion a few years ago and her marine boyfriend was stupidly over jealous of me all the time and they broke up over it. I had a concession and came out a year later that she had a new boyfriend and was ghosted and to point where I no longer had a friend with this person. I had this notion if I asked you out I could keep you as a friend I and it would be a sure way to never lose you. That was added on top everything else that was going on with me.I'm full of endless what ifs and should have and shouldn't. I thought of saying something in sensitive way as far back of June of last year but I made the decision not to. I feel like I burnt out every new friendship connection while I was tying to use them to not rely on you so much and I ended up overwhelming you with messages regardless. I feel like I'm crazy not being able to let go. It shouldn't have been that complicated. I was fully aware I wasn't giving communicating enough breathing room. I had so many things I was excited to chat with you about that I didn't want to talk about online. You ever just crave someones presences like you're literally happy sitting next to them in silences it was that kind of feeling.There's always a risk with someone. I knew what it was and I still wasn't prepared. Even being strangers it feels like I lost a lot. I'm sorry for lurking it wasn't always intentional. I can pass any other lost connection person in life fine to no affect anywhere. I don't understand it, All it makes me feel is that I was too slow to realize something. I've had heart break before I know the drill. I tell myself we don't know each other at all, we're a negative sum of nothing and it doesn't help the moment I see you anywhere I'm flustered and I don't know which direction to walk in. My heart races out of control even if you aren't on that street, I've tried to hang out on it just treating it like a normal location to try to escape some anxiety connected to it I can't even listen to songs from when I met you I get paralyzed wanting to escape. I've never had that with anyone before. I've never had a song I couldn't hear over someone. I can't get over how much I'm affected by you, I spent much of the summer feeling like I was going to have a heart attack.The first time I ever walked by you in you the street after you reported me I didn't know who you were from behind. I just went for a walk, cried, hoped I could get it out of my system, saw someone, their body language talking to someone else was the kind that makes my heart skip and I just wanted to smile at her and when I saw who it was it was a huge fuck my life I have a crush on you I want to smile at you even when I have no idea who you are. Every time I saw you my heart raced or sank.I wish I could have met you at a dozen different points in life. I wish I could have known you. I keep wishing I could travel back and more I wish I could the farther back I wish I could go, I wish I could start over and spend 30 years biding my time. I suppose you're someone I fail in every incarnation of reality. I wanted to see a movie with you so bad just a month ago and that moment hurts immensely that one of the simplest things I wanted with you was just to stand in line with you somewhere. I had a lot of moments like that I wish I could share.I've thought of confronting you in public, I don't know if I actually would have too many thoughts that I shouldn't still want to anyways I can't normalize talking to you if I went up and said anything. asked if it was alright to talk and if you said no, fine, if you said yes I have things thought out but I'm not sure how it would go or what purpose it would server or why I should. I can't normalize talking to you and I'm solid on that. I have a lot of privet thoughts on things, a lot of anger at myself. I was afraid it be a confrontation or worse you'd try to hug me or something I'm very particular who I let hug me if you tried to I'd have push you away because I'd never want you to let go, I'm always so torn between asking if it's something the passage or time can heal. I wanted something to be fixable so bad that isn't I couldn't have you defending me to any of your friends I'd just feel disgusted with myself and gross. I can't forgive myself with you. I keep wishing I would have said something sooner to you last year instead of spinning my wheels with other people that I was only trying with because I thought you weren't interested which you probably weren't. I remember you being the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with last summer and then seeing you on it and being to shy to go up and say hi.Too many things about you tugged at me, I creeped your online persona too much and found the things you were passionate about were a lot of the things I was as well. I don't catch feelings easy and when I do it's too much. I just needed someone to be there with me and figure it out along the way.the picture I painted of you in my mind, the pieces I tried to fit together were someone I wanted to fall in love with, I wanted to fall in love with you so much and that's a trembling feeling on it's own. I needed someone with shared interests to be excited about and also learn new things. I was all in with you, I wasn't just for pretend. To not know someone at all and wish so much that under different circumstances you could have or been able to have been at a different state of mind, wishing so much that I would have been calmer and more relaxed, had my own place and unemployed. I don't even have any shared memories of you of things to hold on to. I have no memories to hang on to my heart strings are attached to a void of what ifs. I half feel like I should have stood up for myself and said what it was if it was that important to me, I should have got one of my female friends to say something if it was best being said from a girl and not a guy. I was wildly attracted to you for ages before I even messaged you, I saw a reflection of so many things in life I loved that I forgot in life. your personally didn't seem like that was damaged or needed to be fixed, a glimps into you showed you seemed absolutely silly, your personality seemed so dramatic. All I've been through in life with people I should have known to communicate better, I should have handled things better.I keep trying to let it out as a sigh. I don't even know how to end this or where my thoughts end. I'd feel like I'm completely over things and I'd throw up in public having to hide not to be seen and feel like I guess deep down I'm not. I tried to move and I talked to a professional about it all for hours and weeks every detail but it didn't bring me anything expect being told that she could see it in my eyes that it hurt being rejected by you without anything else being attached to it even though I tried to chuckle though saying of course you did. I spent most of the winter practicing walking through the street with my eyes closed to see how long I could last walking along the sidewalk just in case I ever passed you by. I actually did pass you I wasn't able to and a was all for nothing.I didn't even realize who you were half the time passing you by in the street with sunglasses on, I'd just cross to the other side to be safe just in case, this turned into a thing where if anyone resemble you from a distance I'd avoid them, I"d see someone sitting on a bench and contemplate taking a different route or wonder if I could walk by without caring and be like look at me I don't care and it would just be some Chinese girl sometimes that I was nervous to walk past. I can't figure why you flustered me so much. I'd have to avoid because it always felt like a missed opportunity to say something I can't say to someone I can't talk to that has the means to destroy my life if I did.I have so many anxiety issues in life I want to rewind my life back and it feels imperative to me. Any spot I pass where I had a heart broken thought is a heart broken moment for me, too many things are tainted. That feeling not being able to trust the good things that come my way without expecting something horrible to follow it's soul crushing you have no idea what that feeling is like. I should have been more mindful of you all I could think about was wanting to spend time with someone so I could move past something. I feel like I should have said what it was.I don't know whats the right thing to say. please don't ever blame yourself, I hope that's never a thing ever as well. I mean it. I'm not your responsibility. I'm the only one responsible. If you have some thought where if you could have said something to me I probably would have walked away from if you ever took a step towards me. I wouldn't have allowed it. Be kind to yourself. It feels like I'm never out of words though. I wanted to win the lotto get a lawyer to anonymously give your family a few million and then I'd just disappear somewhere on the other side of the globe. I hate the idea of someone like you feeling like they lost any moment of their life or that they are late. I keep editing this. I keep having moments of passing thoughts. I saw a girl that looked like you on the beach splashing her toes and I wished so hard it was, I was so tempted in that moment wishing it was that it would be a peaceful enough setting that I could ask to just sit with you for a moment. This ended up being way too much that I typed out. I had this at one page. I hope you never stop doing things you love.

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nam-nam-joon · 5 years

Text

blinding lights

Pairing: namjoon x reader

Genre: angst

Wordcount: 8.6k+

Warnings: this work can contain consensual kisses/smooches but no sexual contact of any kind

Summary: why didn’t he lock the door?

"Joonie? Joonie, c'mon, what's taking so long? We'll end up-"

The door swung open and revealed his silhouette.

Vaguely you registered he was on the phone, one arm lifted with the device pressed against his ear - the other in the pocket of the black suit pants.

In any other moment you would have admired the way the city skyline was dotted with lights in its vast darkness, would have run your gaze over the dips of Namjoon's shoulders, the way the lights from overhead shone on his skin and illuminated his hair.

But not like this.

Not when he, for the first time, wasn't wearing a shirt - wasn't covering up.

The ink was so colourful. A cherry blossom tree, rooting somewhere below the fabric around his hips, growing over his right side, shedding its blossom down his right arm. A dragon's tail winding over the ribs on his other side, the animal only partially visible as it wrapped around his muscles. Symbols, characters, more pictures littered his skin, filled every spot and patch of it, until they abruptly broke off about 3/4 down his arms, and in a generous circle around the base of his neck.

They were beautiful.

Your legs felt very heavy as your mouth ran dry and you could no longer swallow. The wish to sit down crossed your mind, but moving was impossible.

Frozen by the door, the knob still in your hand, you were paralyzed.

His head turned, and his gaze found yours.

"-I'll call you back." Was all he spoke into his phone before lowering it from his ear.

You caught the surprise flitting across his features, fractures of a second before guilt replaced it. He was quick to smooth it out, replaced it with something alike to indifference, just more careful.

"_______? Wha- What are you doing...?"

Finally your eyes could let go of his shoulders, his chest as he turned towards you, let go of the warm, brown eyes that had looked at you so lovingly only hours ago.

You pressed your eyes shut, but the image of the coloured skin stuck to the back of them like glue.

"_______-" He had come closer, was halfway across the space separating you before you willed your eyelids back up.

Your lower lip quivered as the shock wore off and a myriad other emotions flooded into the vacuum that was left behind. Biting down on it helped keep the twitching at bay.

There were too many feelings to focus on just one, but when Namjoon reached out with his right hand, the one that held your fingers in it just yesterday, you recoiled.

Your hand left the doorknob like it was piping hot. With both arms pressed against your chest you took a step back, and if you'd have worn the pair of elegant heels matching your dress already, you'd surely have stumbled.

This way, however, you peered up into the face that had suddenly lost all of the gentle kindness you'd gotten to know him with - it was but a mask to you now, now that you knew what he wore under his shirts.

There were no words as you silently stood across each other, Namjoon trying his best to keep still and not scare you off, and you still not able to fully regain sense over your legs.

You drew a long, shaking breath.

Possible scenarios of what was to happen now flashed before your eyes, were gone the instant they'd appeared.

You swallowed, but it was still dry.

There wasn't the question of how, as the silence stretched between you and the time ticked by on the clock in the living room down.

The tears that had welled up at first dried without being shed as you drew another breath.

"Namjoon." Your voice cracked during the last syllable of his name as you spoke it. Bore a glimpse of what swirled inside you.

The hurt, anger, the fear, the helplessness in the situation you had been thrown into - but stronger than that the disbelief, the utter denial of what was right in front of you.

He couldn't be.

Kim Namjoon, the clumsy guy who tripped over thin air and couldn't go a day without accidentally damaging something. The man with the kind eyes and the radiant, dimpled smile, that could brighten up a cloudy day easily.

The same Kim Namjoon that would attempt to cook you breakfast in bed, and end up with the eggs a little overdone and the bacon a little underdone, but still so proud, beaming from ear to ear.

A million moments shared between just you and him flickered through the back of your mind as you held eye contact with him, licked over your lips to moisten them. Every little touch you had shared over the past year, every hug, every kiss, every message and every call.

There was an ache in the middle of your chest, between your heart and your spine, nestled deeply among your lungs as the reality of everything washed over you once more.

Briefly you wondered if he really had never taken his shirt off around you - had never worn something short sleeved, never pushed his sleeves up... but he hadn't, even as you tried to go back through all the accumulated pictures your mind had archieved.

So this was why, you thought glumly to yourself.

When he breathed in his chest moved, the galaxy painted in swirls and stars over his heart shifted and you could still not stop looking at his face.

Lips still pressed together you shook your head slowly.

His name still lingered in the air between you, having won an entirely different ring to it.

"_______, I-"

"Don't. I don't... want to hear it." Your voice was colder than expected, and it almost felt good to see him blink in surprise. Would have felt good; but you weren't feeling anything anymore, were numb.

It was like you were watching through the eyes of someone else, this was happening to someone else and not you. How could it - to <i>you</i>, a painfully average person, to you, with a little life of their own that had crossed paths with a brown haired ball of fuzzy love and gentle touches, of wise words and deep talks named Kim Namjoon.

None of it had been real it dawned on you.

If he was-

People like him didn't fall for people like you. People like him used people like you, for whatever they pleased. Never had you expected to be exploited like this.

Things settled within you, quicker than expected, and you straightened up.

"Are you going to kill me?" It felt like the next, logical question to ask, and still you felt the void surrounding your heart at the possible outcomes, even though there was the familiar churn of excitement in your stomach as well. Not the good, fluttering kind, the more painful, twisting one.

At once Namjoon's carefully constructed facade fell. He let it fall, you knew - it wasn't like you weren't standing opposites a mastermind that was well able to control and show his emotions as he pleased. The thought, the knowledge was sickening.

"I- No, no, I, I would- You know I'd never hurt you, I never did, I-I could never- There is, not an ounce within me that would-"

"Shut up." Your voice oozed of the disbelief his stammered words invoked in you. "Be honest with me, Namjoon. If that even is your name. After all this time you wasted with me, pretended to be, lied to me. The least-" You had to swallow down a sob that tightened your throat. "The least you can do is be fucking honest with me this one goddamn time."

His eyes alternated between yours, but his expression didn't change again. It was bordering despair now, the distress and still present guilt mixing into it.

"I swear, I am. I never- I never lied to you, about anything. Not myself, not my," He hesiatated briefly. "My work. My feelings."

His voice died down with the last word he spoke, but it didn't reach you. The emotions behind his words seemed hollow and fleeting like clouds of smoke.

You tilted your head while your face scrunched up in a bizarre mix of grinning and still threatening tears.

"Are you serious? You have the audacity to claim you never lied to me? Looking like that?!"

"I- I didn't lie, and you didn't really ask and I-"

You laughed, humourless and without tone.

"I never asked? Really? Now I'm the one to blame, yeah?"

His eyebrows crinkled in discomfort and his lips were a straight line as he hung his head.

"I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't- I knew you wouldn't, I didn't want to- I knew you would react badly, that's why I didn't tell you, I kept trying to stay away from you and to keep you away, too, at first, but then I- we- and then this happened and suddenly it was like there was nothing I could have done, like I was powerless, and you- you, I began to love you- No, no, listen I did! I do! But with every day, ever week we spend together, passed, I couldn't-"

He took a breath and looked away, but the sight of his eyes glossing over invoked no reaction within you.

"Why be with me? What benefit could I have brought you?"

"What?" He looked back to you, the back of his hand pressed to his lips, blinking the wetness from his eyes.

"There is no way someone like you would stoop so low for someone like me, I knew it. I knew it then, and I know it now - so quit playing games and avoiding it. You had the job to get with me, didn't you? I have no idea for what reason. -But god how shameless you used all my weaknesses to get even closer to me. You knew I would do anything at the prospect of someone like you, who would accept me as I am, no questions asked. God I was so dumb, so ignorant for even beginning to think to have a chance with you. To finally have found someone to-" You broke off, and angrily wiped away two stray tears that had escaped your eyes.

Namjoon was doing the same, more or less, just that his were pouring out more frequently.

"Go on. Tell me why."

"You think I used you? For... for something? As a stepladder, for a prize hanging somewhere higher? What do you not understand about me, having wanted to keep our distances at first, and when I failed I-"

"I! Trusted you!" You suddenly yelled, heaving with breaths afterwards. Namjoon fell quiet at you outburst, and even his tears subsided.

"I trusted you." You repeated, calmer, but also more heartbroken this time. "I told you everything about me - you know every little bit of shit about me, what I did, what I think, what I feel. To think I told my deepest secrets to- to a member of the-"

His eyes flared and he stepped closer, suddenly towering over you.

"Don't." He pleaded, his eyes soft and swimming despite his looming posture.

You swallowed again and stared up into his face, feeling fearless for the moment.

The anger and hurt tipped into disgust as you recalled every bit of gritty gossip you'd revealed about yourself to him, in long nights of talking and soft, warm touches of fingers on skin, lying in the darkness on the bed or on the couch, cuddling.

The way his hands had ran over your hands, your arms, and suddenly you shuddered with the feeling of being dirty. That his touches had left traces that now burned themselves into your very being, leaving you scarred and marked.

"You are disgusting. For having the nerve to- Whatever this was." You gesticulated between you. "Fuck you. Fuck you and your money, your wealth, whatever. Fuck you for taking me stargazing that one time, and fuck you for all your hugs and kisses. Don't! Fucking touch me!"

He had reached out again, only to draw back as the bile came forth through your words.

"Don't ever touch me again. Ever. To have the audacity to- When my grandparents were killed because-"

A deep intake of air, a shake of your head.

"Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. For pretending to be this loving, caring guy I would have spend the rest of my days with. For being perfect, and everything I ever wanted in a queerplatonic partner."

There were more words on your tongue you wanted to say, that you loved him so much and wanted nothing more than to be held by him again, hear him saying it would be okay, that tomorrow was another day and you'd just have to live through the rest of today to get there. But you couldn't, and the longer you kept them inside the more they crumpled, left an ashen taste in your mouth as you swallowed them the next time there was enough spit to wash them down.

The feeling of being covered in soot remained, your skin itching, wanting to be scratched bloody until the memory of his fingertips causing goosebumps on your arms would go away.

You took a step back, staring into his eyes. There was no way of telling where he had his closest gun, if he'd go to the length of messing up his apartment - with the beautiful view of the city, that he had said he'd gotten from his family.

At the time you'd thought he had meant his wealthy mother, or father, maybe. Now you were certain he had meant the family that he had in his ring of crime and death.

You shook your head again, taking another step back.

"_______, please- You can't, if you- If you leave, you cannot tell anyone. They will know. Don't ask me how, but they will find you if you so much as mutter a single word. Please, please-"

But you turned your back to him, walking retracing your steps to the bathroom you had left your day clothes in, unzipping the elegant, midnight blue evening dress he had picked out for you. You let it fall to the floor in front of the bathroom door, didn't bother closing it as you hurried to pull the grey hoodie over your once pristinely styled hair, not caring you were messing it up.

The pins with pearls at their end got halfway pulled out of your strands, tugging at your roots painfully but the pinpricks of discomfort were welcome as they bore through the veil of indifference that had fallen around you.

The socks on the pile of clothes had been a gift by him as well, one with cacti, the other with pomeranians. You left them with the underwear you had bought with his money.

He was still lingering by his bedroom door when you emerged from the bathroom again, but now a white t shirt that covered most of the ink sprawling over his skin.

His expression turned apologetic, eyes pleading, but you headed him no attention on your way to the door.

Glad to have come over in your converse and not the cute Dr. Martens that had been a gift by him to your promotion at work, you pulled them on, ignoring the way the rubber on the heel stuck to your skin where you had worn through the fabric covering it.

The jacket was yours, but the scarf wasn't, so you let it hanging, too, patting the pockets of your outerwear once to make sure you had your wallet, keys and phone.

In the doorframe, you were stopped by his hand on yours. Without thinking about it you ripped yours out of his grasp, cradling it to your chest as if it had been injured.

"Didn't you hear what I said. Don't. Touch me."

"_______, please..."

"No, Namjoon. We're done. Don't bother calling, or messaging, and I swear to god if you dare show up at my place or somehow contact my family, I swear-"

"I won't. I'd never, I would never..." But he didn't finish the sentence, and you didn't look back as you left.

It took you the whole ride home to your flat, and then some minutes sat in the dark before you could break down and cry.

All of your insecurities that had slowly faded over the time with Namjoon - almost two years on the dot - came crashing back down into your very heart. The feeling of betrayal overshadowed everything else, of having been used, held on a string until you could be dropped and kicked aside. Of sharing everything, everything with a person, and being so sorely disappointed, so royally screwed over.

When you dragged yourself into your flat, head already pounding with a fierce ache in rhythm to your heartbeat, eyes burning from where the makeup had run into them, you couldn't settle down.

Who knew who else had been in here, had possibly planted bugs - the thought of being listened in to, all around the clock, of not having one safe space, was terrifying.

They probably knew already anyway. His place probably had bugs, too. Who knew, really.

You didn't call in sick to work the next day.

The first hour seemed to last eternity; and the next one was twice as long. By the time the clock struck ten your focus had completely evaporated and even your usually dense Shift Supervisor picked up that something was off.

Jin, having noted the black clouds hanging over your head already but only giving glances, had tilted his head after your Supervisor had left again. You knew he wanted to ask, wanted to know, cheer you up again, but you simply shook your head and shortly afterwards clocked out.

The rest of the day you spend folding the cardboard boxes you had bought last week. Namjoon and you had started talking about moving in together; his place was more than big enough for two people and you were both adults. Two years together was an adequate time to join living spaces - and he had even hinted at a shared pet, even though it had been hard to imagine in the airy flat far above ground. In a surge of optimism you had went out and gotten the boxes, just in case.

Now you slowly combed out all the stuff that had wormed its way into your space over the past twenty four months.

It had either come directly from Namjoon or was indirectly linked to him; and you denied it being in your line of sight any longer.

Pictures, little things, his clothes and the stuff he had gifted you on multiple occasions.

You spend about an hour on the bathroom floor, sorting the rings from Tiffany and Pandora out from where they almost drowned out your own, old, off brand and in comparison dull ones.

There were necklaces too, but after feeling the thin, delicate metal in your fingers again your vision blurred and you curled in on yourself, leaned against the bathtub and silently crying.

The following days weren't much different, even though you pressed your lips together and pushed through the hours at work. You knew you could use the money, now that the plush, financial comfort being with Namjoon had granted had fallen away.

It wasn't like you had depended on him - you valued your own freedom too much for such a thing to happen - but he had still found ways to support you, even if not through blatantly giving you money.

After three weeks you finally managed to bring the small velvet bag you had stuffed all the jewelry into to a shop to get it appraised, waiting silently while the woman with the monocle studied every piece.

When she named first the individual and then the final sum, you were taken aback.

It was a lot, more than you had expected, more than you thought you could hope for. The woman said she'd take it all, with the exception of one pearl pendant that had small, metal leafs around it to make it look like a fruit or something similar.

You had already forgotten the reason why when you left the shop, a significant amount of cash in your pocket.

The homeless man at the corner took off his hat and thanked you graciously when you dropped a couple of notes with big numbers into his cup.

Deciding it'd be best to get rid of the money as soon as possible you visited an animal hospital, left a donation at the stand of the organization for children's rights, the one for animal's rights and gave the rest of it to the shelter for homeless people.

It took a weight off your shoulders that you hadn't realized had been there, and when the sun peeked through the icy grey November clouds, you reveled in their warmth.

Two months and you finally taped the box that had all of Namjoon's clothes and the toiletries that had taken residence in your cramped bathroom, shut, dropping it off at the front desk of the apartment complex he lived in.

Most of the other stuff he had left in your life - namely high quality clothing, and the occasional household device - you sold online on posh sites for second-hand luxury goods.

One by one the boxes cleared out, in neat, small packages, and you only kept what didn't feel like an intrusion into your wardrobe, fashion wise.

Jin knew, now, as well as you family, and other close friends. At least partly. To the question what had happened you had only said you'd found out Namjoon had been lying to you all this time - Jin had asked if he had cheated.

"Sort- kinda." You had replied, and Jin had wordlessly gotten up out of his chair and hugged you for a long time.

It was what everyone assumed when you made the vague statement that he had lied. That, or problems with gambling - or alcohol. Everyone came up with their own idea of what had happened, and you neither denied nor confirmed it. It was enough, for them.

It still stung whenever you thought of the real reason, and for four months you dreamt of stumbling through the door, only to find him in the dark room, stood in front of the windows, the light of a car outlining his body and the tattoos of shifting objects brightly coloured, like from blacklight.

The dream would continue to Namjoon flinching, turning his head, his eyes glowing like his tattoos, but before he could get a word out of his parted lips you'd wake up.

The imagery shifted, but it was almost always him behind the door, stood in the room, waiting for you to surprise him again and again.

More than once you wondered, asked yourself, why he had left the door unlocked in the first place. Why he hadn't put on his shirt and then taken the phone call - whatever it had been about. Why he had let you walk in on him.

At the same time you wondered what would have happened if you hadn't discovered him then and there. How long he would have played his little game of hiding in plain sight. If he had planned on telling you, or if he had just waited for the right moment to drop you.

You didn't know what he was doing; as he had said during your last talk, you had never asked. When he had mentioned commissioned work during the first dates you had assumed graphic design or something the like, not drugs, murder or kidnapping.

When he had come back with bruises on his face or lower arms he'd said he'd had a rough time at training, someone had landed a few mean punches, or made a joke about how clumsy he was.

When he had surprised you with something fancy or sparkly or priceless, you hadn't given it deeper meaning. Some people were rich, some people acquired their wealth from their family; some inherited it, some worked for it. Most weren't too keen on talking about it.

It wasn't like the money had been what had drawn you to Namjoon in the first place - it had been his dimpled smile, his thoughtful words, his charming jokes. The feeling he had given you, of being welcomed home after a long day out in the cold, of acceptance, unlimited cherishment.

You spend a lot of time reflecting on the past years of your life, slowly piecing together what had instantly shattered that night. The shards wore off around their corners over time, became round and smooth, and formed a new picture.

Seven months after, you didn't cry yourself to sleep anymore. And life went on.

You moved out of your own space, temporarily back in with your parents. The cozy flat that had been a safe haven the past four years of your life didn't feel like home anymore, and in lack of an immediate replacement you thought it best to go back to the house in the suburbs that would always have a place for you - even if your Mother had taken to store some of her crafting contents in the corners of what had formerly been your room.

The summer arrived blistering hot, but eventually gave way to a breeze smelling like snow, and you were still living with your parents.

It was harrowing, at times, but the housing market didn't smile upon you, and so you had to make due.

The anniversary of you breaking up was almost identical to the anniversary of you getting together. You thought about it when it rolled around, one week in advance. Then it was five days, three, one, and on the day it had happened, exactly one year ago, you woke up without feeling different.

During the day you forgot about it, and only when you lay awake and scrolled through social media that night did you suddenly realize the day had passed. The little clock in the corner of your display read 0:20.

Winter came, with flurry snow and wet streets. When the days started to stretch again it seemed like the first scent of spring also brought new life into you.

There was a lovely little flat, halfway between your parent's place and work, and the Landlady was a friendly one who thanked you for your deposit and made sure to tell you you could always come to her should any problem arise.

The snow thawed and you packed boxes again, ready to move out once more.

The memory of Namjoon still stung, but it was less like a knife twisted in your chest and more like a wasp's sting.

The doorbell rang on the day the moving truck was supposed to drop by and pick up your stuff, and fully expecting it you opened the front door.

The sight of two police officers irritated you greatly, although not more than the moving truck trying to squeeze its way past the cop's car and closer to the entrance of the house irritated one of the officer's.

"_______ _______?" The female asked, while her partner muttered something about clutz.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Honey? What- Oh my. Did something happen?"

You mother came to the door, noticing your stiff posture and the two people outside immediately.

"My name is Officer Higgs, this is my partner Lucy. We just a few questions concerning the individual Kim Namjoon. I believe you two are familiar?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the air around you.

"Is he dead?"

You ignored the way your mother gasped in shock, pointedly not heading the churning feeling in your gut any attention.

The officers looked slightly taken aback by your reaction, which you hastened to smooth out.

"I, I mean- We were. I haven't seen or heard from him in almost two years now. That's all."

Even after your statement, the two officers didn't leave. Instead they exchanged a view before the male cop spoke up.

"This is a matter about Officer Kim Namjoon, specialist in undercover missions and infiltrating drug cartels. We'd like to come in, please."

Your mother had gotten very round, slightly scared eyes, and with a nod from you she led the police workers into the living room while you asked the men from the moving company to take a coffee break and be back in half an hour.

With slightly unsteady hands, your mother brought four glasses of water into the living room. Your boxes slightly obstructed her movements, but she squeezed through and set the glasses down on the table.

The officers politely thanked her but refused to pick their glasses up.

"Your... relationship with Officer Kim lasted... two years and three days?"

A queasy feeling spread in your stomach.

"Pretty much."

"How would you describe Officer Kim in three words?"

"Loyal, caring, clumsy. Why are you here? What is this about?"

The female cop lifted her hand to ease your questions.

"One more, I'm afraid. What caused you to break up?"

Annoyance bubbled up in your stomach.

"That's none of your business."

The gaze of the male cop hardened. "Please answer the question."

You looked from one to the other. Were they even real cops? Or just faces, dressed up, from the ring of criminals he'd been a part of?

"He cheated on her!" Your mother blurted out, directing the scrutinizing gazes of the officers from you to her. "Didn't he, dear?"

You kept silent and stared at the Officers, still trying to decide wether or not you could trust them.

If they were here, there was no point in evading the truth. They could shoot you down either way.

"I found out. I walked in on him being half-undressed, and saw the gang tattooes. We had an argument and I left. I ended it that night."

"Honey." Your mother said quietly, but you ignored her.

"He said the cartell would find out if I mentioned it to anyone, but to be honest, I could've done never talking about him again, so it wasn't exactly like I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I kept my reasons for our break up vague, and everyone assumed something else. You're telling me he wasn't an actual criminal? Or what? Did he end up playing for the other team, after all?"

The female officer leaned forward, completely brushing off your questions.

"You had never seen Officer Kim shirtless before?"

It was audible she didn't fully belief you.

Your view had briefly escaped the room for the birdfeeder outside after your attempt to understand Namjoon's involvement with all of this had fallen on deaf ears.

Now it came back to meet hers, but her eyes were focused on something on the clipboard she was carrying.

"It says here you were 'intimate' with each other, yet you claim to never have seen his skin. Does that mean you two... weren't having sex?"

The cold indifference of having to explain yourself against stereotypes flooded your stomach.

"Not all intimate relationship focus on or even include sex. Him and I had a queeplatonic relationship. I'm an aromantic asexual."

"Uh-hu." The female cop said, scribbling a note down. "So there was no deeper connections with Officer Kim? Anything else you'd like to add on his behalf?"

She looked up, and you stared at her unblinking.

"Are you insinuating that a relationship without intercourse is not to be considered as a deep connection?"

She didn't break eye contact but huffed out a small sigh.

"Please, Mx. _______, if we could-"

"No."

To your surprise your mother had spoken up once more, and now her face was keen.

"My child has said all they have to say, and we would like you to go now. No," She rose her voice as the female cop tried to intercept. "-further comment. Unless you have a warrant, please leave at once."

They left, and after the front door closed, your mother peered out the window to the side to make sure they really left.

Still gaping you watched her flick the blinds back in place after being satisfied with what she had seen, and coming up to you.

She took your hands.

"I'm sorry for not saying anything, Mom. I didn't-"

She shook her head, and you could see tears at the corners of her eyes.

"No, no you don't have to explain anything. It's okay, it's okay. I understand. Don't worry love, okay? You did what you had to do. I'm so proud."

She hugged her arms around your shoulders and you rested your head on her shoulders.

You had been subconsciously waiting for the call that came the next day's afternoon.

The room in your new flat was still stacked with boxes, but your bed had been squeezed into a corner and your couch had found a place just one room over.

The shelf was half-filled with books when your phone violently vibrated towards the corner of the box you had placed it on, seconds before blasting the generic ringtone you had never bothered to change.

You didn't know the number on the display.

"Hello, _______ speaking." You looked at the book you had last picked up, deciding on which shelf it should go.

"_______, it's me."

His deep voice filtered through the speaker into your ear, and you breathed in sharply.

Instead of acknowledging his identity, you kept quiet, waiting. The book in your hand forgotten.

"_______? Are you- Are you still there?"

"What do you want, Namjoon."

Shuffling from the other side. "I wanted- Higgs and Lucy came by your place and questioned you, didn't they? I thought, now that you knew..."

"Can we jump to the point where you tell me why the fuck you would call me even though I told you I never wanted to hear from you again?"

"I thought, now that you knew, we could talk things out. Have closure."

It was infuriating how calm he was about everything.

You stood up from the stack of boxes you had rested on and walked over to the window to look outside.

"Let me apologize in person, please. Just this one time and after that, I promise, I swear you won't ever have to see me again."

You were looking outside and yet weren't seeing a thing.

"Six pm. The diner on the corner of 5th and King."

"Thank you. Thank you. I'll see you there."

And with that he hung up, leaving you staring at the screen.

You debated not going. Just leaving him hanging, rubbing it into his face you gave a shit about him.

But of course you didn't.

The streetcar had had to make a detour and had you push open the doors of the diner 15 minutes late. It was almost empty, only three booths were in use.

You found his face peeking over the top of a booth in the back, away from the windows, closer to the toilets.

The warm air in the diner made your coat unnecessary even before you reached the table and slid on the bench.

He was in a navy blue t shirt that exposed the ends of the dragon's tail, as well as a waterfall and several cherry blossom petals, but you forced yourself to ignore them.

"So?" You hadn't even taken your coat off, even though it felt too warm and stuffy with it.

"Aren't you going to take off your jacket?"

His question was met with silence and a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, no." He looked into the cup of coffee, not even halt empty, before speaking again. "I thought you weren't going to show up."

It sounded small and defeated.

Your eyes wandered to the waitress who was drying glasses behind her counter, and over the assortment of pies for the day.

Tired of waiting, your eyes returned to Namjoon.

"Didn't you say you wanted to apologize or something?"

He swallowed, his hands clasped tightly around each other.

"I- Yeah-" He broke off, ran his finger over the top of the cup and licked his lips before speaking "I- God I can't even find the words right now."

He huffed out a laugh and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"Um." He sighed, deeply. Then he leaned his arms on the table, supporting his weight, as he held your gaze.

"We're not supposed to have relationships in my field of work. It makes the job harder, more dangerous, and especially if someone from outside gets involved - it's even worse. I couldn't bring myself to tell you I was part of the cartell, and even less than that did I dare to tell you I was undercover. Maybe you had been set on to me by the cartell, find out what my real intentions were, I didn't know, and it was too dangerous to risk revealing anything. It wasn't until we had our first anniversary that I began to fully trust you weren't sent by the cartell. I'm sorry. You had the unfortunate luck of meeting me, in the middle of an assignment, and even if it had been under more favourful circumstances-" He broke off and shook his head while hanging it.

"All I want to say is... I never hated myself, my job, my life more than when I saw you walking away from me. I never hated myself so much than when you left. I also know there's nothing I could possibly do to redeem even an ounce of the pain I inflicted on you. I just. I wanted you to know that my feelings were never an act. Never. I love you. I did, then, and I still do. I respect your decision to stay away, and I promise I won't bother you ever again after you walk out of here. I'm just. I can't express in words how sorry I am."

He continued to look into the cooling, black liquid while you quietly observed him.

Namjoon took a breath and cleared his throat before glancing up at you.

"Say something?" He whispered, but there was nothing coming to your mind. "Anything."

"I. I need time to think about this."

And with that you rose and left, head devoid of any traffic.

You stopped on the next corner, taking deep breaths.

It was all too much.

There were unknown sounds wafting through the flat when you settled under your blanket, but it wasn't the only reason you were unable to fall asleep.

The revelations of the last days kept circling back to you, and with it the flood of memories that you'd grown to accept and then calmly put back on the shelf that was labelled with Namjoon's name and the timeframe you'd shared your lifes. That you had shared your life with him.

It all gave a new light on everything, of course. And yet you didn't fully understand how he thought meeting would have given closure - maybe for him, but for you it had stirred things you'd long since buried.

It wasn't closure, it was a reminder, of what may have been, and you couldn't find it in you if you wanted to go on, move past it. If the chance had been there and had been dropped, or if the story that you two had written and that had been cut off abruptly all those months ago could pick up somewhere later on.

You didn't know, and the uncertainty frightened you.

Five days later you met up again, in a new café that had opened just recently and that neither of you had been to before.

The peppermint tea smelled delicious when the Barista poured it into your cup for you, and you thanked them with a nod and smile before your eyes settled on the gaze that had quietly observed you since coming in at the same time earlier.

"I want to be honest with you." You said, weaving your fingers together around your cup. Namjoon nodded and took a sip of his coffee, fiddling with the grip of the cup.

"I don't know what to say to all this. You, doing.... what you did, do, I don't know. Is this undercover thing a once in a lifetime thing? Or is this like, a recurring thing? Either way," You continued before he could answer. "I'm not quite sure what to make of this-" You waved a hand between you. "Or... Yeah. What do you want? Why do you..."

But there were no more words, in that moment.

"To answer your question, for me, it was a once in a lifetime thing. I started infiltrating this particular ring when I was barely out of Highschool - good recruiting range for this business. The whole thing blew up shortly after we- parted ways, and I've been away for my own security since recently. I'll work as a consultant, now, until my service is done and then I'll have to see if I want to continue this kind of work or move on. And you don't have to say anything to it - you don't even have to acknowledge anything I said. I just, I wanted to. To make sure you knew... that you weren't the only one who suffered from our time together. That it ate me up inside I couldn't-"

He broke off, biting on his lower lip and looking to the side.

Then he sniffed, looking down into his cup, with his hands still clasped together, elbows propped up to either side of his coffee.

Instead of saying more he sighed quietly and lowered his hands until they mirrored yours, catching and holding your gaze for some time.

"I understand." You mumbled, eyebrows dropping and feeling the emotions welling up inside you.

Namjoon only looked at you out of deep, brown eyes, his mouth's corners tilting down in the slightest, unhappy frown. The way his dimples showed was a telltale sign for how upset he really was. Under his slightly furrowed eyebrows, you melted.

He kept quiet, not daring to move or even breathe much. The noise of the cafè became background noise, tuned out.

"Namjoon?" You asked, voice slightly off after not talking for a long time.

His shoulders drew up, the skin around his knuckles whitened - everything about his posture screamed he was ready for the impact.

"Please hug me."

He gaped at you, wide eyed and fingers having lost their tension.

For a moment you thought he wouldn't, given his stock-still posture glued to his chair.

But then he rose, towered above you like so many times before, and there was no sense of discomfort when he gently took your hands, tugged you into a stand, laid your wrists on his shoulders and drew his arms around your back.

He had to bend down to fit the junction of your neck and shoulder under his chin, pulled you close until your bodies met, until he was cradling you as close as he could.

His hands lay flat against both sides of your spine. You felt when his fingers curled, fisting into the fabric; felt when his grip tightened.

Felt how he shuddered as you drew your own arms close around his neck, one hand burying in his hair that looked so different without the million styling products and an invisible, millimeter thick coating of hairspray.

Vaguely you registered the cafè had gone very quiet as you continued to hold Namjoon, but you didn't pay attention to the onlookers.

Namjoon let go of the hug to cup your face into his hands, eyes running over every feature, taking in every detail, and for a second you thought he might kiss you.

His lips were parted for air because the tears that spilled out of his eyes were also blocking his nose, and when he went in for another hug, he didn't hold back.

He used all of his considerable strength to hold you close, and you were fighting tears yourself as the feeling of being reassured, being safe, washed over you once more.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered. You shook your head silently, not having words to answer him.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, weeks later, laying on the other side of your bed in the light of the lamp on the bedside table, between grey cotton sheets and in a white shirt that had slipped up over his sweats and around his upper arms, exposing the coloured skin.

"I forgive you." You whispered back, pressing a kiss to the backside of his hand lying between you on your pillow. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed over the endless depth of his gaze, staring at you, unbelieving.

"I don't deserve you." He mumbled, eventually rolling over and on top of you, pressing his lips to your cheek in a long, sweet smooch.

You looked up at him when he sat back, admiring you laying in bed, the covers kicked off long ago thanks to the humid air that had wafted into the room preceding the thunderstorm that was raging outside.

Eventually you started to fidget under his gaze and followed his example, sliding your legs out from under him and sitting up.

Unlike him, you reached out with your hands and ran your fingers under the hem of his shirt, tugging it up until your touch caused goosebumps to race over his skin and he caught your wrists to stop you from going higher.

Your wordless protest was immediately shut up when he pulled the fabric over his head and dropped it off the bed, muscles - now that he didn't have to work out to maintain the pristine, groomed bad guy look, noticeably less defined.

It didn't stop you from staring at his chest, his arms, everything, in awe, and it also didn't stop you from reaching out and running your fingers over the lines in wonder.

No matter how often he stripped for you, no matter how often you caught glances of the pictures, they never failed to amaze you.

After your latest exploration came to an - admittedly - soon end, you rested your head against the skin over where you could feel his heartbeat pulsating deep in his chest.

With a sigh, you hugged your arms around his hips, leaning into his whole body with yours, until he ran a hand through your damp hair, picked it from where it was caught between your bodies.

"I swear I will never lie to you again."

You could feel the vibration of the words through your connection.

Seconds after his statement, you lifted your head.

"Yeah? Then what's in the box you've been hiding in the sock-drawer?"

His eyes went wide and he gasped. "Y-You... How long have you known?"

You chuckled at his expression and gave him a sheepish smile.

"I saw you put it back in there two days ago. What's in it?"

"You didn't look?"

"No. I figured you were eventually gonna talk about it - and maybe you were hiding it for your mom or something."

He huffed and his chest deflated.

Briefly he held you against him, before leaning back to meet your eyes.

"Do you wanna see?"

You bit your lip.

"It's not an engagement ring, right? You're not going to propose at 2am while there's rain pouring from above and we can't sleep because it's too hot?"

During your talking he had crept off the bed and towards the drawer, rifled through the socks until he came sauntering back over, something small in his large hand.

You shuffled over the mattress until you knelt at its edge and Namjoon sat down besides you, his body angled towards you and now both of his hands covered the little container. He looked up from his closed fingers, nervosity on his face.

Mild anxiety blossomed in your gut at the small, shy smile on his lips.

"Namjoon?"

"Don't worry, it's not. I know we're not in a position to- and especially without talking about it first. I would want to know you're okay with it, too, before ever doing something the like."

Your shoulders relaxed and you regarded the object hidden in his hands with new interest.

"So? What is it?"

He quietly revealed what he'd carried in his palms - and it wasn't a box.

You peered down on it for a moment before looking back up, momentarily speechless.

What you had thought to be a box was in fact smaller, rounder, orange; with a little stem at the top and a small green leaf.

In Namjoon's large palms lay a tiny orange, the size of a pingpong ball.

"Go on." He said softly, a fond look on his face as he held it out to you.

Careful, you picked it up and turned it in the air to look at it from every angle. There was a thin crack running around the belly of the little fake fruit and after another look, seeking approval of Namjoon, you pried the thing open.

His chin came to rest on his fist, with his elbow perched on one of his knees folded over the other, and he looked rather uncomfortable. The poorly concealed excitement outshone it all.

He had been right; The orange indeed did not bear a ring within it. Instead there were two small pearls in it, both with a silver stem and a leaf each. You recognized the design at once; it was the matching set of earrings for the necklace that you hadn't been able to sell all those months ago.

"I- I sold all the stuff you gifted me, how did you-"

He didn't seem surprised at your confession, merely huffed out a small laugh and continued to look at the jewelry.

"Yeah, I almost thought so. I came by this shop and saw the box and knew you'd love it, though, and then at the register they had a sale-rack and... I remembered giving you the necklace at one of our first dating-dates."

Stunned, you looked up at him before back down on the little things.

"It's the only thing the woman from the jewelry shop wouldn't take." You then said, voice low.

Namjoon laughed, a twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Yeah, because it's actually just plastic and fancy looking glass, but because the shop is great they manage to make it look really high-end."

A grin played around your lips.

"So that's how much I'm worth to you, huh? Cheap fake stuff that looks fancy to keep me happy, eh?"

He laughed and pulled you into a hug, letting himself fall back on the bed once you'd sat the small orange down. For a while you simply lay next to each other, listening to the thunderstorm slowly ebbing off, seeking each other's warmth as the cooled air wafted into the room, relieving the moist heat from before.

"I love you. Thank you." You whispered against the skin on his collarbones. His lips pressed a kiss into the top of your hair in response.

"They also had pears - but I thought you'd like the orange better."

"Did they also have squishy peaches?"

"No? I don't think so." There was a question mark at the end of his sentence and a confused giggle swung in his words.

"Mhm, thought so."

He pulled back slightly to stare at you. "...Why?"

You beamed up at him with thinly concealed glee, and, wiggling both your hands out from where they had been squished between your bodies, you cupped his cheeks, the pads of your thumbs resting over the spots where his dimples lay hidden.

"Because I have the squishiest peach right here already."

He rolled his eyes but didn't hide the silly, big grin that made his dimples appear under your fingers. "Oh shut up."

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horansqueen · 3 years

Text

Stuck With You - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 : Break Me, Shake Me

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I never thought I'd change my opinion again But you moved me in a way that I've never known Well you confuse me in a way that I've never known

click here to be on the update list

After an other hour of work, we gave up and I leaned my cheek on the warm wood of the table with a sigh, closing my eyes. I was tired and I really wanted to be in my own bed, even if I knew it was impossible. I forced myself to open my eyes and moved my phone near my face to check the time. It was almost midnight and I felt my heart jump in my chest when I realized I would probably be late for my first class in the next morning unless I skipped the shower. I grimaced before noticing Niall who was staring at me. He was still holding his pen but I suspected he hadn't been working on our paper in over half an hour, for sure.

"You can sleep on the couch if you want." he proposed, looking away when my eyes met his. "I don't mind sleeping in this chair."

"Don't be stupid." I mumbled, using all my strength to sit back up. "The couch is big enough for both of us."

"Not if we lay down." he pointed out, looking up at me with only his eyes, his face still down.

I held my breath at how blue his eyes were and finally licked my lips nervously. When was the last time I felt like that around someone? I felt my heart hit my rib cage hard when I realized it was my teacher and cleared my throat.

"Yea well, I can easily sleep while sitting, no problem."

I noticed the left corner of his lips raise up and looked away before getting up and reaching the couch. I let myself fall on it and leaned the back of my head against it, closing my eyes. I was exhausted but I couldn't stop the thumping of my heart in my chest. With my eyes closed, I didn't know what Niall was doing, or if he was looking at me, and it made me nervous.

"Devon?"

His voice was soft and gentle and it took me by surprise. I opened my eyes and moved my head up to look at him just as his lips parted slightly. He stared at me and I was not sure what to think about it.

"Yes?"

"Mm, nothing." he finally just replied after a while. "You can sleep."

I blinked a few times but I finally closed my eyes again and leaned my head back on the couch. I was not expecting him to talk again but his voice reached me as he let out my name again in a low tone.

"Devon?"

I looked up for the second time and he just shrugged. "I still don't like you." he said casually, not looking at me.

"Yea, I don't like you either." I replied after a few seconds.

His eyes met mine and when his lips curled slightly, I couldn't help but smile back at him. I didn't know what it meant, and somehow, I was not sure I wanted to know. I felt like Niall wanted to hate me, but he didn't really. He just didn't really like it, if it made any sense.

It took me a while to fall asleep but I woke up slowly and kept my eyes closed. A lot of times, I'd wake up with a start but for some reason I ignored, I felt calm. I shouldn't feel like that. After all, I was stuck all night in a library with a guy who didn't particularly enjoyed my presence and who made me extremely nervous for who knows what reason. Still, I felt good when I woke up and my heart skipped a beat when I heard Niall's voice. He was humming, almost whispering the lyrics, but somehow, I understood everything.

"Like the rain on a sunny day There's a shadow behind your face Tell me what you're running from I don't know what made you so afraid Don't you know you got the best of me? Yeah, you're everything I want

Anyone can see Anyone can see You're hiding, hiding You can talk to me It's more than skin deep But I'm trying, yeah."

And that's when I knew why I felt so calm waking up. His voice soothed me the same way it had when I spied on him without wanting to. Exactly like that time, I felt a bunch of emotions flood me but this time, I felt calm and at peace and I liked it.

"Since we're alone Yeah, you can show me your heart If you put it all in my hand No, I swear No, I won't break it apart Since we're alone Show me all that you are And if you get lost in the light It's OK. I can see in the dark."

My lips parted slightly but I kept my eyes closed when I realized it was the words I had read in his notebook earlier. Niall was not only humming a random song, it was a song he had written, and the lyrics were beautiful.

"All your thoughts running through your head The things you think better left unsaid Just wanna know where you came from Why would you wanna play someone else I love you best when you're just yourself Yeah, you're everything I want."

I swallowed hard but tried to remain motionless. I knew that if he found out I was awake, he would probably stop singing and it was the last thing I wanted. I felt my whole body on fire when a sudden thought came to my mind and I quickly pushed it away. Was I actually jealous of the girl he was talking to in his song?

He sang the chorus again and finally stopped but I could hear him scribble something and after a while, he sighed. I heard his pen fall on the table and his chair make an annoying noise. I felt paralyzed, like moving, even just slightly, would give myself away and Niall would find out I was not asleep anymore.

Even with my eyes closed, I once again felt like I was seeing him naked, or more like I was seeing a part of his soul I shouldn't have access to. Suddenly, the guilt inside me made me feel like I had to show him one of my painting, if only to be sure I would expose a part of myself the same way he was exposing a part of himself without knowing. It only seemed fair.

I fell asleep again and this time, when I woke up, I realized it was morning. Perhaps it was the uncomfortable position I was in that made it impossible for me to remain asleep but I grimaced and groaned low, stretching my neck slowly and keeping my eyes closed. I was about to move when I felt something on my thighs. My heart jumped in my chest before it started racing and my eyes fluttered open. It's only when I saw Niall's head on my lap that my lips parted in surprise and I stopped moving completely.

I let my eyes roam on his profile and without thinking, I let one of my hands grab the side of the couch tightly. The only time Niall and I had touched was when I had slapped him. Now, the feeling was completely different and I couldn't seem to think about anything else but the way his cheek pressed on my thigh.

He let out a short whimper in his sleep and I brought my hand closer, stopping myself just as I was about to touch him. I started nibbling on my bottom lip but all I could really focus on was the way the same lock of his hair was falling on his forehead, almost over his eyes. I held my breath as I moved the lock away and felt my fingertips brush on his skin slightly. I hadn't expect it, but it woke him up and he groaned, quickly sitting up and stretching. I had probably tickled his forehead without wanting to and I pressed my lips together as I watched him wake up.

"'Morning."

His voice was raspy and I couldn't pretend it was not hot. In fact, I pressed my thighs together without thinking but quickly squirmed on my seat, feeling extremely stupid.

'This guy hates you, Dev, why does he make you feel things?' I thought to myself trying to get back to my senses.

"Is it late enough for us to finally leave this horrible library?" he continued when he realized I wouldn't answer.

I blinked a few times and finally reached for my phone. "What time does this 'horrible library' open?"

Niall cleared his throat and got up, stretching some more. "Seven."

"10 minutes left." I simply pointed out, watching him gather his stuff and put everything in his bag.

I hated how he was avoiding my gaze but I kept my eyes on him until he put his bag on his shoulder and walked to the door to wait by it. I grabbed my bag too, throwing the rest of the food away, and decided to wait by his side. We didn't look at each other but It was pure torture. I wanted to turn to him and try to decipher his feelings through his facial expressions but something was telling me he was keeping a stoic face anyway. I hated that it mattered to me so much what Niall thought about me. After all, i did come to this school with the intention to be a stronger person who didn't care what everyone thought about me. For most part, I didn't really care what people thought but Niall... well, Niall was different. I cared even if I had no reason to. And it made everything so much worse.

When the door finally opened I heard him curse next to me and next thing I knew, we were back in our room. They had apologized profusely, probably scared that we would sue them or something but all I wanted was to sleep in a comfortable bed for a few hours.

I threw my bag next to my bed as Niall was doing the same and grabbed a towel, sweatpants and a t-shirt. If there was one thing I needed more than a nice bed with warm sheets, it was a good hot shower. Problem was, Niall and I both tried to walk through the bathroom door at the same time, resulting in us literally bumping in the door frame. He cleared his throat and turned to look at me, his eyes roaming down on my body before looking back up in my eyes. He frowned a bit before raising his eyebrows up.

"No thank you. No way." he just shrugged a shoulder, making my heart drop in my chest. "I'll do quick. Five minutes."

I was way too surprised by his rude words to reply anything and he locked himself in the bathroom as I remained motionless. Of course, I didn't expect him to invite me in the shower with him, but to act like it would be the most awful and terrible thing that could happen to him was hurtful. Okay, perhaps I was not the thinnest or prettiest girl around but I had thought that after the night we just had had, he would be a little bit nicer with me. Obviously, I was wrong.

I walked back to my bed and sat on it, hearing the shower as I tried to understand what my roommate was all about. It seemed like every single time he ended up opening up to me a bit, he quickly closed the door in my face the same way he had on my first day. Niall didn't want to let anyone in, or at least it seemed, and the only way he had found to make people run away was to be rude to them. I had no idea why it seemed to be even worse with me but maybe it was simply because of my relationship with Louis.

The thought of him made me grab my phone and I started typing a message to him, asking him if I could take a shower in his room. I knew this wouldn't help my relationship with Niall, whatever it was, but somehow, I felt like at this point, it couldn't be worse.

'It's 7 in the morning, wtf?' Louis simply replied, making me bite my bottom lip.

"Oops." I said out loud before typing an answer. 'Sorry, I was locked in the library all night with Niall.'

It only took half a minute for me to get an answer. 'Get your ass in here, woman. I want to know everything.'

---

I took a shower in Louis' room and when I got out, he handed me a cup of coffee.

"You're officially my favorite person in the world!" I let out with a chuckle, making him laugh too as I grabbed the coffee from his hands.

We both sat on his bed and I held my cup with both hands to get them warm. The truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about Niall and his voice from last night, when he was singing his song. I wanted to hear it with instruments, i wanted to hear his voice louder and not only whispered. I had no idea why it made me feel the way i did and I didn't really want to know. All I wanted was to close my eyes and let his voice invade me. The problem was, I didn't have the guts to do it because I didn't want anyone to have that much power over me, even if only with their voice. And let's be real : Niall did have some sort of power over me, and it was not only because of his voice. I was fighting it though, I was fighting it hard and I intended on winning.

"So, locked with my friend Neil in a library all night?" Louis finally said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Interesting."

It was, in fact, very interesting. It seemed like nothing really happened when in reality, a lot of things had happened and I wasn't really sure where I stood or how I felt.

"We're friends, Louis, right?" I asked cautiously.

I saw him frown slightly and he squirmed a bit to sit better. "Of course Dev, we're friends. What's wrong?"

I licked my lips, trying to remember exactly what Niall had told me the night before. I didn't want to say Louis had lied to me. It was not really a lie, just that he omitted to share some details with me, and it was legitimate of him. He didn't owe me anything, and I hadn't told him everything about myself either. Still, I felt like I had to ask and I had no idea why.

"That girl who fell in love with you..."

I didn't have to continue, Louis sighed and nodded before looking down at his cup and lick his lips. Staring at him made something twist in my chest. I felt close to him and somehow, forcing him to share secrets with me seemed like a bad idea.

"I'm sorry." I quickly added, moving a bit and crossing my legs before leaning my elbows on my knees. "You don't have to tell me, it's none of my business."

"No, no it's cool." he quickly replied before leaning against the wall and sighing. "So I made things clear with her that I could never be with her but I didn't tell her why because, well, I didn't want to betray Niall. Problem is, without a reason, she didn't really want to give up, and there was this party, I was drunk, she brought me in an empty room and just..."

He shrugged before rubbing his free hand on his jeans. I had turned my head to look at him and licked my lips before sitting up and leaning my back on the wall too, close to him.

"That sucks for Niall." I replied in a low voice.

"I know. Our friendship was already shaky and I made it worse. Way worse." he shook his head as I started at him, the back on mine against the wall. "I don't know why he still talks to me and I never dared asking him."

We remained silent for a while and I started thinking about everything that had happened to me at my old school. My best friend had not had sex with the guy I had feelings for, but she had betrayed me in an other way. I hadn't been as nice as Niall had been and I felt a sudden wave of empathy and respect for him, despite the rudeness he showed towards me most of the time. He had been hurt and I knew exactly how it feels to be betrayed by the person you trust the most in the world.

At the same time, I just couldn't feel angry at Louis. I didn't know the girl, and I wasn't there when it happened. I was not going to be pissed at my new friend for that, but it didn't mean I condoned what he did. Somehow, I felt like if It came up, I would take Niall's side. I looked at Louis again and noticed the guilt trip I had put him in and I knew that he would take Niall's side against himself, too.

"He's a good songwriter." I just let out randomly, trying to lighten up the atmosphere. "I heard a few lyrics and it's good."

"He is. He's incredible." Louis agreed with a chuckle, shaking his head. "He succeeds almost everything he does."

I chuckled too and raised my nose up in a grimace. "It's a bit annoying isn't it."

"Maybe." Louis shrugged. "But he deserves it."

"Did he... did he write many songs for that girl?"

I noticed Louis' lips curl into a smirk and he turned a bit to face me but I did everything I could to avoid his eyes. After a while, he finally answered me but kept the smirk on his face.

"A few, yea." Louis replied. "I mean they sort of dated for a few weeks."

"Oh."

"And that's the last girlfriend he ever had. He decided that he didn't want to love anyone ever again. He said that love was painful and not worth it, and that he'd never be vulnerable in front of anyone ever again, especially not someone he has feelings for." Louis added, raising his eyebrows at me. "Does that remind you of someone else's words?"

My lips parted and I felt my heartbeats accelerate suddenly. Of course, it reminded me of someone's words. Those were also my words, the ones I had told Louis a few nights before, after we had had a few drinks. Those were the words I kept repeating to myself after the heartache I went through at my old college. Those were the words I wanted to live by for the rest of my life. Knowing that Niall felt exactly the same made me swallow hard. I did feel connected to Louis, that much was true, but I would have never guessed that Niall and I had went through so many similar feelings and thoughts. I never thought I could feel connected to him, too. And I was not sure I wanted to.

-----

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maple-writes · 5 years

Text

(This chapter 100% did not go as planned, but I’m just going to roll with it here)

It must have been almost three in the morning when I’d hiked all the way up to our spot by the lake. Technically the trails were closed after dusk, but in the years that I’d been coming here to meet my sister I’d never seen it enforced. As soon as I reached the flat boulder on the lake shore that we’d made our meeting spot I took a seat, shouldered off my backpack and waited. I leaned back against my hands, the rock cool under my skin, and yawned. Of all the nights for Ember to want to talk…

Two glowing red eyes peered out from the shadows stretching along the tree line. A moment later, Ember emerged and started across the loose dirt. She held her head high, sharp horns curving out from her forehead and catching the moon’s sliver light. I smiled as she hopped silently beside me on the rock and crossed her legs.

She returned the grin, sharp, dog-like teeth flashing in the low light. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” I stifled another yawn. “What’s up?”

Quiet filled the night air. Ember sighed, a pulsing, too-strong energy washing from her in waves. With half of my soul alongside her own, some of that energy had to escape out into the universe, too much for any one body to harness.

She shrugged, and I couldn’t help but notice how slender he shoulders had become. “Nothing. Nothing’s ever up with me.” She laughed, deep and rasping. “You know that.” She paused, leaning back and propping her clawed hands against the rock surface. “I just missed you.”

“Me too.” I paused for a moment in the still air, then reached for my backpack.“I brought a picnic.”

I pulled the container of roasted vegetables Striker had in the fridge and a bag of pretzels I’d picked up from the gas station on the way over. Ember glanced at the container as I opened it and offered her a fork. She snorted.

“You didn’t make this, did you?”

I shook my head. “Of course not.”

Ember stabbed the fork into a chunk of yam. “That’s what I thought.” She chewed quickly, swallowed and giggled. “Yeah, definitely not you. Way too edible.”

I rolled my eyes, not thinking fast enough to come up with a witty reply. Instead, I stretched out onto my back. The rock was cool through the fabric of my hoodie. Trailing my fingers along it’s lichen-crusted surface, it’s timeless signature crept through the skin of my hand. Memories of millennia seeped from it’s cold surface, eroded by time and impossible for me to glean more than a compiled sense of security. If it being here was good enough for the rock, it was good enough for me.

So deep in the rock’s comfort, I almost didn’t notice Ember sigh. I folded my hands across my stomach and turned my head. She didn’t look at me, staring instead across the darkened lake.

“How is Striker?” Her words came barely louder than the lapping of still waves on the shore.

I swallowed. Her expression had hardly changed, but sorrow ebbed from her, disappearing in the open air but not fast enough to avoid settling in my own chest.

“He’s good.” I paused, choosing my words. We both knew what she meant. We both knew what day was coming up. “He’s still working at the hospital. They have him as an ER nurse right now, but he said they might be transferring him to intensive care but yeah…”

Ember nodded, keeping her eyes away from mine. Slowly, I raised my knees and gently rocked them side to side. Next week it would be what, five years? I swallowed and rested my head flat against the rock surface, watching the stars twinkling bright away from the city lights. Five years… Was it really that long?

“It feels like yesterday,” Ember whispered.

So she was thinking the same thing… My legs stilled. I’d always told Striker I didn’t remember much. Told him it was a blur. But I could still see the flames licking up the living room walls, tearing up the curtains, burning hot and too close to my face, still feel the smoke ripping hot at my throat and coating my lungs.

I shook my head and turned back to Ember. “He doesn’t hate you, you know.”

Ember grimaced. “He should.”

“No, Ember…” I propped myself up on an elbow and softened my voice. “He wants you to come home.” I paused, the wind drifting softly through my hair and rustling the needles of the towering pines around us. “He asks about you all the time.”

But Ember only shook her head. She lowered her eyes to her feet, and I could start to feel her own grief landing heavy between my ribs.

I inched as close as I could, her sorrow threatening to choke. “You have to look at it from his side, Ember. He hasn’t seen you since the fire.”

“Why would he want to?” She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “If it weren’t for me mom would still be here.”

I swallowed. “Yeah, but you’re still his sister.” I thought about reaching out, placing my hand over her shoulder, but the sharp look in her eye made me think twice. “We’re the only family he has left. Maybe this year, you could—“

Ember snapped her head my way, sharp teeth bared in the low light and eyes burning. “I can’t!” She loomed over me, flame in her hair hot enough to make my skin prickle. “You don’t get it Ash!”

“But Striker, he—”

She lunged forward, pinning me against the rock with one clawed hand digging into my shoulder. My heart leapt to my throat as she growled down at me, blocking out the stars and the half moon in the sky. Energy surged in wild waves from her, drowning me in more than I could process.

“It doesn’t matter what Striker says!” She pressed her face nearer and nearer to mine.

My heart raced in my ears. I stared, paralyzed as her claws dug deeper and deeper into the fabric of my hoodie. Her other hand slammed against the rock beside my ear. I flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Why would he want to see me ever again? If it weren’t for me,” She snarled. “Everything would be fine. Everything would be great.”

Her claws broke my skin and her anger flooded through me like a dropped match to gasoline. It scalded hot through my veins, burning the muscle and tearing so hard at my chest it felt like it would tear. Rip open right at the sternum and leave nothing but a raw wound.

Ember’s breath came hot against the sweat on my face. “You’re lucky. So lucky.”

Her lips curled, and I stared, wide eyed at the razor points of her teeth. The red in her iris glowed like fire and flame shed from her hair, her back, her arms. She pressed closer, her mouth inches from my ear. Fear coiled in my chest, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t.

“Sometimes I ask myself how it’s fair that you get to live a good life and I’m stuck with the curse of our father.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes I ask myself if I would feel any better if you were gone.”

No. My blood chilled despite even the fire flooding in from Ember’s nails. She could kill me now and no one would know. No one would know I was gone until morning at the latest. How would anyone know to look for me this far into the forest?

I took a shaking breath. “Em…” I choked against the tears spilling hot down my cheeks. “Please.”

Her cat eyes met mine, but she didn’t speak.

“You,” my voice shook, almost too quiet to hear. “You’re scaring me.”

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us made a move, neither of us wanted to break eye contact. Her image blurred behind a second wave of silent tears, and the grip on my shoulder released.

Ember drew back, practically throwing herself off the rock and onto the loose stones of the lake shore. I gasped, sucking in as much of the cool air as my lungs would hold. My skin crawled and my body shook, and no matter how hard I tried to stop it, tears ran hot and wet down my face. I couldn’t make myself move, staring straight up at the night sky, but I could hear Ember’s pacing footsteps in the rocks beside the lake.

Slowly, I let my eyes close. Hopefully it would only take a few moments for my body to be mine again, to respond only to my own half of my soul, to stop trying to rip its way out of my body into Ember’s. I forced deep breath after deep breath into aching lungs. Did Ember feel the same pull? Or was it just too much for her to feel something some small in comparison?

Exhaustion tugged sickly soft at the edges of my limbs and the corners of my mind. As much as I wanted to fight it, I couldn’t do anything but give in.

I’m sorry, Asher.

I woke up on the floor of the back of the car—Striker’s car—that I’d driven to the park. Sunlight streamed too bright through the windows and I cringed when it shone in my eyes. I tried to get up, but my limbs were too heavy. My arms shook even as I tried to prop myself up just a little, and I fell back to the floor. I tried to think, but my head spun and all I could do was stare at the ceiling as the sun rose higher in the sky.

But my phone rang in my pocket. I winced at the sound and the vibration against my leg. But I knew that ringtone. It was the one I’d assigned to Striker’s calls. I eased my hand into my pocket and picked up the phone, hitting speaker and dropping it on the floor beside my head.

“Asher?” Striker’s voice was frantic. “Asher are you there?”

“I,” my voice was hoarse. “Yeah.”

“Where are you? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning. Are you okay?”

Too loud… I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut but managed to mumble an answer.

“Okay,” Striker replied calmer than I would have thought. “Stay there, I’ll come to you, okay?”

I nodded, then realised that he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”

The beep of the phone told me he’d hung up, and I didn’t bother to move it away from where it had landed by my cheek. Sunlight rose higher through the window of the little car, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the glare.

I jolted awake to the car door opening. Striker filled the doorway, worry written across his face. He crouched nearer and I couldn’t help but smile, weak as it was.

“Ash,” He spoke softly. “What happened?”

Fog slowed my thoughts as I twisted my neck to see him better. “Hi.”

Striker sighed and reached into the back of the car. He slipped his arms under my knees and my mid-back, and gently carried me out. I cringed against the light, curling closer to his chest. His shirt was warm, even through my hoodie. He seemed to make a point of keeping his bare hands from my skin.

“Oh my—” A familiar voice came from behind Striker. “Is he okay?”

I opened my eyes against the light, squinting out from Striker’s grip. Kyra stood in front of us, owl-eyed and staring. Her car sat parked haphazardly beside Striker’s. Standing nearby, Cirrus watched with crossed arms.

He rolled his eyes. “Dumbass.”

Striker shot him a glare that made him stop in his tracks. He quickly uncrossed his arms and cast his gaze down to the gravel ground.

“I,” my voice still came out thin, but the fog in my head was starting to clear, at least just a little. “I met Ember.”

Striker adjusted his grip, balancing my side against his body. He scrunched is face. “She did this to you?”

I shook my head, then paused. “Not,” did she do it? “Not on purpose. I,” I shook out my head, trying to pick a single thought. “She didn’t mean to.”

I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. He just carried me around the side of his car, jerking his head towards the passenger door. Kyra scurried over and opened it for him. She watched from the side as he slid me into the seat and helped me fasten the seatbelt. Did he believe me? My head fell back against the seat back as I watched him stand up straight and say something quietly to Kyra. Should I have mentioned Ember at all? I knew he wasn’t mad at her before but… My heart fell. Did I change his mind?

Behind me the car door closed as Cirrus took a seat in the back. He leaned forward, head poking between the two front seats.

“Hey,” He spoke low as if trying to keep the words from Striker’s ears. “Are you okay?”

My face scrunched as I turned. Instead of his usual mask of indifference, something like concern furrowed his eyebrows and tensed his jaw. Weird. I nodded, and some of his tension eased. He leaned back in his seat, crossing on leg over the other.

“Fine,” he raised his chin, a gesture that came as something far more familiar. “But next time, tell me. Hell, take me with you.”

My frown deepened. Why did he care so much all the sudden? I took a breath to ask but stopped when Striker got into the driver’s seat. He wasted no time starting the car and driving from the parking lot onto the street.

Silence filled the car, heavy and louder than anything anyone could have said. I watched Striker as he drove, face tense and grip on the wheel tight. He kept his eyes forward, almost as if refusing to look at me. I sunk into the seat and stared down at my lap, guilt eating at my gut. Why didn’t I leave a note when I left? He didn’t deserve to have to worry. He shouldn’t have to waste his day off looking after me.

I swallowed and cautiously peered up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Striker sighed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling like a gentle wave. “I’m not mad, Ash.” He paused. “You scared me. When I first opened the door I thought you were dead.”

I leaned my head back against the headrest again, no longer having to squint. I guess it might have looked that way at first…

“Just,” Striker sighed. “Be careful Ash. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. “I know.” I shifted in my seat, but it did nothing to get rid of the guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Striker pulled up to the curb outside the house with a relieved smile. “If you want to talk about it later we can, but you look awful.” He turns off the car and undoes his seatbelt. “We’ll get you set up somewhere cozy and talk when you’ve recovered.”

#The city of eventide #chapter five #writblr #writeblr #original #fantasy #my writing #this one took a while #finally get to actually meet Ember

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toloveawarlord · 5 years

Text

Sweet Sacrifice (Ch 1.)

You can find all my other works here!

Wysteria. We were traveling to the castle in a few hours, leaving the comfort of Stein behind for the scrutiny of this unfamiliar territory. Byron is going to meet the new princess, with the hopes of convincing her to marry him. How does he know that she will be good fit as the queen of Stein and Wysteria? It irritated me, but every time she came up in conversation, I kept my concerns to myself. Whatever he chose to do with his life was no concern of mine as long as he kept his promise.

A knock at my door came seconds before it swung open. Albert strode in, nodding appreciatively at my packed trunk of things. “At least someone is prepared. King Byron is asking for you.”

It still amazed me how much his attitude toward me had changed over the course of the past year. Sliding my dagger into my boot, I replied, “Of course he is.” What have I done now?

As I mulled over the question, I made my way through the hallways. Everything seemed much more peaceful. After years of service and multiple accounts of saving Byron’s life, I’d been accepted as a part of this household. It had become the home I never had.

No sooner had I stepped into the room, Bryon started to speak. Most people rarely got to hear him talk so much. “Good, you’re here. There’s a few things I wanted to discuss with you about this trip. Firstly, try not to make any enemies.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, feigning innocence.

He had yet to look at me, digging through his desk. “Try to be nice. Secondly, do not kill anyone in front of the princess. I’m used to your methods, she isn’t.”

“If everything goes the way you want it, shouldn’t she start to get to used it?” I asked, annoyed. It’s much harder to refrain from killing than doing so. Besides, an attempt on royalty is treason, which is punishable by death. Why waste the time having a fair trial or whatever?

“That is an order,” Byron said, turning his gaze on me. “Do you ever wear a dress?”

I looked down at my attire: A quarter-sleeve crème shirt, black pants, and knee high brown boots. What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? “Do you want me to protect you while dressed in extremely impractical clothes?” My job doesn’t require me to be dressed like that.

Sighing, Bryon shook his head, closing his trunk. “You went out last night. Anything to report?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” This is my job. He has plenty of other things to worry about.

“Rory.”

“Byron.”

He held my gaze for what felt like eternity before sighing again. “I trust you.”

A smile grew on my face. He didn’t say it often, but it made me happy when he did. I’d worked tirelessly over years to gain it. “Do you really intend to marry this girl?” It had become hard for me to accept it. All of a sudden, things were changing quickly.

“It’s a possibility. Wysteria is a large and prosperous country,” Byron replied. He crossed the room to me, placing his hand on my head. “You know I can’t marry for love. It’s rare for that to happen.” He lingered, both of us silent. “In another life, Rory.”

Our strange relationship gave most onlookers the idea that we might be lovers. When I’d first met him, that would have been true. Even now, the attraction between us still remained, though neither of us would acknowledge it. Being together was impossible. This was the way it had to be. “Albert is ready for us to leave. I’ll go check one last time,” I said, ignoring his last comment.

Thankfully, Albert arrived, giving me the chance to slip out of the room without any more comments. The fresh, cool air felt good on my warm skin. Byron had interpreted my question wrong. I hadn’t asked because I was jealous. All I wanted was to ensure he wasn’t going to do something he’d regret.

After my search for potential threats, I ended up back at the carriage, where everyone was waiting for me. Albert met me a few paces away, making sure no one would overhear us. “About what I told you last night…”

“It will stay between us. Like you said, this is our responsibility. Has anything progressed?” Albert asked, adjusting his glasses His knights were watching us curiously.

With a shake of my head, I sighed. “No. I haven’t seen him since early this morning. Either he’s smarter than I gave him credit for, or I’m losing it.” I laughed to make the joke less self-loathing. I know what I saw.

Albert gave a small smile. “Your instincts are typically spot on. Don’t start doubting them now.”

He’s right. If nothing turned out from this, fine. But if my intuition was right, then I needed to be prepared. Climbing into the carriage, I plopped onto the seat across from Byron, lost in my thoughts. Byron watched me, but didn’t comment. For a while, we rode in a comfortable silence.

“You’re originally from Wysteria, aren’t you?” Byron’s question caught me off guard. His elbow was propped on the door of the carriage with his chin resting on his palm. “Are you going to visit them?”

Shrugging my shoulders, I replied, “If I have time. You know how much I hate traveling.” It was hard work leaving Stein. These people wouldn’t have the same respect for Byron like the ones at home. Anyone could be a potential threat, which worked me twice as much. Plus, our last trip almost ended in a war.

He laughed, eyes still on me. “Yes, I know. Rory, what’s on your mind? I’d say you look nervous.”

Damn, nothing gets past this man. Staring at the wall behind him, silence took over. I could feel him watching me. When I was sure he wasn’t going to let this go, I answered, “If you marry this girl…” The words became jumbled in my head, but Bryon waited patiently for me to sort them out. “What if she doesn’t approve of me and what I do?”

When I returned my gaze to him, Byron had an unreadable expression, like he’d not though about it. The minutes moved slowly. After an excruciatingly long amount of time, he finally spoke. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my personal guard, and that is my decision.”

The carriage stopped, and I noted the sun had begun to set. Looks like we will be camping out tonight. His words calmed my nerves. There’s no use overthinking the future. He promised to protect me, and that should be enough. Night soon set in, and after a small dinner, everyone who wasn’t keeping watch retired to their tents. I paced outside of Byron’s tent, flipping my dagger around in my hand. A knight stopped in front of me to ask if King Byron had returned yet.

The panic that set into my body almost paralyzed me. A quick sweep inside the tent showed me that it was empty. Blinking, I tried to slow my heartrate. “Which direction did he go?” Casting my eyes around the area, it seemed no one had gone to accompany him. That… idiot! Setting off in the direction that the knight had given me, I grumbled to myself. Wandering the woods this late at night was not what I wanted to be doing.

Every muscle in my body tensed when I heard Byron’s words, “Are you bandits?” Cursing under my breath, I rose onto the balls of my feet, moving silently closer to his voice. Byron continued to speak calmly, “And here I thought Wysteria to be peaceful. I suppose it can’t be helped in this case.”

The scene I came up to sent anger through my body. A girl stood behind Byron, shaking like a leaf. Between me and the King were three beefy bandits. It seems justified to assume that they were after the rich girl, and just happened to come across Byron. Flipping the blade around in my hand, I gripped the handle tight. Catching Bryon’s stare, his lips turned up in to a small smile for a brief second.

“I don’t intent to harm you.” His words confused the bandits. “But, Rory… I can’t speak for. She has a mind of her own.”

At the mention of my name, they all turned to look around. Taking that as my cue, I rushed forward, taking the first man by surprise. It seemed harder not going for the kill. I figured some practice might help me for when we arrived at the castle. Each cut I made was superficial but it would cause a lot of pain. My boot connected with his stomach, causing him to gag and cough. His other men backed away, terrified.

“Let’s go,” He ordered through a cough.

My eyes stayed on them. “Should I—”

“No,” Byron said, returning his attention to the girl. “There’s a carriage just past that grove of trees. I imagine it is waiting for you. You should probably hurry.”

The girl turned to look in the direction he’d told her. While her back was turned, Byron took quick silent steps, towing me along. Behind the nearest big tree, he hid us. “What-” My quiet protest cut short as he clamped his hand over my mouth, and pressed his body against mine to keep us hidden.

Stuck between his warm body and the scratchy tree bark, I rolled my eyes. It didn’t go unnoticed by the King. His hot breath on my ear sent a shiver down my body. “You did follow me into the woods. Isn’t this why you came?” Though he only teased, it didn’t stop the images from entering my mind.

I really hate traveling.

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

This was the first midcin thing I ever wrote. And I haven’t even played Byron’s route myself, but I watched it on youtube and couldn’t help but write a story.

#midnight cinderella #midcin #byron wagner #albert burckhardt #rory kinder

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gludzilla · 6 years

Text

The First Case (Part II)

“The victim is Ryuuichi Kurimoto. 26 years old. The damage sustained is the same as Dr. Mizuno’s - an explosion from inside his abdomen.”

A dark red exposed abdomen. The burned skin. Wato remembers Mizuno’s crumpled body and without thinking, averts her gaze. Graffiti covers the concrete walls and a sour smell permeates the air. In a blind spot in the metropolis not that far away from Shibuya’s train station, a young man had suddenly lost his life.　The inside of his stomach being blown up - a truly cruel way to go.

“It is unknown how he is related to Dr. Mizuno. According to witnesses, he was muttering something or another about a devil,” Shibata continues Reimon’s explanation reluctantly. Perhaps he couldn’t stomach the “consulting detective” who had rudely crossed the police line and was now asking questions with an air of having every right to do so, as well as the “witness” who had accompanied her and is sticking close to her now. Without knowing why, Wato shrinks into herself, but Sherlock doesn’t seem to notice Shibata’s resentfulness.

While looking at the corpse, she asks, “His personal belongings?”

“A wallet with a driver’s license. A keyring. And a cellphone.”

Shibata raises a bag containing said belongings to eye-level. Sherlock snatches it and fishes out the keyring. There are multiple colorful keytags on it, making it quite gaudy.

“Don’t touch that with your bare hands!”

Shibata roughly takes it back. Sherlock bluntly says, “The victim was a former drug addict.”

“Huh?! Why?”

“You get one of these keytags for every month of treatment at a rehabilitation center.”

“Nice work.”

Reimon lets out a whistle. Sherlock does not answer, leans over the body and begins prodding with the stiffened lips. Shibata’s face becomes red.

“Stop messing around with the corpse!”

“Are there any wounds inside the mouth? You studied forensic medicine in school, right?”

“Me?”

Hearing Sherlock address her, Wato points at herself. She looks at the detectives for permission. Shibata scowls, but Reimon says nothing, only waving her on, as if telling her to go ahead. Sherlock’s eyes focus intently on Wato. This person - is she testing me? Is she testing my abilities as a doctor? Stubbornness and a mysterious sense of duty fills her, and Wato takes a long, deep breath. She approaches the corpse. Feeling three pair of eyes on her, she pries the stiff lips open. Yellowing teeth. A paling tongue. However, there is nothing that looks like a wound.

“I don’t see anything in particular.”

“The victims didn’t know they were swallowing bombs.”

Sherlock crouches low on the ground again, but this time starts sniffing after a scent like a dog.

“It smells - not of something rotten. A sweet smell. Fog liquid. The stuff used on stage productions for effect. That smell.”

“I see. Kurimoto was a stage actor!” Shibata claps his hands together.

Sherlock ignores him and says to the forensic officer, “Hey. You have a black light don’t you? Give it to me.”

Sherlock takes the black light from the puzzled officer’s hand and shines it on the back of Kurimoto’s hand. Wato peeks at his hand too. On it, a dim blue mark appears.

“What’s that?”

“A club re-entry stamp.”

An interior enveloped by smoke. The constant thump thump of the music reberbating in her stomach and the stink of tobacco make Wato’s head throb and she starts to feel lightheaded. But the sounds and smells provoke an even greater reaction from Sherlock; she clutches her head, covering both of her hears with her hands as best she can. She shows her displeasure openly. Kihara, the owner of Criterion, after showing them both into the VIP room, has a bright smile on his tanned face, begins with a teasing tone.

“Ah, a door to door salesman? I already have enough water purifiers, though.”

“No time for trivialities. I want to get out of here soon.”

Sherlock brushes the joke aside and suddenly places Kurimoto’s photograph on the table. Kihara frowns.

“Ryuuichi Kurimoto. Do you know him?”

“What are you looking into this time?”

“I’m asking you if you know him or not.”

“There’s an English proverb that says ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ When a cat sticks his nose in everybody else’s business, sooner or later it’ll end up dead.”

There is something menacing in Kihara’s tone. Wato draws her body back, but Sherlock is not perturbed at all and leans forward and smiles. With a touch of sarcasm, she says, “I am extremely interested in why people call this place ‘The Medicine Box.’”

Kihara exchanges glances with a blond-haired staff member waiting at the back. With a small click of his tongue, he responds.

“Tch. To lose to a door-to-door salesman...”

“Kurimoto was murdered, you see. Tell me what you know.”

It is a style of conversation in which she leads her partner along without saying any unnecessary thing, only to acquire the information she wishes to know. Even as Wato feels paralyzed by fear, Sherlock maneuvers the danger brilliantly, coaxing his inner thoughts to present themselves. If someone got embroiled with this Sherlock, they would never be able to escape. Even if it was someone who could handle anything else.

“...He was a pitiful junky that had to try every single drug in the world,” Kihara answers while exchanging looks with his employee. Sherlock turns to speak to the young man.

“Ryuuichi Kurimoto. He was here yesterday, wasn’t he?”

“...Yes, he was,” the staff member replies listlessly.

“At what time?”

“A little after 1, I guess.”

“Was he with someone?”

“He was alone at first, but after some time he met with someone and they chatted for a while. A DJ called Kuuya.”

“What is he like?”

“In short, he’s a piece of shit, I guess. He’s not only a user, he’s also a pusher.”

When the man stops speaking, Wato leans closer to Sherlock’s ear and asks, “What’s a pusher?”

“Someone who sales drugs.”

Wato gasps. The blond man scratches his head as if annoyed and adds, “Apparently, he profits from rich customers - doctors and so on.”

Kihara coughs. His employee immediately stops talking. It was probably a signal that meant ‘don’t say any more than that.’

“Now, now, I’d be grateful if you could overlook this place, ma’am. This is the part in which I’d offer you a drink for your trouble, but I think this visit’s gone long enough as it is.”

After announcing this, he stands up, gives Wato and Sherlock a stiff smile, and leaves. Seeing the staff member follow him out, Wato asks, “Did you figure out something?”

“Kuuya the DJ gave Kurimoto the junkie the exploding pill. After that, Kurimoto’s stomach exploded and he died.”

“Then Kuuya is the culprit? But why Dr. Mizuno, who has nothing to do with this?”

“Stressed out doctors indulging in drugs is not something particularly rare.”

“That’s not -”

Wato’s protests get stuck in her throat and Sherlock only gazes at her with her jet-black eyes. Guessing what she is about to say, Wato raises her voice, “That’s not possible. Dr. Mizuno would definitely never use drugs!”

“You can’t definitely know that. I am just considering every possibility.”

Faced by her piercing gaze and unwavering tone, Wato takes a shallow breath. Even as she tries to stamp out the doubts that were shamefully starting to appear about Mizuno, she is overwhelmed by the woman in front of her. Her outstandingly observant eyes. Her ability to find the pattern that connects the individual dots together. A strange conviction fills Wato’s chest. Sherlock would expose the whole story of this case before long - no matter how extraordinary, no matter how impossible the conclusion might be.

“I apologize for dropping by so suddenly. Um, Akiko, are you-”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came. I feel anxious all by myself.”

She turns to Wato who is waking next to her and gives her a warm smile.

It is the day after Kurimoto’s body was discovered. Wato walks with Akiko through a calm residential area. Should she go visit? Or should she leave her be? Wato understood she shouldn’t get involved in the matter further, but wondering how Akiko was, as she hadn’t even gotten her husband’s body back, Wato had been unable to sit still. Akiko had warmly let her in, and instead of talking about what was going on with her, she only worried about Wato - about what her husband had told her of her. That Miss Tachibana was the sort of person who couldn’t just abandon someone in suffering, so she would definitely become a doctor patients would be able to rely on. Akiko recites Mizuno’s words. And Wato hadn’t been able to say it. That she had given up on being a doctor. That she had decided that before coming back to Japan.

She had thought she could do something. Starting with the Great East Japan Earthquake, she had decided she wanted to save many more lives. However, she had realized something in that hell. That fanciful thoughts were not enough. That even with patients on the verge of death in front of her eyes, if she could not provide the necessary treatment, there was no point in her being a doctor.

She had not yet decided what to do after all this. She couldn’t go back to live with her parents in Sapporo; not to mention, she couldn’t work at the hospital her father ran. All because she had joined a team of medical volunteers against her family’s wishes. And now, what will I - suddenly, Wato returns to the present and looks at Akiko who is still walking by her side. At Akiko, who had fretted over her ever since she had invited her inside her home and had finally offered to walk her to the nearest station. This is no good. She had come to cheer Akiko up, and she ends up only thinking about herself. She exhales. She glances at Akiko’s face. She sees how she grasps her chest tightly and says with concern, “Does your chest hurt?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been touching it a lot, so I wondered...”

“It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

She smiles softly and shakes her head. Suddenly, her gaze falls on something in front of her and she stops walking.

“Akiko?”

In front of a brand new house, a young girl of around 5 is clumsily skipping rope. Akiko walks closer, and picking something up from the ground, gently says, “Here, you dropped your hair tie.”

It had probably slipped off her hair while jumping. The girl takes it shyly and tries to tie her hair back up, but seems to have a hard time. Akiko softly touches her head and continues warmly, “Let me - I’ll do it for you. We twist it like this and...there you go.”

The girl touches her cute ponytail and happily says, “Thank you.”

Seeing this, Wato thinks that if Sherlock had been here to experience such a pleasant scene, she would have probably ended up analysing every single unnecessary detail and - Wato shakes her head. She needs to stop this. The time she spends thinking about that woman has been increasing without her noticing. As she tightens her hold on the bag hanging from her shoulder, she feels the cell phone she had thrown in there vibrate. She takes it out and checks the screen. A message from an unknown number - no.

In front of Poldhu’s headquarters’ main entrance. Come quick.

Wato instinctively knows this is Sherlock’s number. She saves it on her phone, a certain feeling that the situation was slowly progressing filling her chest.

Slipping through the crowd walking in the business district, Wato finally reaches her destination. Seeing a figure standing in front of the building, she quickens her pace. Dressed with a coat stood slender Sherlock - along with a man with a well-built body. A smile appears on his charming face.

“Ah, erm, how do you do? I am...”

“My older brother. He works at the Cabinet Information Research Office so he’s well connected. But he has a bad personality and a quick mind, so people in his office hate him.”

Sherlock steps in without hesitation and interrupts him in a joking manner. Seeing her innocent smile, so different from what Wato had seen since she first met her, she decides she must be quite close with her brother. Seeing such a human expression on her face, a somewhat mysterious feeling invades Wato.

“I don’t wanna hear that from you.”

After being interrupted, the man turns back to Wato with a smile. He has an air of friendliness quite unlike his sister, but she can still see a certain keenness in his stocky face.

“My name is Kento Futaba. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hello - I’m Wato Tachibana. My name is written with the characters for peace and city.”

“She’s a has-been doctor with no job or house. Her former teacher was killed so she’s searching for the truth of the matter,” Sherlock points at Wato and says as if she found the situation comical. She just said something incredibly rude, didn’t she? Wato glares at her but Sherlock’s nonchalant expression does not budge. Kento shrugs his shoulders with a smile and turns back to Wato.

“We were introduced but I have a feeling we were insulted as well. Let’s go now...I only have 20 minutes to spare. I’ll be the one to explain the situation, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

The second half of his sentence he directs at Sherlock. Without paying her brother any mind, she briskly walks into the building. Muttering good grief! Kento shakes his head and signals Wato through the wide entrance and into the building. While Kento goes to the reception desk to announce their presence, Wato watches Sherlock, who is studying the entrance’s high ceilings with shining eyes, and is filled by an emotion she cannot identify. How can she go from having the face of the devil to these glittering, innocent eyes? It was as if as soon as she saw something with refined craftsmanship, or something she found interesting, a switch was flipped instantly.

“Let’s go. They’re waiting for us at the meeting room on the fifteenth floor.”

Kento points beyond the entrance. Sherlock, already in the lead, followed by Kento and Wato turn to the elevators and get in one that is fortunately empty. After a short while, Kento breaks the silence.

“Poldhu is a venture that is expected to grow. They want to introduce a public cloud service like the one used in the UK for medical institutions.”

The elevator slows to a stop and the three of them exit into a wide corridor. A waiting employee bows his head deeply and shows them through an open door and into the meeting room.

“Please, come in.”

Sherlock walks in without greeting anyone and Wato follows her. On the monitor, there is an image of a pill going through a human’s digestive system and reaching the stomach. Wato realizes it is the same as the one she had seen on the laptop in Sherlock’s home and gasps. A caption says Use a microchip in a pill to control your everyday physical condition. The men waiting inside the room stand up and bow their heads.

“Welcome, welcome, Mr. Futaba. It’s been a while.”

“Forgive me, Professor Maruyama. Thank you again for back then. This is my -”

Without greetings or introductions, Sherlock flumps down into one of the chairs. Without sparing a glance to the surprised employee or the defeated Kento, she turns to the middle-aged man her brother had called Maruyama and says, “I looked up the digital pill you developed online. It seems like you decided to use crowdfunding to cover the production costs, but have you gathered enough supporters?”

Maruyama meets the eyes of the employee who showed Wato and the others inside and looks troubled. Eventually, he shoots Kento a fleeting glance and replies with a soft voice, “Fortunately, there has been interest and we are receiving sufficient support.”

“Are you sending your supporters some sort of reward?”

“We offer up to four development samples to the people who make the biggest investments.”

“Do you have a list of your biggest investors?”

Unsurprisingly, Maruyama remains guarded and looks at both Kento and the company employee. Looking uncomfortable, Kento says with a soothing tone, as if to calm a child, “Hey, don’t be that abrupt, come on - ”

“There is a possibility that your product was modified and used to commit a crime.”

The blunt words make Maruyama and the employee pale. Sherlock keeps her eyes fixed on Maruyama and does not move.

“....Is this true?” Maruyama asks hoarsely.

Kento exhales apologetically and replies, “Yes, well...it’s true that science has been misused time and time again for things such as war and environmental destruction. Sarin gas was first developed as a pesticide so...”

Maruyama and the employee look at each other again, then back at Sherlock and remain like that for a long while, tense. Finally, perhaps perceiving their visitors’ intentions, or perhaps believing that Sherlock was telling the truth, he put his head in his arms and let out a long sigh.

“....Excuse me, sir,” says the employee to Maruyama, completely at a loss. They have some sort of whispered discussion before suddenly turning to Sherlock and the others. The employee quickly leaves the room.

After around 10 minutes, he returns with with several sheets of paper.

“Thank you for waiting. This is it.”

It is a list of the greatest investors. Wato peeks at it at the same time as Sherlock, and suddenly exclaims.

“Kuuya Kirisaki?!”

“This is definitely that DJ,” Sherlock replies immediately. It seems like she had noticed the same name.

“The people who invested the most got four samples of the product.”

“Kuuya is definitely the culprit. He gave the first one to Dr. Mizuno. The second one to Kurimoto the drug addict. He has two left. If we don’t find him soon they’ll be more victims!” Wato exclaims without thinking and Maruyama and the employee look at her, alarmed. Sherlock does not respond, joins her fingers together and thinks. The stunned Maruyama. The bewildered employee. Unable to just watch, Kento tries to mend the situation.

“Yes, well, that is still not defini-”

Almost as if on purpose, a cell phone rings, interrupting him. Sherlock energetically gets up and exits the meeting room while answering the phone. She does not stop to acknowledge to the employees’ farewells. Wato freezes, openmouthed, and looks at the three remaining people in the room. This is a bewilderingly unexpected situation. This will surely leave lots of implications.

“Excuse me!”

Saying this, Wato runs out of the meeting room. She catches up to Sherlock, who is already entering an elevator, and out of breath, asks, “Hey. Hey, did something happen?”

Expressionless, Sherlock hangs up and presses the down button. Her behavior is composed as a whole, but Wato could see in her profile how a new feeling was beginning to emerge, like the first embers of a fire.

“Reimon called. He received a report from a young woman that her boyfriend had taken some sort of drug and suffered an episode of mental derangement and rushed out of her house. There’s no time. Let’s go to her home. Right now.”

“Wait a minute, that man -”

Wato chokes on her words. Sherlock’s clever voice echoes in the elevator.

“It’s Kuuya Kirisaki.”

The car they are riding safely but quickly turns the corner and they get off in front of an apartment building, their goal. The siren shuts off abruptly. Sherlock, who had been waiting in the backseat, flies out of the car like a bullet and begins climbing the stairs. Wato, along with Reimon and Shibata who arrived in another car, follow Sherlock, disconcerted. Once they’ve climbed three floors, they run down the open-aired corridor. They rush to the apartment mentioned in the report. Sherlock rings the buzzer and pushes Reimon forward, making him stand in front of the door. The door opens and a woman wearing a dressing gown peers out. Reimon shows her his ID and says, “Are you Risa Nishikawa, the one who made the report?”

Without waiting for Risa’s response, Sherlock barges inside without bothering to take her shoes off. She starts rummaging through the chaos in the room.

“Ah, wai- Hey! Your shoes! Shoes!”

Hearing Wato’s baffled voice, Sherlock haphazardly kicks her Prada pumps off. She did not wait for the resident’s permission or consent. Picking up the scattered shoes, Wato opens her mouth to speak again.

“Come on! Someone lives here!”

Sherlock stretches her arm to cover Wato’s mouth and looks intently at an object left at the side table. Wato peers over her shoulder to follow her gaze. A bunch of colorful keytags. Very similar to those found among Kurimoto’s personal belongings. Sherlock picks them up and says, almost to herself, “Kuuya was in rehab.”

Wato’s eyes meet Risa’s, who had followed them in. She looks uneasy, but Wato asks, “Is this true?”

“Y-yes, up until recently. He went to a place called Broadmoor, in Shinagawa.”

“...That sound interesting. Inspector Reimon.”

When she turns the conversation to him, he raises an eyebrow. Yes yes, whatever you need, says his expression.

“Make inquiries at once. See if there hasn’t been anything suspicious recently.”

“Got it. Shibata, go check up on that.”

“U-understood,” Shibata answers energetically. Sherlock waves her fingers at him smugly. Sparing a second to glare at the consulting detective, he briskly exits the apartment.

Sherlock returns the keytags to the table and says to Risa, “What state was Kuuya in when he left?”

“State…?”

“Was he...did he keep checking his messages, for example?”

“Yes, he did. And he saw something on his tablet, got really pale and then left.”

Sherlock sees the tablet that was thrown into the bed, grabs it, and easily unlocks it. Wato peeks at the screen. There is a single newspaper article open. The headline reads, “Daytime crime: 6 year old girl stabbed.” A picture of a vacant-eyed young man accompanies the article.

“What’s this? So he has looking at this just before he left?”

Sherlock stares intently at the man’s photograph before reading a section of the article, “‘Ten years ago, while in a state of confusion caused by drug use, a man by the name of Youhei Makishima stabbed a six year old girl. Makishima had just finished rehab at a clinic in Shinagawa.’”

“Stabbed a little girl - but why was Kuuya reading this?” Wato asks.

Sherlock has a faraway look in her eyes, and she suddenly shrugs her body. She looks up, and it is as if she is seeing everything and nothing at the same time. She purses her lips. Wato can almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she deliberates.

There is a long silence. Reimon just waits without making a sound; Risa shyly stands stock still. Unable to bear it any longer, Wato speaks.

“Sher…”

“I got it!”

Shibata’s voice makes everyone turn to watch him rush inside. Catching his breath, he continues, “I contacted Broadmoor in Shinagawa and they replied immediately. Apparently, they received a letter of complaint about half a year ago. It said some pretty extreme things, like that drug addicts are all beyond hope and such...”

“A letter of complaint?”

Sherlock suddenly looks up with wide eyes, and, jumping away from Wato, runs out. Left turning around on the spot confused, Wato yells, “Wait! Your shoes! Put your shoes on! Hey, wait, where are you-”

Sherlock sharply turns her head to look over her shoulder and shouts to the people remaining inside the room.

“To Broadmoor! Hurry up!”

“I felt anxious all the time. The only thing I had was a desire to get better.”

Light shining through a gap in the venetian blinds. Folding chairs arranged in a circle. In a room full of whiteboards, a group of men and women of various ages listen intently to the quiet voice speak. Youhei Makishima stands in the middle. Without meeting any of his spectators’ eyes, he continues his confession.

“Of course I also felt that it would be impossible as I was. But if I told myself that, I wouldn’t go back to normal. In any case, I just decided that I wanted to get better-”

The words continue. His public seem similar to him in age and upbringing, but Makishima still does not look at them.

“I think that, in the end, people can’t change just because they feel like i-”

At the sound of a door being violently thrown open, everyone turns. At first they don’t understand. A man bursts in, and when he points the object he holds in his hand, people start to scream. People kick their chairs as they stand up. People lie on the ground. Only Makishima stands without moving and looks dazedly at the approaching man. As if he couldn’t quite comprehend that there was a gun pointing at him.

“Makishima...die.”

He pulls the trigger. A violent heat pierces Makishima’s body and he lets out a shrill scream.

“All investigators, hurry to location Northern Shinagawa, 2-chome to apprehend a suspect.”

“Honestly, how the heck are the bombing case and the rehab center at Shinagawa related?”

Inside the police car that is rapidly gaining speed, Wato stiffens. Reimon skips his fingers against the radio and Shibata, even as he complains, weaves the car expertly through the traffic. To Broadmoor… In the seat next to Wato, Sherlock joins her fingers together and stares straight ahead. When Wato looks at her, she mutters softly, “If, after being released for killing that girl ten years ago, Makishima returned to the rehab clinic...”

She sounds like she’s talking to herself. Wato tilts her head.

“So Kuuya went after Makishima? But why?”

Sherlock does not answer. The sound of the high-pitched siren cuts through the road.

“Hurts….it hurts...”

Makishima groans. The blood flowing from his thigh quickly dyes his worn-out slacks a deep red. Kuuya stares at the wound. Filled by a crazed urgency, he raises the gun once more. He looks at Makishima’s contorted face and pleads, “I beg you...Makishima...just die.”

The sound of a gunshot reberbates again. Kuuya’s bullet pierces through Makishima’s foot mercilessly.

“Aaahh!”

Makishima’s tears are evident in his voice. But Kuuya does not stop. His trembling hand tightens his hold on the gun, and while looking down at the bawling Makishima, he shakes his head violently.

“Makishima, die, just die, please...a devil is coming. A devil. A devil’s coming. I’ll be killed, killed!”

Makishima cannot stand or even writhe in pain anymore. He tries to endure the pain that courses throughout his whole body. Kuuya shuts his eyes tightly and, step by step, approaches him. Thinking only one thing. It had been too far. He’d have to shoot the next bullet closer. The devil. Kurimoto - Kurimoto had also been killed. And I’m next. Now I’m next. That’s what they - what the devil had said-

“Freeze!”

Kuuya Kirisaki flinches at the sudden shout. Without speaking or fixing his grasp on the gun, he looks down at his victim on the dirty floor. Blindly, he pulls the trigger. The bullet hits no one and lodges itself in the wall. Shibata tackles Kuuya, strikes the hand holding the gun, and confiscates it immediately. Shibata slides it across the floor and Reimon promptly picks it up.

“Let me go...let me go! The devil...The devil will kill me!”

Sherlock and Wato step into the room and both look at the struggling Kuuya. He sounds terrified of something. Wato exclaims, “Wasn’t he the culprit?!”

“No, he isn’t. Kuuya also swallowed the exploding pill. He is just following the true culprit’s commands. Be careful! There’s a bomb in his stomach.”

“Are you kidding me?! Say that sooner!”

Even as he lashes out at Sherlock’s words, he does not let go of the apprehended Kuuya. Kuuya still struggles against him.

“I’ll be killed….the devil’s gonna kill me...”

“Get me an ambulance ASAP. And a bomb disposal squad, too.”

Reimon points his finger sharply. Kuuya’s terrified screams echo and mingle bizarrely with the other chaotic noises inside the room.

It’s possible that Reimon the police officer is actually quite capable.

After seeing the paramedic’s swift response and all of the policemen milling about, Wato has this sudden thought. The man in question stands a ways away from the entrance, where Wato and the others are, listening to a man who seems to be the one in charge of the place speak. He might appear laid back, but he is actually a very shrewd man. Makishima was wheeled away on a stretcher. After the bomb disposal squad’s arrival, Kuuya had gotten his stomach pumped to retrieve the capsule and the situation had not evolved into a major incident. Watching over the people milling about, Wato turns to Sherlock, who is standing nearby, and says, “So this means that, in the end, Kuuya wasn’t the culprit?”

There is no answer.

Wato continues, “He kept saying devil this, devil that...maybe he was hallucinating?”

“...”

“Sherlock!”

Reimon calls out to the reticent Sherlock. He beckons her closer, but perhaps she responded with a glare, because he chuckles and walks over to meet them halfway. He holds a single sealed envelope in his hand.

“This is the letter of complaint they told us about. It says that even if drug addicts say they’re sorry, they’ll make the same mistakes again and again, and that rehab programs are only for them to get together and lick their wounds.”

“...That’s horrible. There are a lot of people who are successfully rehabilitated and return to society.”

Wato shakes her head. Sherlock stays silent again. She just stares at the address on the envelope. Her eyes move. They become fixed on a single point. And then -

Sherlock’s eyes widen slightly. Before Wato can open her mouth, she asks her a small question, “The Mizunos don’t have any children, right?”

“Huh? No, they don’t. Dr. Mizuno always wanted one, but apparently Akiko doesn’t like children.”

As she replies, she sees Sherlock’s eyes flash. Her lips purse. Then they curl ever so slightly into a tiny smile. Her expression is full of confidence, as if she’s sure she has everything now.

She has connected all the dots.

Yes. Sherlock has definitely seen through it all. Even the things Wato still cannot see, completing the whole picture.

A mysterious premonition and a vague feeling of dread well up inside her and she takes a shallow breath. Sherlock laughs. As if she has just won. With that victorious tone, she points sharply at Reimon and says, “Inspector. There’s something I want you to look into. About that incident ten years ago -”

“Oh my.”

Night falls on the residential area. The children’s voices she had heard at noon are gone, and the complete lack of people gives the surroundings a feeling of emptiness. Standing in front of the small house, Wato bows her head. Looking down, she hears Sherlock ring the doorbell without hesitation, the door opening, and Akiko speak to them with a confused tone.

“Ms. Tachibana, and...the detective from back then? What is it? Could it be, has the culprit -”

Sherlock pushes Akiko inside and steps through the entrance. Akiko throws a perplexed glance at Wato, but Wato does not know what to do. They both enter. She can only stare at the figures of Akiko and Sherlock who urges her inside.

“Wait a minute!”

“The culprit is you,” she says bluntly. She grabs Akiko’s shoulder and smiles triumphantly.

“...What’s the meaning of this?”

Akiko looks at Wato, but when she realizes she’s won’t give her an answer, she turns back to Sherlock. She takes a breath and replies calmly, “I’m not quite sure I understand. At any rate, I suppose I need to hear what you have to say. Please, come on up -”

Akiko shows them in looking composed, but Sherlock does not take her eyes off of her. She kicks off her high heels and enters. Wato follows them, silent as a rock. Once they reach the living room, Sherlock does not wait for Akiko to turn to look at her and says, “Ten years ago, a man murdered a six year old girl in Kanagawa Prefecture. He had a psychotic break caused by a drug overdose.”

Sherlock thrusts a piece of paper at Akiko. Daytime crime: 6 year old girl stabbed. The article on Makishima’s random attack on a bystander. Even looking at the article, Akiko’s countenance does not change. She just stares at the words, terrifyingly calm. Yes. She stands so still, not even moving a single eyebrow, it is scary. Sherlock pushes down the unmoving Akiko and makes her sit on her sofa.

Crouching down to see her face to face, she continues mercilessly, “The man’s name was Youhei Makishima. He had just been released from the rehab clinic two months before this crime. The girl’s name was Airi Oomura. She was the daughter of a single mother - you.”

Wato looks away. She could not bear to look at Akiko’s reaction to hearing her child’s name. The little girl who had gone shopping with her mother. For a moment, for just a single moment, she had been separated from her mother. Getting distracted by the capsule machines she had stopped in front of them. She had called to her mother. Hey, Mama. I wanna try this. The girl didn’t turn to look behind her. She did not have the opportunity to look at the person that had approached her from behind.

“After that, you got a new job and moved to Tokyo. You met Dr. Mizuno and got married. From then on you lived a quiet life, but this changed when you heard Makishima had been released from prison.”

Her words flow ceaselessly. Wato raises her head. Akiko does not move. Neither anger or sadness appear on her face. There is only an undying flame smouldering in her eyes. Akiko is remembering. She remembers what happened right in front of her eyes and she just clenches her jaw closed.

Makishima laughing rowdily. Kuuya, you know of a part-time job? Do DJs eat? Hook me up with a job that gets me easy money, man - Had she gone to observe the establishment? Had she wanted to see if Makishima showed even a single sign of remorse? Hearing Makishima’s disgusting laughter, something breaks free from inside Akiko. That man. Those men. Rehab - as if. If only -

“You would manipulate a drug addict into killing Makishima. You believed that this was the only way to avenge your beloved daughter.”

Akiko’s hand inches towards her chest, and she bends her fingers slightly. Sherlock’s words do not stop.

“You used Kuuya’s name to acquire the digital pills and modified them. You designed it to be operated remotely, and so perfected the Devil’s Foot. However Dr. Mizuno noticed the sudden movement of funds and confronted you.”

Wato lowers her head again. How might the gentle Dr. Mizuno have questioned Akiko? With what suspicion, with which words did he accuse Akiko? As she had not been involved, Wato could not know, but she can say one thing with certainty. Akiko had perceived her husband as an enemy. She had decided she had to remove anything that might hinder her plan. And so.

“At a loss of how to respond, on the next morning, you told him you had a medicine for a chronic disease of his or something along those lines, got him to take the Devil’s Foot, and used the remote operator to kill him. After that you easily got rid of Kurimoto, who didn’t want to follow your orders. This time, you coerced Kuuya, a member of the same rehab clinic, into attacking Makishima.”

Akiko says nothing and continues clutching her chest. She had killed her husband. She had killed a completely unrelated man. Only because they were hindering her plans.

“...Is there anything you want to say now?”

Akiko finally looks up. Looking at Sherlock’s face, which had drawn near her, she mutters without trembling, “Do you have any evidence?”

“The letter of complaint the man in charge of the clinic gave us.”

“And that is...?”

Sherlock pulls out a white envelope and points at the stamp pasted on the front.

This is a special issue stamp that was sold two years ago. 20 stamps make up a single design. And so -”

Looking away suddenly, Wato feels the smallest hint of hesitation. She thinks of Akiko’s face. Of Mizuno’s face. Of the murdered little girl. Shaking it off, she pulls the bundle of letters from her bag. The 19 letters Mizuno had sent Wato. Sherlock takes them and almost like a deck of cards, she shoves one by one into Akiko’s face.

“The stamps Dr. Mizuno used to send his letters to this one over here all make a single pattern. This one. And this one. And this one and this one and this one - and then, the last one was -”

She places the envelope with the letter of complaint with the one’s Mizuno had sent Wato. The image of a flowering plum branch is clearly and beautifully completed.

“We’ll probably find your fingerprints on the stamp. The police is already looking to verify you were the one to invest on Poldhu. Did you even put any effort in getting away?”

Akiko stares at Sherlock, white as a sheet. Suddenly, her mouth curls into a smile.

“Someone has to exterminate the vermin, you know.”

“So? You decided to stomp them dead with the Devil’s Foot?”

Sherlock snorts and places her feet on Akiko’s sofa. As she pushes her feet off, Akiko replies with a shaky voice, “Aren’t you the devil?”

“Yes, possibly. But you are the one who took as her duty to exterminate the vermin. But if you think about it, there’s no one on earth conceited enough to consider killing someone their duty.”

Sherlock stands up. Akiko jumps to her feet as well. Her whole body trembles. Seeing her eyes swim with unshed tears, Wato feels an indescribable pain in her chest.

“Well...Well, who would? Who would kill him for me? People won’t shut up about the perpetrator’s human rights and rehab! But they don’t do anything for the victims. Will someone give her back to me? I want Airi. Airi. Hey!”

Her voice breaks. Her face contorts with the volume of her voice and Sherlock cradles her head with her hands, covering her ears. Akiko does not stop. Screaming senselessly she weeps, takes a wavering breath, and crumbles to the ground. She succumbs to deep grief. To pain. Her heart is broken. Wato feels shock overtake her. Hearing Akiko’s wailing voice makes something deep inside herself tremble. Without thinking, she rushes over to her.

“Akiko! Are you okay? Is your chest -”

“Her chest doesn’t hurt.”

“Huh?”

At Sherlock’s sharp voice, Wato raises her head. Akiko is once again clutching her chest. As if there is something important, something irreplaceable buried there.

“You are touching something through your clothes.”

Akiko pulls out a locket from underneath her shirt’s loose collar. With thin, weak fingers, she opens the lid. A beautifully braided lock of hair. Completely undamaged and unblemished - a child’s lock of hair.

“Mourning jewelry. They were used in Europe during the 17th century. They put a lock of hair of a deceased loved one inside and wore it as a charm,” Sherlock explains.

Akiko’s whole body shakes. Tears stream down her cheeks. She gently traces the braided hair inside her locket. Countless, countless times. As if stroking her beloved child’s head, telling her what a good girl she is.

“Such pretty hair right? Airi loved it when I did it for her. I braided it a lot. Look. We twist it like this and...there you go.”

Wato’s chest tightens. Akiko’s voice was the gentle one reserved for children. Her hands were experienced. The Akiko from back then had laughed warmly, from the bottom of her heart. It was nothing if not a mother’s face.

“She was so soft, so cute - she was my everything. My everything. That’s -”

She pauses with a sigh. Wato clenches her hand into a fist. She barely stops herself from shaking. Holding back the feelings welling up inside of her, she speaks with conviction.

“I’m sure Airi must have loved seeing her mother smile. So...I think that she wouldn’t want to see her mother make - make an angry face because of...the grudge she was holding against someone, right?”

What could she say? To Akiko, to her daughter that she adored more than life itself? What could she say that would serve as consolation? She doesn’t know. But even so - For what was left behind for Akiko - to help her -

Akiko looks up, her eyes dazed. Her face is pale and frighteningly blank.

“Yes...yes, that’s right. I’m sorry, Airi. Mommy won’t make that sort of face again.”

Akiko grasps her locket again and starts walking unsteadily. She gropes for the smartphone she had left on the table. The phone case’s ornaments shine briefly, reflecting the light. With no hesitation, she taps screen with her finger, and then -

“She took the pill!”

Sherlock yells. For just a single instant, Wato sees a flash of relief on Akiko’s face. As if in slow motion, Wato sees Sherlock jump to Akiko. Thump! sounds a muffled explosion and Akiko’s body convulses. She collapses. Her forehead slams against the floor. Unable to even scream, Wato stands frozen in place. In shock, she didn’t even notice herself crying out, “Akiko...Akiko! Akiko!”

From far, far away, Wato sees Sherlock. Already too late, she jumps to the body and asks angrily, “Tell me! Who’s working behind the scenes? Who’s pulling the strings? Tell me! Hey!”

Sherlock shakes Akiko’s shoulders. Countless, countless times. Until Akiko’s hand resting on her chest falls to the ground, lifeless.

The police car’s beacons shine intermittently. A body is carried away on a stretcher. Wato wonders how many times in the last dozen hours she has seen policemen milling about hurriedly and lets out a sigh. Nearby, she sees the light on Akiko’s front door flicker dimly. Sherlock stands with her hands buried in her coat pockets, deep in thought.

...This is not over. There is no way Akiko could have carried out this plan all on her own. I want you to look into who was behind it all.

When Reimon had approached the two of them to express his gratitude, Sherlock had told him that. He had only replied that he understood, and would take it up to his superiors. Watching him take command of the crime scene, Wato is invaded by a strange thought. Even though he doesn’t seem to feel like it, when push comes to shove he can look quite capable - that is Reimon. Reminiscent of an angry dog, and yet possessing a steadfast gaze - the detective, Shibata. And then - Logical. Fastidious. Unable to read the mood. Self-important. Critical of others’ clothing. And yet. And yet, she is a woman who investigates the truth and declares that there is no one on earth conceited enough to consider killing someone their duty. Sherlock. A baffling and mysterious person. But Wato is sure that her eyes look just like hers had once looked.

“...Hey,” Wato murmurs. Sherlock’s eyes turn to her and she continues. “Why are you called Sherlock?”

She immediately turns away, her already pursed lips further tightening. Walking a step closer, Wato says with a steady voice, “Tell me. I want to know about you.”

There is still no response. Anything is fine, Wato is about to say, just a yes or a no, but before she does, she notices someone approaching them and swallows her words.

“Ah, well -”

Standing next to a police car, a man smiles at them. It is Sherlock’s brother, Kento Futaba.

“Hello, Ms. Wato...wasn’t it? I apologize for my sister dragging you into this situation.”

He bows his head slightly, catching Wato by surprise. She had ended up running around everywhere with Sherlock, but not once had she felt annoyed by it.

“Not at all. I did say I wanted to come along...”

“Are you also okay then? Hm?”

Even with her brother addressing her, Sherlock only shrugs her shoulders. Seeing his sister’s actions, Kento chuckles.

“Well, it certainly was a problematic case, but doing your investigation with a friend isn’t bad at all. Right?”

“She’s not my friend.”

“I don’t think I remember us becoming friends.”

Sherlock replies immediately and Wato shakes her head. She certainly cannot recall becoming friends with such a mind-boggling person, and this will definitely not change in the future. Looking at the both of them as if he found them quite amusing, Kento lets out a hearty laugh. Abruptly, his expression changes and he continues, “By the way, it might be a bit much to ask, but what do you plan to do now?”

Sherlock raises her eyebrow at her brother’s words. Seeing the siblings look at each other, Wato replies, “I haven’t decided anything yet. I’ll think about it when I get back to my hotel.”

“You’re staying at the New Kamata in Oota City, right? I heard from my sister. Well, uh, I am extremely sorry but -”

“Huh…?”

“Of course, you didn’t have time to watch the news. There was a fire this evening.”

“What?!” Wato exclaims. Instinctively she turns to Sherlock, who is standing beside her. Sherlock, looks back at her as if to say, what are you looking at me for, and ducks her head, flustered. What an unexpectedly human reaction.

“There hasn’t been any casualties, but no one can enter the building. It is completely destroyed.”

“That - that’s not...”

“And on that note...”

Nimbly, he ducks behind Sherlock. Even as his sister scowls in puzzlement at him, he pays her no mind. He prods her back, and with a tone of voice that almost sounded as if he was pushing a kitten into her arms, he says, “How would you like to move in with my sister? How about it? Hm? It would also give me peace of mind.”

“Hm?!”

Kento pushes his reluctant sister forward. With one final shove, he closes the distance between them to the point that Sherlock and Wato’s bodies touch. She stares intently at Wato with wide eyes. Wato stutters and looks at Kento, asking for help, but he just gives her a satisfied smile.

“I leave Sherlock in your care, Ms. Wato.”

Wato returns her gaze to the front. A scarily composed face looks at her from close proximity. After what feels like an eternally long moment, her mouth twists into an insolent smile and her slender hand grasps Wato’s fingers tightly.

“Do as you like. But I’ll definitely make you regret staying with me.”

Without letting go of her hand, Sherlock walks away briskly. Trying not to trip, Wato frantically tries to match her pace. This woman...logic and reasoning incarnate, with thoughtless mannerisms and characteristics that were actually quite human, what could Sherlock actually want from her? Would she be worked to the bone like Shibata? Or would perhaps an even more horrible situation be forced upon them again? It seems like things will become quite lively from now on. To the point that she would be able to forget everything - The streets glow lightly. As if mysteriously guiding the two of them forward.

Notes

‘Even if it was someone who could handle anything else.’: The original sentence was “たとえ海千山千の男であろうとも” which means something along the lines of ‘even if it was a man of a thousand seas and a thousand mountains,‘ which I found out is a four-character idiomatic phrase probably derived from Chinese literature. What this means, in the end, is that even someone with lots of experience would still not be able to escape Sherlock.

Poldhu: Again, a reference to The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot.

‘This will surely leave lots of implications’: I got the feeling that Wato thought ‘Damn, if I leave know, I’ll surely give them a very bad impression/they’ll lump me together with her...naw you know what forget it I gotta follow this infuriatingly attractive woman bye.‘

Broadmoor: A psychiatric hospital in England, mentioned in this Sherlock Holmes short story.

‘Stomp them dead with the Devil’s Foot.’: Not my own pun, unfortunately. Unlike the name of the pill, Sherlock says 悪魔の足 (devil’s foot in Japanese), saying that a) Akiko killed her victims with the Devil’s Foot, and b) she herself is the devil who personally stomped them dead. Coincidentally, this is the name of The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot in Japanese.

‘Mind-boggling person‘: The word used was すさまじい, which can apparently be negative, like dreadful or awful, or positive, like terrific or amazing, which suits Wato’s impression of Sherlock perfectly.

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#miss sherlock #miss sherlock novel #i learned many new words and funfacts #also the novel makes kento look even more suspicious than in the show of setting wato's hotel on fire #best onii-chan 2k18 #glue translates

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