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#maybe I need to put MAG down for a few weeks again

thus-spoke-lo · 10 months

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cw: nsfw/18+; gn!reader; masturbation (character)

Watched ep 784 of OP last night, and there’s a part where Chopper has to go in Sanji’s locker to grab a notebook/cookbook and when he does, a comically large amount of what we’re to assume are girlie mags/porn mags fall out of the locker, and now I just have this thought it my head of like.

Sneaking in to grab a cookbook because Sanji’s not around and you really want to try making that curry he cooked last week, just to prove you can do it. And when you do, a heap of porn magazines and racy romance books fall out. And you’re nosy of course, wanting to know what kind of taste he has, getting just the slightest bit heated as you wonder what it is that turns him on. You start to flip through a few pages and notice the most…well-worn ones all have models that look an awful lot like you in one way or another. You can’t help but keep glancing through every one and observe the exact same thing—it’s clear he has a type, and that type is you.

You carefully put everything back in his locker, too flustered and too much blood rushing to your lower half to even remember why you even went in there in the first place. You walk back out onto the deck on shaking legs and brace yourself on the railing, staring out at the horizon and trying to calm your racing heart. You’re plagued with thoughts of Sanji in his bunk, opening a page of a magazine to your doppelgänger and instantly hissing through his teeth at the sight. He can’t take his eyes off the page as he strokes his cock, fast and eager, muttering your name over and over under his breath, mumbling how badly he wants to cum for you, how he needs you, how he wishes you were there with him—

“My sweet, are you alright? You look shaken.”

Your stomach flips and your heart creeps into your throat at the low, smooth voice and the soft hand gripping your shoulder.

“Sanji, I thought you were out,” you manage to say, refusing to turn and meet his gaze.

“I got back early and thought I’d start dinner.” His body is so warm as his fingers start to trail down your arm. “Would you like to help me?”

You can’t be alone with him—not right now, now when it’s all still so fresh in your mind, and you’re body is thrumming and you have such an urge to kiss him and tell him he can have the real thing if only he’d say so.

“I—I don’t think so. I have other things I have to do,” you quickly and unconvincingly blurt out, hoping it’s enough to get him to leave you alone with your thoughts for a while.

“Hm, that’s too bad, my darling, but if you say so.”

His hand trails down your forearm and he starts to walk away, but pauses, and you hear him take a long, deep breath that sounds almost as shaky as your own before he approaches you again, this time with both hands on your shoulders and his body pressed against your back.

“Just so you know, you left my locker open, my sweet little pervert,” he whispers in your ear, his voice suddenly dripping with lust. “Maybe you’d rather join my in my bunk than in the kitchen?”

#lo writes #sanji x reader

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weskin-time · 2 years

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Rest

Captain John Price x GN!Reader

youre a prideful idiot who wont take a break even when their body is screaming at them to heal and rest, and Price humbles you.

not beta read

i know more about the air force than i know about the army. i used to be in ROTC so i have very faint ideas on how the military works im also still loopy on pain meds so i apologize for any mistakes this also just fuckin sucks ass im sorry.

I took the saying "fuck the military" too literally and now im writing fics for old british army men

You were the definition of exhausted. For three weeks you were deployed out to a frigid Russian forest trying to find the location of some worthless man. You were sent out with a team of men to lead this mission, you knew you could handle it, you knew Gaz and the other men who came with you could handle it, but no one can handle Russian winters better than Russians.

It had been a useless hunt at first, slow and steady making your way through bases and killing dozens of men before you got intel on where the man you were looking for was hiding. After three weeks in Russia, you finally arrived back home with new intel and the man in question captured.

Your bones ached with chill that never left you, as if the snow had sunk itself into your flesh and kissed your bones, your fingers ached the most, even through heavy gloves you could never shake the numbing chill. Your body felt heavy as if your collar bones weighed 40 pounds, every breath you took was deep and sore, you legs were made of lead as you limped from the helicopter pads to the weapons bay. Your eyes strained in the darkness of the night and you tried your hardest to not close them as you walked the path. You didn't have time to sleep or rest you had to clear and turn in your guns before even thinking of rest, you had paperwork to fill out, reports needed to be made to be processed, a meeting with Captain Price and Laswell needed to be scheduled, you didnt even want to think about the paper work you needed to fill out for capturing a man, and you told Gaz you would take his weapons to the bay to clear them for him so he could get some much needed rest. He looked the worst out of the two of you and you couldn't just not help him and his puppy dog eyes, the two of you were very close even though you were a higher rank than him, which he hated the hell of and you teased him for it.

You did sustain a few injuries over the three weeks, sprained left ankle, you were stabbed in the same leg in the thigh, and a bunch more cuts and bruises but those were minor, Gaz helped you patch up your stab wound as you tried not to punch him out of reflex when he got out a needle and thread. Gaz took a few scrapes here and there but he mostly was just exhausted from the cold, probably more than you were, or maybe he flashed you his puppy dog eyes knowing your heart couldn't say no to him, either way he was probably already resting up in his warm bed trying to sleep away the cold ache.

You noticed you were slightly swaying when you entered the weapons bay, your limp wasn't the only thing causing it, you were exhausted, but there was no time to rest. Not surprising that the bay was empty, it was almost 1am and almost everyone from your squad was sound asleep in their beds, lucky them. You didnt know or care at the moment with what they do with the Russian captive, youll figure it out after the meeting with Price and Laswell.

Setting down Gaz's sniper you began to de-arm yourself taking the M17 from your thigh holster and the M4 off you back, unloading the clips and mags from them and began to take them apart for cleaning. Cleaning guns was always fun for you, taking them apart and putting them back together, the little clicks and sounds they made were satisfying. Your eyelids felt more like lead as you took apart the pistol, you swear you blinked for a second and when you opened them back up again your head was almost on the table, you knew you were tired but you didnt think you were that tired. You exhaled and scrunched your eyes closed before opening them wide as if that would help you. Youre so sore you can feel the muscles in your shoulders straining as you picked up Gaz's rifle and began to clear that. There was no time to sleep you needed to get so many things done before you even had the idea of resting, you wondered if Ghost ever got this way and you wondered what could keep him up for so long and maybe you could pull the answer out of him.

"Master Sargent Y/L/N!" Rang a deep British voice, husky like whiskey and cigar smoke, Captain Price has entered the building.

You stood up fast from where you were sitting, shooting up straight and turning around as you stood at attention and saluted your commanding officer, the little surprise woke you up enough to jolt you fast enough. You took him in as he walked to you, why the fuck was he still wearing that dumb bucket hat at 1am? He was without his gear, just wearing an army green tight cotton shirt that was tucked into his light sand camo cargo pants and held up with a belt. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes straight ahead of you at attention but it was very hard not to stare at the way the shirt hugged him way too well. It was still loose enough to leave some idea of what was underneath to your imagination but tight enough to shift and move over his muscles as he walked to you. Gaz and you one time joked that he looked like a cranberry farmer or a dad who got into fishing after retiring with that bucket hat on his head. He was in his late 30s but you swear he was one of the most attractive men you've ever seen in your life, even his weird beard was hot on him.

"At ease kid." He stood next to you and watched you slightly relax out of attention and sit back down to work on the guns again.

"What're you doing up this late Captain?" you asked him as you began to finish up Gaz's gun to avoid his blue stare.

"Just got done talking to Gaz about your mission, wanted to check in to see how things went with you." you were grateful you could have a small debriefing now to get one thing out of the way before you had to work on the rest of everything else. He placed a large hand on your shoulder, putting some weight on your sore body and asked about the mission to which you tried your hardest not to slur your words in a sleepy haze as you gave a simple report of everything, keeping in the story of your injuries and how you got them.

His hand was so big his palm alone covered your shoulder by itself and they were so warm too, it almost unfroze your aching bones just by his touch alone, and the warmth lightly spread to your face, which tickled your eyes making them even more sleepy. You wondered why he put it there in the first place and why he was slightly leaning on you.

"I wanted to have a small word with you." he announced after you finished up the short debrief. your interest was peaked quickly at his words and you sheepishly looked up at him in confusion. He took a small breath in before sighing, "I'm putting you on leave Sargent."

That peaked something that wasn't pleasant in you. Call yourself stubborn because you instantly began to drag your heels into the conversation, "Price I cant go on leave!"

"Just for a week at most y/n." His voice was that of a parent telling their child that they couldn't get Maccas on the way home.

"I have so much I have to do, I cant just sit on my ass while everyone else gets on with it." You argued although your brain was a tad fuzzy from how his hand was on you and the lack of sleep so your arguing wasn't very good in the slightest.

"You're exhausted, I can see it in your eyes kid-"

You cut him off, "Im not-"

"Let me finish solider."

You fell quiet.

"You do this every time you get back from a mission that you're commanding." He explained. "You get back on base and while everyone else takes a few days off to heal and rest you run around like a bloody chicken with its head cut off trying to get work done. I'm helping you out here y/n."

Your ego didn't like that. "Sir I'm fine, I'll get sleep tonight and I'll be chipper by morning, good as new." You tried to be polite with your arguing back.

"And what? Walk around on that healing leg of yours?" His eyes flicked to your left thigh before meeting your eyes again. "I saw you limping when you got off the helo. I think you're the first solider that's fought with me about getting a break."

"I'm alright Captain, really, I'll just finish up here then go to bed and I'll be back to myself in no time tomorrow and get all the reports and paper work ready and done." If you weren't so sluggish you would have felt more anger bubbling in your throat then the little spark that you felt now. Your words were slurring slightly and you knew deep down he was right but you didn't want to hurt your pride and admit it.

"Stand up." He ordered.

Confused you tried to push your body up but was completely halted by his hand on your shoulder. He wasn't even leaning his full weight onto you and your thighs shook at you trying to stand up against him, this should have been easy but it felt like your body was shutting down, you were being provided proof in what he was saying was true and even then you still tried to fight it, but nothing came of it. Were you really that weak? You weren't weak. This should be nothing compared to what you can do normally and yet you felt a sting on your ego. Your whole body protested trying to get up again.

You hung your head in a sign as you stopped trying. A very very tired part of your brain popped up with the thought of liking this weird imbalance of power being displayed, it liked the way he looked when you had to crane your sore neck up to see him, loved the way his eyes felt as they looked down upon you. You need to shut that part of your brain off before you eat your own shoes.

"It's an order Sargent." his voice was firm.

Some dumb part of you had one weak last attempt at an argument in you as you slurred, "I'm not even that tired." and as soon as it left your mouth you cringed at how fucking stupid you sounded.

"Oh come on that was pathetic." he was right it was a very pathetic last attempt.

Your eyes trailed up his toned arms and to his eyes, "Fine."

"Good cause you had no choice. I already had it approved." He blew out some air from his nose in a small laugh.

A break did sound nice, the thought of your shitty cot and thin blanket sounded like heaven to you, like the thought alone lifted your bones of some of the deep ache. You knew your past actions labeled you as stubborn, stubborn enough to warrant this entire situation. You probably were the only solider in the world who protested a vacation. You sighed as he removed his hand from your shoulder, the anger you once felt sloshing away down the drain as your head began a dull thrumming.

"Cant have one of my best men running around like that sweetheart." his voice was course and sent a shiver down your spine, you closed your eyes and mulled over the pet name in your head, you loved the way it made your heart flutter and your chest tighten. If only would call you soft names all the time, you dont think you could get tired of hearing him talk ever.

Your eyes opened wide when you felt a thumb and a finger pinch your chin and force you to look up, your eyes looked into his blue ones in tired confusion mixed with shock. Your face felt even warmer than before, it spread from your face down your neck and seeped into your aching bones and began to thaw them out, the warm that you so missed in those weeks settled into your flesh.

"Hey, how about i take you out tomorrow? There's this new pub Soap wants me to try and since you're not doing anything might as well come with me for a drink or two."

You have to be so very tired with how long it took to register in your mind that your captain was asking you out on a fucking date. You just sat there for a second in shock before your brain caught up to your ears and sent your heart into overdrive. You were defiantly not tired anymore.

"I-, wha- uh, yea sure! i mean." You were so flustered that you fumbled over your words which made you even more flustered. "Yea I would love that, it would be fun Price." you coughed out finally.

"Good. I'll come by your flat in the afternoon." He leaned down to you and he pulled you closer to him by your chin. "Now please go get some sleep, kid. Youll need it for tomorrow sweetheart." and placed a kiss to your forehead before turning away and leaving you as if he didnt just ask you on a date, call you pet names, and kiss your forehead. His beard was scratchy and the skin still tickled after he departed but it felt nice, comforting. You totally didnt stare at his ass as he walked away and left the weapons bay. How the fuck are you going to be able to sleep now??

#tezi post #call of duty modern warefare #modern warefare 2 #captain john price #captain price #john price headcanons #captain john price x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #mw2 headcanons #cod imagine #mw2 imagine

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gust-jar-simulator · 9 months

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I have no idea if anyone is paying attention to my random unhinged WIP posts, but if I don’t talk about Penumbra I’ll implode. So.

I’ll probably end up completely overhauling this scene, so you guys can have a treat and see the experimental process in action.

_⛰️🧚🏻‍♀️🌸🧚🏻‍♀️⛰️_

None of them had ever signed up to keep a hostage in their camp, not really. The mission wasn’t built for it, their routines weren’t built for it- but Legend was gone, traded away in a faery game, and fair was fair was fair.

The shadow, Vio, had stopped being a shadow sometime around the second day. It’d been hard to get a straight answer out of them, but they’d told Time something about “wanting to be approachable” with that sly, inscrutable smile, white-blond hair dripping past bright blue eyes. The moss up his neck and cheek was gone, tunic brightening to a vivid, uncanny purple that brought out the dark lines of his veins.

He looked… Hylian. Too Hylian. Between Hyrule and Time pooling their limited knowledge, they’d all assumed that shadows came from them somehow, designed to mimic their target Link for one reason or another. Their nemesis for this trip looked like a teenage Time, but none of them recognized the boy tied to a tree at the edge of camp. Maybe he was just a creation of Dark’s.

His name was Vio, and he had a bit too much life in him for a puppet. Couplets, quips, layers within layers, riddles within rhymes. They’d resorted to letting Time and Wild lead the interrogation mostly because they were the only ones who could make sense of most of it.

By the second week, despite regular food and drink and even keeping him out of the sun, something was going incredibly wrong with him. He wilted in his binds more like a dead flower than a person, and whatever glamor he was using had faded in nasty grey blotches, hair hanging limp and hiding his face, the reedy struggle of his breath.

Wild scrambled over with a bowl, ignoring the way the others pretended they weren’t actively staring, and clicked his tongue the way he’d greet a Korok, twisted over to try to see his face. “Morning…?”

The reedy, vaguely raspy breath stopped, then started again, and Vio gave his best mysterious hum. “Good morning. Lovely weather today.”

Was that a barbed comment about the sun? Even he had a hard time telling, sometimes. Still, he untied one of the shadow’s hands to press a bowl into it, and felt a chill when their hand just dropped instead of holding on. Vio took a long, slow moment, and then remembered the bowl existed, accepting it and resting it on their knee with the kind of ease that implied it was a choice, thank you, and his arms weren’t at all shaking.

“Is it too bright?” Wild sat back on his heels, cocked his head like a wolf. Grey patches drifted over the back of Vio’s hand like smoke, the veins at the base of his throat stark against pallid skin. “We’ve got blankets.”

“No.” Vio picked up the bowl, slowly, seemed to reconsider, and put it back down. “I appreciate it, but no.” A pause, lingering, rolling a thought behind his teeth for a long moment. “If… it’s not too much trouble, for the next few days, I might need to drink soup from a flask. My body isn’t quite. Cooperating.”

Wild fell from his crouch onto his ass, blinked, and immediately swiveled towards Hyrule across the camp. The healer was already zipping over, allegiances be damned, to crouch by their captive and brush his hair out of his face. “Look at me please.”

Vio actually cringed. “That’s really-“

“Look at me.”

Vio looked at him.

Sucking in a breath, Wild did his best to stay out of Hyrule’s light while also getting a good look at the shadow’s eyes, which were a mottled patchwork of blue and purple, pupils blown out and discolored patches of lichen crawling up one cheek. Following it down, there were bits of leaf and vine tangling around his legs, a tree root starting to curl over one ankle. They’d only been there a day.

“It…. looks like magic exhaustion,” Hyrule said uncertainly, shadow’s chin propped up in one hand, “but you feel full up. You don’t have any injuries, no sunburns, nothing.”

Vio shrugged a shoulder, letting himself be manhandled. “I am full up, there’s nothing for you to fix. Wild is a very accomplished cook.”

The compliment would have landed better if Vio didn’t still look like death warmed over. The young man’s lips thinned a little, and he tried to lean away. “Stop touching me, please. I’ll be a bit ill for a few days, but nothing terrible should happen.”

“I don’t like should,” Hyrule said firmly, but he let go and backed up a little to give Vio some space. “Ill with what? Are you allergic to something?”

The laughter took them all by surprise, low and warm and entirely unusual, chuckles rocking Vio’s shoulders like a coughing fit. It took him a minute to drag himself together, grinning with teeth that couldn’t decide if they were fangs or not. “Allergic?” He seemed delighted by the concept. “I haven’t eaten in a couple thousand years, imagine being allergic to something. I wonder if sunlight counts… are we still allergic to cats? Is a millennia enough time to develop lactose intolerance? Dark is such a bastard for not letting me-“ He cut himself off, dragging his mind back from miles away, and tried to play off the sudden manic fit. “I will be fine, thank you. It’s only withdrawals.”

#my writing #vio link #lu wild #lu hyrule

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writelary · 2 years

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Agreements and Arrangements

Agreements and Arrangements Features: Magdalene, Pixie, Pomona Universe: Pokemon Redeux

It begins with a rattling noise on their dresser—scuttling metal and plastic hitting the old wooden top. Fingers to facial features, Pixie pulls on flesh and tries to dig trenches with tips along forehead. Cracking their jaw, they roll towards the nose, squinting in the marmalade warmth of sunlight streaking in.

Hand lurches forward, wraps about the buzzing nuisance—

Fingerprint smeared screen reads “unknown number”

Huh.

It’d been a beat since Starling had been in touch (maybe new phone while on the road?). Holding the phone aloft, they consider it, and then finger slides over the answer in quick motion.

“Mornin’?”

A warm hum, and then a lilting voice follows. “Good morning, my sweet thing.”

Feet hit the ground, shoulders rolling back as Pixie takes in the moment, before swallowing with a mouth and throat dry after sleep too long. “Magdalene—oh, hey. Uh—what’s up?”

“It has been a proper time since you have come by, and I can only hope that means your facial features are still attached.” Laughter is a dancing noise on the other side of the line before Magdalene continues. “Either way, it will not be held against you in a court of law. Pomona asked me to call you, because she would like to invite you to brunch, and Ronald was kind enough to offer your number.”

“Oh—uh, yeah, sorry. Got caught up the last few weeks. Brunch—“

“Should be asked by Pomona herself, give me a moment. Poms, darling—yes, Pixie is on the line, come here. If you wish to ask—“ There is a shuffling noise on the other side, thudding and then—

“Hi!”

“Ah, hey, kid.”

“So! I want to invite you to brunch, you can’t say no (there is a “they can say no, Pomona” that floats in the background), and it is in two hours at our apartment, and you have to come! I’m making the pancakes, and they’re really good. I put everything on them.”

“R-right, that sounds great, kid.” Hand under chin, Pixie cannot help feel the pull of their cheeks into a curve of a smile. “Sure, I’ll be there at eleven.”

“Awesome! Mom’s giving me the eye—so um, see you then!”

The shuffling of hands and soft vocalizations echo with static until Magdalene’s voice returns. “I apologize for Pomona’s insistence, but I must echo it. It would be lovely to see you. Make sure that black eye of yours from that thrilling fight of yours that she saw has now properly healed over—“

“Listen, Mags.”

“As I said, Pixie—apologies and explanations are not needed, I am going to be glad to see you.”

Lips twitch as elbows hit knees, Pixie staring at their feet on the old, barely finished floors of their apartment. “Yeah, right. It’ll be good to see both of you again too.”

“Until then.”

“Until then, sure—“ The phone holds no more sound, and eyes wander over the sleek screen and the imprints like a crime scene. “Hm.”

Two weeks does not wipe out the past year of wandering down to Autumnal Avenue; though, entering through the backdoor was a new development. Feet thudding along the backstairs, Pixie makes their way to the Strange’s apartment with a practiced, put-on ease. Leather jacket, loose button-up, denim pants—they cut an image of some lost era’s idea of cool.

Knuckles to darkly varnished door—it takes one rap before the wood is thrown open with a flourish.

Wild crimson hair, freckles, and a wide smile showing all of her teeth, Pomona stands before them. “Hi Pixie!”

“Hey kid—did you grow another inch in the last two weeks?”

Stretched out tall with the comment, Pomona’s grin grows in vibrancy. “You should hope not! I’ll overtake you in the next few weeks then.”

“Fair enough.” Stepping into the entrance, Pixie peels off their jacket after a moment of consideration, draping it over a coat hook. “So, are you making the pancakes or your mom?”

“I make them—by adding everything on at the end. Anyway! I wanted to ask a favour of you.” If the wattage of her smile could be dialed up, the twelve year old had found a way to do as such.

“Ah, so this is a stick-up.”

“Yes! Pew pew—but for real.” Delicate fingers wrap about their wrist, tugging Pixie into the living room.

Magdalene’s voice reverberates from the kitchen and dining room. “Pomona—has Pixie arrived?”

“Yeah, mom! They’ll be in in a moment, I’m taking their coat—anyway.” Grabbing a piece of paper from the coffee table, Pomona turns full on Pixie. Paper is thrust upon them. “I want you to do this.”

“What—triathlon? Take you to it? Can’t your mom do that, kid?”

“No! I want you to compete. Mom said I can’t, and I still owe Ronnie money from an IOU… So you have to! Then mom and I can go and watch you.”

Paper loosely held between rough fingers, Pixie looks over the ink once, twice, and then sighs. “I—“

Wide eyes well at the potential of a negative, hands clasping together. “Please!! Please. Come on, Pixie—it’ll be fun.”

“… Arceus, you’re evil.”

The voice from the other room suddenly is louder and directly behind them, Magdalene’s shadow draping over Pixie. “She gets it from her mother; though, I think you would have learned well enough, darling—you should sweeten others up before asking things of them. Pancakes are done by the by.”

Long fingers land on Pixie’s shoulder, wafts of pale once-golden hair brushing their cheek as Magdalene leans down to press a kiss to their cheek. “It is good to see you.”

“You’re training a racketeer, Mags.”

“Oh darling, don’t I know it. Put down the paper, and come along—brunch.”

Sugar and spice and whipped cream and maple syrup and some candies that Pixie does not recognize—everything nice and not so nice makes it onto Pomona’s pancakes—

And it is in the end of a fog of sugar and laughter that Pixie finds themselves ending the meal with: “Sure kid, I’ll do the triathlon, why not.”

#pokemon redeux //#pixie styx //#pomona strange //#magdalene strange //

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doctorweebmd · 3 months

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ok i'm going to complain about this on here since otherwise its going to come out in a drunken rant when i go to vegas in two weeks

to be fair, its ALSO probably gonna come out then. whatever.

like i'm thinking a lot about this code on Monday night and whether I did the right thing and what i could have or should have done better. I mean, the patient survived, and his brain seems to be fully intact (which, after 3 codes is... impressive. although all of them were <3 minutes at a time) like, ok. bradycardic arrest after getting am infected pacemaker out. comes back. totally fine. i walk away to check on RRT a few doors down.

as i'm checking on that person, he re-codes. same thing, bradycardic arrest into PEA. i say, ok. time to intubate. RRT nurse at the RRT a few doors down, so not with me. nurses that ARE there are clearly inexperienced. i think about 50% of them are trainees. don't know anything about the patient. tried to give meds incorrectly. don't even know what some code meds are. no one is giving me callback so i dont know what meds are going in. one of the nurses doesn't know how to work the defibrillator so they set it to 120J at 120 bpm. What.

i'm getting a little irritated, because usually codes in this hospital aren't that messy and i shouldn't have to hand-hold on BLS CPR stuff that EVERYONE in the hospital has to be certified on and should be able to do. even volunteers. in all fairness i should have been a better leader and instantly directed people and established roles rather than expecting people to know what they were doing, but thats neither here nor there.

i intubate him. start on dopamine. externally pace. pretty sure out of everything this is an electrical problem and needs an electrical solution, although i've personally never externally paced someone before. external pacer not capturing as much as it should be, but his underlying rhythm is ok at this point on dopa and his blood pressure is solid. get him to the ICU. he codes again. ok. more pressors. more calcium and mag. labs, abg, everything totally normal. stat echo. etc etc etc. call family. not sure if he's gonna make it through the night.

and see okay i think if, under duress, i HAD to put in a transvenous pacemaker i'd be able to. i've read about it and i've seen it done maybe once or twice in residency. but at my program we have an in-house cardiology service and i've never had to deal with this issue in fellowship. and also he LITERALLY just had pacemaker wires removed. what if he had new vascular/myocardial injury and I only made things worse? plus at the hands of an inexperienced person, is it worth the risk if i could fuck things up even more? but then, if its a life or death situation, shouldn't i just go for it? should i have been more insistent and told the cards folks to come in and see the patient if i personally felt underqualified to put in temp pacer wires?

and the thing is, like, i couldn't have prevented any of the three codes, the two happening on the floor and the third in the ICU when we were still trying to stabilize and get more information, so i truly do think putting in pacer wires myself would be more risk rather than benefit when i wasn't convinced that was the right move. i THINK if he coded for a fourth time i would have been more aggressive with cardiology coming in to see him, but since he stabilized out after that, i felt like it was ok until the right people got there in the morning. (this was around 2 am, people come in around 7am) including EP and thoracic surgery. like if shit does go down and he has true myocardial injury i would hate for it to literally still just be me in house and i kill him rather than waiting a few hours.

and the reassuring thing is i've checked his chart multiple times and no one changed anything i did with his management, he did get pacer wires with EP specifically in the cath lab using resources i dont have and he didn't even go until almost 18 hours AFTER this all happened so clearly cardiology didn't feel like it was emergent or maybe they wanted ID to make a comment about it prior to placing something temporary to make sure those wires didn't get infected.

like. mentally this should be a victory for me. the patient is alive and mentating normally. i secured his airway in a floor room without issue. i started externally pacing early. started dopamine early. called cardiology right away. i personally initiated CPR the third time cracking this poor mans sternum (which urgh. not my favorite. so crunchy.) placed his lines in the fem rather than IJ with consideration of potentially needing transvenous pacer. called family in. there weren't any mistakes. so why do i feel so weird and not good about that whole situation?

#i think a major part of it is this is not something i've dealt with before #i was uncomfortable and the rest of the staff could tell that i was uncomfortable which i think lead to some not necessarily mistrust #but concern regarding what we're going to do next for the patient #like I was uncomfortable so THEY were uncomfortable #a big part of it is i'm a young woman doctor who goes by my first name and doesnt wear a white coat #when most of the people that work in this hospital and this specific group are older white men who are more traditional #and when shit is going down i think it brings comfort for people to have someone clearly 'in charge' and experienced #i'm obviously not always right. and i check how patients did and what ended up going on with them frequently to learn from my own mistakes #and frankly i've had to do A LOT of things that i've only ever read about or seen done by other people #unfortunately thats just medicine you don't see everything often enough to have had hands on experience in everything #and part of it was just like... i was sitting at this persons bedside for four hours raking my brain and looking things up #just trying to make sure i didn't miss anything #because if i make a mistake or dont catch something the patient dies. and that includes mistakes by other staff.#and i dont think a lot of other staff understand the duress of that? like i am worried and stressed about these patients.#so i get frustrated when people are super dismissive and like: why are they still full code? whats the next step? why are we doing this?#well you see i dont know whats wrong with them. i have a differential of 10 things that we're narrowing down. work with me here.#in the end its my responsibility you know?#in my defense MOST academic centers have a medical icu surgical icu cardiac icu and neuro icu #while community centers use one icu for all of the above #so i have minimal experience in the cardiac surgical neuro side of things #but also like... is that a valid excuse? if i kill someone can i just be like 'oopsie i didn't know how to do that?'#the answer is no #anyway. how did i the most anxious and self-doubting person in the world end up with this job lmao #wow apologies for the rant hopefully no one read this #but it DID make me feel better!

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

Please say more abt how Martin fits the closed off trait I'm begging 👁👁

Okay, so I got a bit carried away with this and it got quite lengthy....

I've put a TLDR above the cut and the details, transcripts, and general discussion below the cut!

TLDR: Martin is at his core a closed-off character who keeps his vulnerable feelings hidden and close to his chest. He instead focuses on caring for others and considering their feelings above his own, particularly in the case of Jon, who he cares for (sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice) throughout the podcast. His arc with the Lonely in season four and his interactions with Jon in season five demonstrate this lack of emotional vulnerability, and it's really only during the moments he spends by himself that we get significant insight into Martin's emotional state and inner thoughts.

Martin, to me, is a character who is very used to hiding how he feels. He tends to care for others at the expense of himself, has low self-esteem, and has a predilection towards the Lonely, all of which go hand-in-hand with somebody who is very used to hiding their emotions--particularly the negative ones--because they either think they're not important or that they're inconvenient and inappropriate for the situation. On a textual level, that's probably due to growing up with a sick (and likely unsupportive) mother who he had to take care of, where there was 'no time' for his emotions to get in the way or for him to prioritize himself in any way, shape, or form.

Martin is self-destructive, dislikes moments of emotional vulnerability, and (I would argue) genuinely struggles when he doesn't have somebody else to prioritize over himself. (His mother at first, but as the series goes on, Jon settles comfortably into this role for him.) Additionally, the biggest way that we, the audience, know anything about Martin's emotional state is when he's alone and self-reflecting (such as in MAG 170 and 186 or when talking to the tapes) or when he's forced to talk about something vulnerable (such as when Jon confronted him about his CV).

We don't get much insight into Martin's character between seasons one and three (at least not as much as we get in four and five), but I find myself drawn to this bit in MAG 118, when Martin is talking to Elias:

MARTIN

So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?

I think two things are important to note here. The first is that Elias is surprised (or least intrigued) that Martin is acting in this way--specifically, acting on his emotions in such a dramatic way. (And given that Martin is doing this as a distraction, rather than actually acting out because of his own emotions, maybe he's right to be surprised.) The second is that this line very much implies that Martin doesn't talk about how he's feeling, not like 'everyone else' does. He doesn't talk about it, doesn't act on it--just 'runs around, making tea.' And when Melanie comes back in after Elias is done, Martin immediately focuses on the plan and whether it succeeded, ignoring Melanie when she asks if he's okay or not. He closes himself off, and as far as we know, doesn't talk about it at all after that.

And then Jon goes into his coma, and we reach season four.

Martin is incredibly closed-off during season four. He's self-isolating, self-sacrificial, and approaching a state of genuine emotional numbness by the time he's cast into the Lonely. There's a lot to unpack there, but I'm going to focus on a few main things, many of which can be drawn from this bit in MAG 158:

MARTIN

It’s not him! It’s not anybody. It’s just me. Always has been. I…

When I first came to you, I thought I had lost everything. Jon was dead, my mother was dead, the job I had put everything into trapped me into spreading evil and I… I really didn’t care what happened to me. I told myself I was trying to protect the others, but… honestly we didn’t even like each other. Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.

And then… Jon came back, and… and suddenly I had a reason I had to keep your attention on me. Make you feel in control so you didn’t take it out on him. And if that meant drifting further away, so what? I’d already grieved for him. And if it meant now saving him, it was worth it.

When you started talking about the Extinction, though… you had me actually, then, for a while. But then – (laughs sardonically) then, you tried to make me the hero. Tried to sell me on the idea that I was the only one who could stop it. And that I’ve never sat right with me. I mean, I mean, look – look at me, I’m not exactly a – a chosen one. But by then I was in too deep. So I played along. Waited to see what your end game was, and here we are.

Funny. Looks like I was right the first time. It’s probably still a good way to get killed?

This monologue is a big insight into Martin's thought process during this season, and I'm mostly going to focus on two parts: the self-sacrifice and the prioritization of Jon.

Self-sacrifice

There's quite a bit of discussion about Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies, but less so about Martin's, both in this season and in season five. In my opinion, Jon's self-sacrificial tendencies originate from (among other things) survivor's guilt from his traumatic childhood experience with Mr. Spider, his increasing belief that he's less than human, and the fact that he prioritizes the lives of others over his own. Martin's self-sacrificial tendencies, while very similar, come from the fact that he thinks he only has worth if he can help and care for someone else and the fact that he doesn't think he's important enough to live. (For example, he says in MAG 158 that he's 'not exactly a chosen one' and says in MAG 198 that he's 'not important enough to kill.')

It's a subtle difference between these two things, and I would argue that while Jon's tendencies are more rooted in the 'help' (ie, 'I want to help other people and I will sacrifice myself to do it'), Martin's tendencies are more rooted in the 'hurt' (ie, 'I will sacrifice myself and other people will be helped in the process'). There is, of course, overlap, and it's not a black-and-white distinction between the two, but ultimately, I think Martin is so used to prioritizing others' emotions and needs above his own that when he's left mostly alone as he is at the end of season three, with the only person left to hold onto being in a coma (possibly forever), he falls back into the same patterns of self-destruction and closed-offness, only without the 'help' to go along with the 'hurt' because there is nobody left to help (especially after his mother dies). Ultimately, he joins up with Peter because he thinks it 'would be a good way to get killed.'

Prioritization of Jon

But then Jon wakes up from his coma, and now Martin has justification for his self-sacrifice again, because he can protect Jon by continuing to work with Peter!

... Maybe.

Jon isn't harmed by Peter during season four, sure, but he does climb into the coffin and visits Ny-Ålesund and is tracked down by Julia and Trevor and struggles emotionally and morally with his own humanity and is hurt, in a way, by the distance Martin puts between them. And I hesitate to place blame for the apocalypse on anybody but Jonah, but if we're going to argue in-canon that Jon was responsible for the apocalypse (he wasn't, but that's not the point of this post), then Martin contributed to that blame and responsibility because it was his actions and decisions that ultimately drew Jon into the Lonely and resulted in him getting the 14th and final mark. (Again, I don't think Jon or Martin are at fault for the apocalypse, but if we were to blame Jon, we could blame Martin as well.) It was only after getting that mark that Jonah was able to use Jon to end the world, something that was hugely hurtful for Jon. So did Martin really protect Jon at all by staying away from him and continuing to work with Peter? Or was that just a convenient excuse to keep self-destructing?

Jon and Martin, in my opinion, had very similar arcs in season four. Martin was sinking further into the Lonely and Jon was sinking further into the Eye. We hear a lot more about Jon's emotional struggle with this given that he's the POV character, sure, but Jon also talks about this with other people. He talks about it to Helen (MAG 152):

JON

…

When does it stop?

HELEN

(impatient) What?

JON

The guilt. The misery. All the others I’ve met, they’ve been – cold, cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does the Eye (inhale) make me monstrous?

And to Daisy (MAG 136):

JON

My – (large sigh) My memories of the coma are not clear, but I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I – I don’t know if I made the right decision; I’m stronger now, tougher, I can – (he cuts himself off) If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever? I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else, so if I can maybe – stop that happening, and the only danger is to me, I – I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster.

But all we really get from Martin are the things he tells the tapes when he's alone and the monologue he gives in MAG 158. It makes sense that he wouldn't be as open, yes, given the nature of the Lonely, but I can't help but think of (MAG 154):

JON

The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?

MARTIN

(no hesitation) You know, I think it always did.

Jon was always curious and hungry for knowledge; the Eye amplified it. Martin was always closed-off and isolated; the Lonely amplified that as well.

But then Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely, they flee to the safehouse, and three weeks later, the apocalypse begins. Martin isn't as consumed by the Lonely as he was in season four, he's with Jon--the person he loves--for extended periods of time, and they're in an extremely stressful situation that's sure to be incredibly emotionally charged. There's a lot to be said about Jon's emotional vulnerability during season five and how Martin both pressures him for it and rejects it in different ways, but for the purposes of this post, I won't go too far into detail about the motivations behind how Jon is feeling and acting.

I will say, however, that in season five, Martin still continues to place a lot of focus on asking Jon how he's feeling, encouraging (or pressuring) him to share, and getting frustrated when Jon can't or doesn't (MAG 167):

MARTIN

Okay, so how exactly would you describe your current emotional state regarding all of this?

JON

I –

MARTIN

(overlapping) Go on, I’m all ears.

JON

I feel…

MARTIN

(go on) Mhm.

JON

(sigh) I feel… sad.

[Brief pause.] MARTIN

(flat) Sad.

JON

Very sad.

MARTIN

(*very* flat) Very sad.

[He sighs slightly as he says it. Their bags jangle.]

A few moments prior to this, Martin expresses displeasure that Jon is Knowing things about him, specifically pointing out his emotions (MAG 167):

MARTIN

It’s just – it’s weird knowing that you can know literally everything I think and feel. E-Especially since you’re not exactly the most open of people – emotionally, I mean.

I think Martin is making an effort to open up more to Jon. But I still think it's difficult for him to talk about how he feels so openly, and while he is completely in the right for not wanting Jon to Know things about him without his permission, I think it's interesting that the focus is on his feelings and that he brings up how Jon isn't emotionally open immediately after. It scares Martin to think that Jon could know, at any given moment, how he's feeling, and I think it's partially because he's not used to that level of vulnerability. He turns the focus on Jon, away from himself, and doesn't really make an effort to talk about how he's feeling about all of this, instead prioritizing Jon's feelings and mental state like he's grown comfortable with.

And when Martin bottles up his emotions--of which there are a lot, in such a stressful environment, they can explode out in hurtful ways:

MARTIN

(overlapping) I know! I know, okay, I just – (bracing exhale) Look, I j,just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever.

JON

Is that – a joke?

MARTIN

(a bit faster, a bit shaky) No, no, okay? I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!

I don't think Martin really thought about what he was saying when he told Jon, who has a large burn scar on his hand, that burn scars make him sick, and I don't think he meant it maliciously. But he'd spent the greater portion of the conversation talking around the fact that he didn't like burns and that was why he didn't want to go into the building, and so when it finally ended up coming out, it did so in an explosion of emotion rather than a conscious decision to share. Martin doesn't have a good handle on his emotions, and he doesn't have a good handle on sharing them.

(Is it too much for me to say that Martin was more emotionally vulnerable with himself in MAG 170 than he was with Jon when Jon finally found him?)

Throughout season five, Martin asks Jon questions, he expresses frustrations with Jon, he shows discomfort or fear at times, but for as much as Martin feels frustrated that Jon isn't talking about how he feels about their situation, Martin really isn't doing so either. The most he talks about his feelings is in MAG 170 and MAG 186, when he's by himself, and I remember MAG 186 in particular because before that, we really didn't know what Martin was thinking about for the majority of the season! And in this episode, we find out a lot of very important things about Martin's character. Like (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Look, I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it.

Also-Martin acknowledges that Martin often doesn't say what he means and hides what he really feels, telling him that it's 'hard to be vulnerable,' and Martin is initially very resistant to the idea. And then, when Also-Martin suggests that Martin wants to stay so that he can be 'quietly sad,' we get (MAG 186):

MARTIN

We could talk to Jon about it.

ALSO MARTIN

We could. But we both know that loved ones make the worst therapists. They’re too wrapped up in trying to stop you hurting to actually help. But hey, we know all about that, am I right?

MARTIN

There’s nothing wrong with comforting people.

ALSO MARTIN

A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster. At worst… a muzzle.

This is very interesting to me, because for all that Martin tries to help other people, he also believes that comfort doesn't always help and that you can't be your loved one's 'therapist.' I think this gives a lot of insight into why Martin doesn't share his emotions with the people he cares about, especially Jon; he doesn't want to put Jon in the position where he'll become his 'therapist,' and he doesn't necessarily think Jon can help. So instead, Martin just chooses not to be vulnerable at all, because he doesn't want to burden the people he cares about. But, when it's just him (MAG 186):

ALSO MARTIN

Don’t lie. You don’t need to. Not here. It’s just us.

He doesn't feel like he needs to pull his emotional punches. He can't accidentally hurt somebody or put them in an awkward position; it's just himself. But what's said to himself remains with himself, and (at least on tape), he doesn't discuss any of this with Jon. Not even the bit about, if it came down to it, Martin would have rather had Jon smite him than continue to rule over a domain. He goes right back to being closed-off around Jon, but now we, the audience, know what lies underneath, and how little of it reaches the surface.

In fact, the thing Martin's probably most vocal about is how Jon's feelings about himself bother him (MAG 199):

MARTIN

I guess that’s why it really bothers me, you know? I try, but I can’t actually imagine ever making a decision that I knew meant losing you.

And it… It hurts to know you can.

And I think he has a tendency to use anger and frustration to cover up hurt, shying away from the admission that something Jon's done has hurt him (an incredibly vulnerable thing) and instead relying on the less-vulnerable and more external anger to cover it. This is more speculation than true analysis, but I think that's a lot of what's happening in MAG 200, when he discovers that Jon has already assumed the position of the pupil and has, in Martin's eyes, broken his promise.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #tma meta #jonathan sims #(because i do talk about jon a bit in this too)#i actually think martin isn't good with emotions at all #both his own and others'#i think he doesn't quite know what to do with them so he puts on a mask and defaults to things he knows will work #*thinks about the low empathy autistic martin high empathy autistic jon post with love in my heart*

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

All I Need

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Words: 4512

Summary: Andy has been drowning his grief at your bar for weeks. You help him dry out after a particularly bad night.

Warnings: Major angst!, softish Andy Barber, slight AU (spoilers for Defending Jacob book), explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), descriptions of excessive drinking by adult of appropriate age, SMUT, 18+ only!

A/N: I have officially jumped on the love train for everyone’s favorite floofy lawyer. The sad!boi activated my caretaker instincts so this is pretty soft compared to my normal fics, and extremely angsty. Plus the smut kind of got away from me, I actually had to stop myself from writing even more!

Checkout my masterlist and join my taglist if your inclined!

“Shit!! Jesse!” you screamed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, grabbing the bat from under the register as you jumped over the bar to break up the fight.

You swore under your breath as you moved toward the two men who were brawling. The smaller one seemed to have the upper hand, but it didn’t seem like the larger man was putting up much resistance. Maggie just stood there watching them with bambi eyes as you heard your giant cook rumble behind you, ripping off his apron to lend you a hand.

“What the fuck happened, Mags?” You hissed at your bartender, trying to haul the men apart with little success.

“Neal just came over and said he was sorry, and he just lost it.” The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Granted, she probably wasn’t expecting to have to deal with brawls in downtown Newton at a lawyer bar, but Neal sure seemed to invite violent reactions whenever he opened his stupid mouth.

You lost your patience and smashed an empty glass on the floor next to the two men, shocking them out of it. Neal rose to his feet with a look of fury on his face, but you kept your eyes on Andy Barber.

He’d spent pretty much every night this week since the funeral at your bar. His face was pallid and he had dark rings under his eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he smelled like stale bourbon. Now he was rolling around on the floor aimlessly like a slug.

“Get the fuck out of my bar, Neal.” You said exasperatedly, spying the mostly empty bottle of bourbon on Barber’s table.

“What, I didn’t do anything!” the giant whined at you.

“Really?! You couldn’t just leave the poor guy alone? Jesus Neal! I don’t wanna see you in here for a month.” You hooked your arms under Andy’s and dragged him to sit on the bench, his head lolling drunkenly on his neck as you tried to assess how far gone he was.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Neal spat at you as he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

“Have a great night!” You called after him, sarcastically, flipping him off.

“You sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Jesse asked, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head at you.

“Who cares, I hate that smug asshole. Hey, Andy?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face and he slapped your hand away lazily, growling under his breath. “You sneak behind the bar again, man?”

“I swear, I didn’t sell him a bottle, Y/N.” Her chin was quivering as tears slowly leaked down her cheeks.

“I know Mags, he’s a sneaky bastard. Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re not in any trouble. Go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face.” You watched her scurry off to the bathroom and rubbed a hand over your face. “Fuck. I’m gonna call in Emma to give Maggie a hand. You ok locking up tonight Jess?”

“Sure, what’re you thinking?”

You just stared at Andy with overwhelming pity as he almost slid of the bench, forcing you to keep a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna take him back to his hotel and help him dry out. Wouldn’t feel right just kicking him to the curb.”

“You’re too soft, Y/N.” Jess chortled at you.

“Yeah, maybe. Can you bring me an ice bucket?” You hooked his arm over your shoulder and hauled him to his feet so you could make your way out to your car.

Jess got your bucket from behind the bar as you hobbled outside. You managed to get your passenger door open and you slid Andy inside. His head rolled on his shoulders as you buckled him in before shoving the bucket into his lap.

“Andy, can you hear me? Don’t you fucking puke in my car!”

He grunted in acknowledgment and wrapped his arms around the bucket, curling himself over to hang his head above it.

“You sure you shouldn’t be taking him to a hospital, Y/N?”

“No… mmph… no fucking hospital!” Andy slurred at you as you slammed the door closed.

“I’m pretty sure he’d jump out of the car if he thought I was taking him to the hospital Jess.” You murmured as you circled to the driver’s side. “Thanks for closing, you’re the best!”

You watched him wave in your rearview as you drove off, making sure to keep one eye on Andy as he groaned over his bucket.

You reached his hotel in 15 minutes, grateful for the short drive as the man was looking greener by the second. You dug your hands in the pockets of his coat, searching for the keys to his room and you thankfully found them quickly. You were relieved to see he was on the first floor, as you didn’t trust your ability to safely get him up the stairs.

Getting Andy out of your car was a deal harder than getting him in, as he slipped further into his alcohol induced stupor. You almost dropped him when you wrenched him out of his seat, and you basically carried him to his room.

You somehow managed to get the door unlocked and drag him inside right when you heard his stomach roil. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to get him to the bathroom, shoving his head in the toilet just in time as he emptied his gut.

“Shit, Andy.” You hissed, your hands on your knees as you tried your best to breathe deeply and get accustomed to the scent of his alcohol-soaked stomach contents. Once you were sure he was relatively stable, you moved to the kitchenette and filled a glass with tepid water before returning to find him leaned back against the wall. “Drink.” You ordered, kneeling beside him and bringing the glass up to his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours as he chugged the water down greedily. No sooner had he swallowed the glass’ contents than he was lunging forward to throw it back up. You tutted worriedly as you rubbed a hand over his back and used the other to start the shower.

“Why the fuck are you here, Y/N?” He grumbled miserably, not bothering to lift his head as you dragged his coat over his shoulders and threw out into the living area.

“I couldn’t have you killing yourself in my bar, Andy. Where’s your phone?” His stomach seemed to have calmed down, so you drew him to lean back against the wall and started to tug off his boots.

“S’in my back pocket.” He slurred at you. You rolled him over and drew the phone out of his jeans to set it on the counter. “You could’ve let me do it here.”

“Nah.” You said. “If you quit coming around, what excuse am I gonna have to kick Neal out?” You rolled up your sleeves and thrust your hand under the shower’s flow, checking the temperature. “Hey, don’t you dare pass out on me!” You slapped him in the face as he started to doze off and you worked on getting him undressed. “I’m fucking serious, Barber, you don’t get to drink yourself to death on my watch.” You finally got his shirt off and started to drag his jeans down his legs.

“But why?” His eyes were boring into you now, pleading for some kind of answer to what possible reason there was for him to stick around as they welled up with tears.

You chewed your lip as you thought about it.

Andy had been a fixture at your bar for years. Always coming by for a celebratory drink after a win, or when he was working late on a difficult case. Even during Jacob’s trial, he’d stopped by with Joanna a few times to hash out details of the case. No matter how much stress he was under, you were always able to make him smile, and he always left a very generous tip no matter who was serving him. Your bar had been one of the only places he’d always felt welcome, and you had no qualms about kicking out anyone who wanted to give him a hard time.

Then the crash happened. He lost Jacob first; he was DOA to the hospital. His visits to your bar were more somber then. You didn’t try to make him smile, you barely even talked to him. But you’d drink with him in silence when he was the last patron in the bar, sitting across from him in his booth as the rest of the staff shut things down, occasionally placing your hand over his and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles in a comforting gesture.

They had taken Laurie off life support 2 weeks ago, and after her funeral was when he really started to spiral. Rather than nursing his usual three drinks, he was downing whole bottles a night. You had to instruct your staff to cut him off after 6, or he would end up like he was tonight. This wasn’t the first time you had caught him with a stolen bottle.

You couldn’t say why you cared so much. You weren’t even sure you were really friends. But through everything that happened, you seemed to be the only constant, an anchor point for him as his world fell apart.

“I dunno Andy.” You murmured as you drew off his socks before rolling him into the tub with a lurch, making him gasp as the cold water hit his skin. “I guess I’d miss you.”

He glared at you as he shivered under the shower’s stream, huddled around himself in only his boxers.

“Do I need to wash you, or do you think you can handle that on your own?” You asked, handing him a washcloth and some soap.

“I can handle it.” He hissed, snatching them from your hands as he braced himself against the wall and drew himself slowly to his feet.

“Good.” You started gathering up his soiled clothes. “Make sure to wash the vomit out of your beard.”

He ripped the shower curtain closed and tossed his boxers over the rail at you, grumbling the whole time. You bagged up his dirty laundry and set some clean sweats on the counter in the bathroom before you set to work on cleaning the rest of the hotel room, doing your best not to gag at the week-old takeout containers.

Andy staggered out of the bathroom 30 minutes later, rubbing a towel through his hair as he wobbled on still drunk legs.

“How’s your stomach?” You asked, stretched out on the couch and sipping a glass of ginger ale.

“S’better.” He murmured, stumbling his way to the bed and collapsing on it with a groan.

“And your head?”

“Fuck you.” He murmured with his face buried in the pillows.

You grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom and set it next to the bed. “Make sure you sleep on your side or your stomach. I’ll be on the couch.” You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“No, stay with me.” He mumbled, peeking up at you through those stupid long eyelashes, his damp hair drooping over his forehead.

“You’re still drunk, Andy.” You scolded, snatching your wrist away from him. You couldn’t deny you’d thought about it before, but there was no way you were going to let him make a move on you after the night he had. “I’m just 20 feet away, here to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit overnight.”

You turned back to find him passed out, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and turned off the lights before collapsing on the couch in a huff.

Andy woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs as you slammed the hotel room door, carrying some takeout from the greasy spoon down the road.

“Shit, I was hoping to sneak out before you were up.” You murmured as he rose up off the bed, his bedhead a sight to behold. “I got you breakfast.”

“What happened last night?” He groaned, his stomach churning as he inhaled the smell of the food you had brought in.

“Well, you stole a bottle of Woodford Reserve from my bar, drank more than half of it, then fought Neal.” You shoved a plate of food in front of him as he sat down at the island. “Then I brought you back here and held your hair while you puked your guts out.”

“Fuck.” He murmured, fighting the urge to gag as he eyed the plate in front of him. “How did I get in these sweats?”

“Don’t worry, I dumped you in the shower in your boxers, no looks at the goods. And even if I had, last night was decidedly unsexy.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He murmured, burying his head in his hands.

“Mmhmm. Eat.” You ordered, making him groan. “Suck it up, Barber, you’ll feel better after a couple of bites.” You watched him shovel a bite in his mouth and chew dutifully, taking a deep breath as you steeled yourself for what you wanted to say. “Are you talking to anyone, Andy?”

“’M talking to you.” He said around his second mouthful off breakfast, starting to feel a bit better.

“I mean like a shrink.” You said, seriously.

“What the fuck is this?” He threw his fork down on his plate, pissed. This was none of your business.

“Andy, you’ve been drinking yourself stupid every night for the past 2 weeks. It’s not healthy, and I don’t want to be responsible for you ruining your life.”

He gave you a snort of derision and rolled his eyes as he stood up to walk away. “Fuck off.”

“Hey!” now you were angry. “I care about you asshole! You think I enjoyed last night? I’m sick of it!” You followed after him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around sharply.

“It’s not your problem, Y/N.” He seethed at you, ripping your hand off his shoulder as he took a menacing step towards you.

“You made it my problem when you decided to use my bar as the stage for your descent to rock bottom, dick!” You were yelling now. “Y’know what, fuck this. Figure your shit out Barber. Until then, don’t step foot in my bar.” You stormed out, slamming the door behind you as you slipped your coat back over your shoulders.

“Fuck!!” Andy screamed before charging after you.

He managed to catch up to you as you were about to open your car door and he slammed it shut over your shoulder, pinning you against the driver’s side of your vehicle.

“I swear to god, Andy, I’ll mace you.” You hissed at him, turning as you dug your hand in your bag. He wrapped a massive hand around your wrist, stopping your turn halfway.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing his forward to yours as he leaned against you. “I need you.”

“Andy…” this was such a bad idea.

“Why’d you stay last night?” He muttered, bringing his hand down to cup your cheek. “You said you care about me.”

“I do care, Andy.” You sighed as he took another step into you, pressing his body against yours. “Fuck, what’re you doing?”

“Stay.” He whispered, dipping his face to catch your lips with his and sending every objection you had right out of your head.

You sighed against him as you wrapped your hands in his hair, rolling your body against his. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip before pressing it against yours, his hands moving down to your hips and drawing you into him. You let out a whine as you felt his growing erection grinding against you.

“Shit.” You hissed as you felt a rush of arousal soak your panties. “Andy, we need to go back to the room.”

“Right.” He muttered, deepening your kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you off the ground as he drew you away from your car and started to head back towards the room, thankful he had left the door ajar.

You kicked the door closed as he carried you inside, giving a small huff when he sat down on the bed with you straddling his lap. You slipped your coat over your shoulders and tossed it aside as his mouth devoured yours, lips molding to each other as your tongues tangled.

Andy slipped his fingers under the hem of your tee and drew it over your head, throwing it on top of your jacket before unclasping the front of your lacy bra and nuzzling himself between your breasts. He rolled the two of you gently until he was on top of you.

You sighed as Andy moved his mouth over the slope of your breast to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly as he moved one hand to dip beneath the waistline of your jeans. He groaned against your chest when he found you sopping wet for him.

“God, I need you, sweetheart.” He mumbled against your skin as he worked at unbuttoning your fly, dragging your jeans and panties down your legs and flinging them aside before bringing his hand back up to cup your heat. “Need to make you feel good. Lose myself in you for just a bit.” He moved his lips up to brush against your neck as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, spreading your slick over your mound and making you gasp, your fingers gripping his massive biceps tightly as he teased you.

“Andy, please.” You whined, canting your hips into his hand, your clit throbbing with need as the pads of his fingers brushed against it.

He brought his face up to yours as he plunged one thick finger into you, a smile teasing his lips as he watched your face screw up in bliss. He dipped his lips to meet yours as he added another finger, swallowing your small cry.

“You feel so good, beautiful. So warm and tight.” He scissored his fingers inside of you, drawing lewd squelches from your canal as your arousal soaked his hand. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You scrabbled your hands over the broad muscles of his back as he curled his fingers inside you, massaging that soft, spongy muscle deep within your canal. He buried his face in your neck, murmuring soft praises as you came apart beneath him.

You mewled as he inserted a third finger, your cunt clenching around him as you thrust yourself onto his hand, fucking yourself on his digits.

“You close love?” He asked, his thumb brushing against your clit before he started massaging it gently. Pressing soft circles into your core as you writhed beneath him.

“Oh, fuck.” You muttered. “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck……”

He felt you tense underneath him when he drove his thumb into your clit, hard. You choked on your tongue as every muscle in your body vibrated with pleasure, your release gushing over Andy’s hand and soaking him to the wrist. He felt your nails digging through his sweatshirt as you came.

He kept his fingers moving inside you as your rode out your orgasm, your body rolling in waves underneath him as your pleasure wracked you, leaving you breathless. Once you sagged back against the bed, he withdrew them, disconnecting from you reluctantly to remove his own clothes. Staring down at you, all he wanted was to press himself against every inch of you. Claim every slope and curve of your body for his own.

He gripped one ankle and brought it up to his mouth, skimming his lips over the jut of bone as his fingers skirted over your calf, pressing into the firm muscle there. His lips followed his fingers, searing your skin with each lingering kiss and brush of his tongue as he worked his way further up your leg. Your cunt clenched around nothing when he reached your thigh, his beard scratching at the soft skin between your legs as he marked you with lips and teeth. You tangled your fingers in the blankets and moaned when he bypassed your core, moving up the line of your hip as he claimed you.

Your breath was coming quicker as worked his way over your body. His lips swept against your abdomen now, his tongue dipping into your navel as he nuzzled over the midline of your torso. All you could focus on was the feel of his mouth on your skin, leaving a trail of electricity as marked you as his. He laved his tongue over first one nipple, then the other as you arched into him, pressing your thighs together as your pussy throbbed with need.

He moved to trace the curves of your shoulders, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down first one arm, then the other. You were panting now, your thighs soaked as arousal seeped out of you. Andy traced his fingers over your torso, skimming over the slopes of your breasts as he moved to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking gently to draw light bruises as his hands moved lower, kneading into your hips. He drew your knees apart slowly, slotting himself between your thighs as he dragged his hard length through your folds, making you keen as he ground into you.

You were a mess, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his hips rocked against you. You were desperate for release, every inch of you tingling with need and when Andy’s cock brushed against your clit, you lost it. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your fingers scrabbled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something to keep you anchored.

Andy just stared at you, one massive palm cupping your cheek as he watched you falling apart. He needed you so much, you were the only constant he had. The only person who didn’t make him feel like a charity case or a failure. He hated what he was becoming, what the secrets and the tragedy were turning him into, but he knew if you stayed with him, he could come back.

“Y/N,” He whispered as you relaxed and he stilled his hips, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as you slowly opened your eyes, gazing up at him through your lust blown pupils. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

“Andy,” a small voice in the back of your mind was trying to warn you, telling you not to commit to anything now while he was still drowning in his grief. But you were overwhelmed with the pleasurable assault he had subjected you to and when he pressed his lips to yours again, that little voice went away. “I promise.” You gasped when he released you.

He grinned at you as he lined himself up, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed into your eyes. You were so wet that he slid into you easily, bottoming out right away with a hiss.

“Fuck, honey.” He murmured against your lips as you whined, his hips setting a languorous pace as he pulled out halfway before thrusting back into you. “God, you’re so tight, you feel amazing.”

You couldn’t reply, you could already feel another orgasm building as you thrust your hips to meet his, mewling softly as the warm coil in your stomach tightened. You ran your fingers over his auburn beard before burying them in his hair, panting into his mouth as he brought you closer to the edge.

Andy brought one hand between the two of you and strummed his thumb against your clit, making you tighten your fists in his hair until it was painful.

“God, Andy, right there.” You sobbed, your cunt clamping around him as he moved to bury his face in your neck, nuzzling against the hollow behind your ear.

“Go ahead, beautiful.” He scraped his teeth over the edge of your jaw as he drove his thumb against you, and you screamed.

You fluttered around him as your body spasmed, multiple waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your knees gripping around his hips and squeezing as your torso rolled against his. You sank back against the bed with a sigh as your body relaxed, Andy still fucking into you and starting to pick up speed.

“I’m gonna move you, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and rolled until you were on top of him, pressing you against his chest as he kissed you deeply. “Wanna watch you ride me.”

You gave him a smile as you sat up, bracing your hands against his chest as you ground yourself against him. He was seated in you deeper than anyone had ever been, his cock dragging against that secret spot inside you with each drive of your hips, making you groan. He thrust up into you and groaned at the bounce of your tits while you let out a cry at his tip hitting your cervix.

Andy dug his fingers into your hips as he took over, pistoning up into with increasing speed as your cunt clamped around him. Your head rolled loosely on your shoulders as you let go, eyes fluttering as you felt another orgasm gathering.

You gripped his hips tightly with your thighs as it hit you like a truck, sobbing with pleasure while your muscles shivered over him. Andy sat up quick and caught you before you could collapse back on the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of your neck and catching you lips with his as his hips picked up even more speed.

“Shit.” He murmured against your lips. You felt his cock twitch inside you as his hips faltered in their rhythm. “Are you on the pill honey?”

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak as Andy’s violent thrusts had knocked all the breath out of your lungs and you were gasping.

“Good. Fuck.” He nipped at your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat.

You felt warmth spread through your abdomen as he shot his release into you, his thick spend coating the slick walls inside you and leaking out over your thighs as he fucked you through it. He slowed his thrusts as you felt him soften inside you, groaning into your mouth as he came down and collapsed back against the bed, holding you close to his chest.

His chest hair scratched against your cheek as he breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart rate back down and rubbing his fingers over your spine as you panted on top of him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms. You made Andy feel safe, and he made you feel needed, and that was all the two of required for now.

Permanent Tags:

@slothspaghettiwrites @stargazingfangirl18 @starlightcrystalline @jack-skellingtons-stuff @drabblewithfrannybarnes @captain-asguard @harrysthiccthighss @quxxnxfhxll @bonkywobble @chubbybuckydumpling @dslap65 @stanallstarks @dacreswhore @slytherinandoutasgard @blackestpinkworld @egcdeath

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i-call-me-clarence · 3 years

Text

Hellbound

Summary: A snooping Jack finds something in Dean’s room that he wasn’t supposed to.

Rated G

Suptober21 day 12: Hellbound

fic below the cut

Dean was headed straight to Hell...Maybe with a stop-off at the liquor store first.

Rowena was having a get-together with everybody invited, even Auntie Amara was coming, which was weird, so weird, thinking that, but that’s what Jack calls her so it gets stuck in Dean’s head too.

Anyway, the damn thing was BYOB which one, there’s gonna be a lot of witches and hunters there, so in other words a ton of booze. And two, what the hell?! She was the queen of hell but couldn’t afford to cover drinks? Yeesh.

“Dean? Have you seen marvelous Marvin?” Jack asks, coming into Dean’s room and sitting on his bed like he’s planning to set up camp for a while. Man, he’s sitting on Dean’s shirts!

“No way, you are not bringing the talking bear,” Dean says like it’s final. Yoinking the shirt’s out from under Jack’s butt.

“Are you doing laundry?” Jack asks, looking at all the clothes spread over the bed, desk, and chair.

“No,” Dean says lamely, then continues rolling up a pair of pants, “‘M packing. Rowena said to plan on spending the weekend….why?”

Jack once again looks around at the mammoth pile of clothes, “No reason...So why can’t I bring Marvin?”

“‘Cause, the other kids are gonna make fun of you. You may be three, but you look seventeen, so.”

“But Claire said she’d bring Grumpy Cat.”

“Tell you what, I’ll find and pack Marvin, and then if Claire really did bring Grumpy Cat I’ll let you have him. But if not, Teddy stays in the bag, got it?” Dean didn’t want the kid being bullied by the other kids or hunters, witches, demons, or what have you. And if Claire really was planning a prank Dean was gonna have to have a talking with her.

“Okay,” Jack sighs, looking despondent before grabbing Dean��s Roku controller and putting on Netflix. Dean knew it, he was gonna be in here for hours.

“Hey, if you’re gonna stick around you’re gonna help.”

Jack’s face lit up at the idea of something to do. The guy was worse than Dean and Cas combined.

“Okay, the task is….help me figure out what the hell I’m gonna wear to this thing.”

----

Jack’s not so much help but he does agree with whatever Dean says about the clothes, which is enough of a confidence boost for him to finally choose a few outfits.

While Dean’s packing up the chosen items, Jack entertains himself by messing with Dean’s desk. Dean doesn’t mind. The porno mags are under the bed, and Jack’s smart enough not to play with guns. Absolutely nothing incriminating is on the desk so--

“Hmm… it looks just like Cas’.”

“What does?” Dean looks over and sees something devastating in Jack’s hand. The ring box he’d just picked up from Jared’s Jewelers.

Dean’s mouth gapes open like a fish, he tries to figure out some sort of defense, something to say. He gets out, “Jack!” and “It’s not what it looks like,” before his brain fully kicks into gear and he comprehends what Jack had said, “Wait,” he says, “What do you mean ‘Just like Cas’?”

Jack’s eyes widen comically and he sets the box down, “I didn’t see anything.” Jack says, standing up, “I didn’t say anything. And-I-I won’t say anything!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean huffs a small laugh and shakes his head.

“You called?” Cas jokes dryly from the doorway, then turns to Jack, “Sam needs you in the library.”

“Okay!” Jack says quickly and flees.

Cas watches him go before stepping into the room fully, a confused tilt to his brows, “What were you two up to?” Cas turns his look on Dean, more accusing now.

“He got a little spooked by what he found on my desk,” Dean answers honestly. Feeling calm. He’d been fretting about asking Cas to marry him for weeks, but now that Cas has a ring to give him, well, now it was a sure thing. All that anxiety about proposing vanished and was replaced by a confidence Dean hadn’t felt since the idea of Cas saying no had reared its ugly head weeks ago.

Castiel groans in agitation, “Dean,” he complains, “Stop leaving those nude magazines around!”

“He didn’t find a porno mag,” Dean defends himself, still calm as rain, “Why don’t you take a look?”

Castiel looks beyond skeptical, probably expecting to find something he thinks is distasteful.

The look turns to despair when he sees the ring box.

“Oh,” Castiel gasps, looks at Dean, “You...you found my--my--” Cas cuts himself off with a reflexive swallow, “Dean, I can explain.”

“No need.” Dean smiles. “Open it.”

Cas is confused, and a little hurt, but picks up the ring box anyways and opens it up.

“This...isn’t my ring.”

“Actually,” Dean says, smoothly walking over to where Cas is pondering his very existence, “It is.” and then a little nervously, with the tilt of his head, “Or at least… it could be.” Dean bites his lip, suddenly feeling all that nervousness and anxiety he’d felt over the weeks come back and hit him all at once, right in the solar plexus, the bastard. (And yes emotions can be bastards, just ask anyone who’s ever felt one).

“Dean…” Castiel starts slowly, shaking his head a little, tears welling up, “Are you...Are you…”

“I’m, uh, asking you to marry me, yeah.” Dean swallows.

Castiel laughs wetly, a few tears falling, he puts a hand over his mouth as he stares at the ring.

Dean waits. And waits.

“Umm,” Dean fidgets, bites his lip again, “Kinda dying over here, Cas.” Dean had patience, he just didn’t know where it went all of a sudden.

Castiel doesn’t say anything, just lunges forward and grabs Dean in a tight hug, pressing his face against Dean’s neck. Dean feels the wetness of his tears, and the shaky breath of his laugh.

Castiel pulls away and looks Dean in the eye, smiling brightly. He pats his pockets and, shaking his head at himself for having thought he’d lost it earlier, reaches into his own pocket to pull out a ring box, opens it to show a black steel ring. It’s perfect.

“I’ll marry you,” Cas says, sniffing, “If you’ll marry me.”

Dean laughs and is shocked to feel a few tears break loose. Since when did he become as sappy as his partner? Since about always.

“I will,” Dean promises, giving Cas everything he has in a deeply intimate kiss.

When they pull apart Cas whispers against his lips, “Me too.”

There’s a sharp knock at the door that startles them both.

“Hey, uh, oh!” Sam cuts himself off, looking anywhere but at the two of them and rubbing the back of his neck, “So, uh, cars ready.” he says awkwardly.

“Be right there,” Dean smiles at his brother, causing Sam to look confused but still give a small smile of his own back. He’d tell Sammy later. Maybe in the car. Or maybe they’d make a big announcement at the get-together later.

Dean turns to Cas, holds out his arm all chivalrous like, “C’mon, Cas.” he grins at his future husband, “Let’s go to Hell.”

THE END

#suptober21 #destiel #destiel fic #dean/cas #destiel kisses

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

Text

The Way You Say My Name

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set immediately post-MAG 22. Martin is trans and Jon is amab non-binary.

CWs: Guilt, self-recrimination, worms (mentioned), arguments, shouting, crying, lying (Martin lying about his CV still), transphobia (mentioned), misgendering (mentioned), child abuse (mention of Martin Blackwood's mother)

Summary: Just after MAG 22, Jon apologizes for his treatment of Martin over the past few months. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to apologize to someone when you don't understand exactly what it is you've done to upset them.

(Of course, once Jon's apologized and Martin's relaxing, well... that's when Jon will finally notice he actually likes Martin, isn't it? Not that he's going to admit to that, even to himself.)

Shoutout to the Martin Blackwood Lovers Discord Server, without whom I would not have written this up and posted it. ;) Jon’s dialogue was (mostly) written by @marianfuckinghawke.

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

“Recording ends.”

Jon reached out and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. He sighed and looked at his phone. The message from Jane Prentiss was still glowing on the screen. He ran a hand through his short hair, aware he was mussing the grey-streaked black and deciding he didn’t care.

He had listened to Martin’s account of the encounter with Jane Prentiss with trepidation and worry. Now he could feel his face settling into something more drawn with concern. First, concern for his two assistants who were out of the Archive at the moment. Second, concern for Martin. The man had gotten himself into this mess because of Jon’s words. Due diligence. Was he really such a hardass that he had put one of his subordinates in harm’s way? How had he not realized that it might come to this?

Martin sat fidgeting, shifting in his seat, and Jon could feel the other man’s soft brown eyes on him. He had the look of a frightened, cornered animal and it cut Jon to the quick. He had done this. Jon was responsible for the man’s state, and he had to figure out how to make it better.

There was silence for a solid three minutes. Then Martin opened his mouth to say, “So if I’m going to be--”

Jon started speaking at exactly the same time. “So obviously you’re--” He blinked and said, “I’m sorry--”

“No, no, you go,” Martin said, raising his hands and waving them rapidly.

“No. It’s alright… go ahead,” Jon replied at the exact same time, then frowned.

Martin cleared his throat, then seemed to gather his courage. “Well. I was going to say. If I’m going to be staying here, I’ll need… things. Like, uhh, there’s a cot, but I’ll need, like… a toothbrush? I mean, you don’t have a stash of those sitting around, do you?” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner.

“No, I do not,” Jon replied. “Nor do you have a proper change of clothing… you can hardly wear the same outfit for however long this will take, and you won’t want to sleep in what you’re wearing.” He had a sudden mental image of Martin sleeping naked, and cleared his throat while he shoved it away. Hardly an appropriate thought about a co-worker, even if it wasn’t remotely sexual. “We will have to go out and get such things for you… perhaps after I brief Tim and Sasha on the situation.”

Martin nodded. “There’s a room that might be, umm… did you know one of the rooms that’s filled with boxes is supposed to be the break room?” He gave that self-deprecating laugh again. “‘Course you know that, stupid, what am I saying…” He glanced aside, cheeks flushing. “Umm. Anyway. Umm. It’s bigger than the room you’ve got the cot in? If… if… I’m going to be staying here… I could clean it out… make it livable, maybe, umm, get some snacks and tea and things in, and there’d be more room for extra cots… in case you need somewhere to stay late or… something…” A pause. “Or not! Or just. You know. I’ll just. Have lots of time, so. I can. Clean. The break room.”

Jon did not, in fact, know that they’d had a break room at all. It had been frustrating to have everyone going up to the Admin break room on the ground floor, and he’d said so more than once. No, wait… had someone told him, and had he just told them off about clearing the room out?

He was suddenly horribly aware of how many times he’d griped at Martin for going up there to make tea that he had then gone ahead and drunk. How had he been such a prick to this man?

When Jon had started as Head Archivist, he’d had all sorts of plans for team morale, bonding exercises, and the like. He’d always hated them personally but they were the sort of thing bosses were supposed to do. The trouble was that all of his “how best to run the Archives as a team” ideas had flown right out of his head once he’d gotten down there and found himself at a desk where a woman had maybe died, struggling to record statements, dealing with doggy messes, and that damned persistent feeling of being watched.

Well, now was as good a time as any to start acting the way he should have all along.

“Martin… we will clean the break room. Together. As a group.” He ran his hand through his hair again. He really was going to look a mess. “It is a communal space, it will be a communal job.” He added quickly, “Yes, I know you’ll be here more than the rest of us, but I want us all involved. We need…” He sighed. Time to apologize. “I have been… less supportive of you than I should. And…” He swallowed, aware of the flush rising on his cheeks. “I feel I must apologize. So… I am sorry. But we should do more together, especially given that circumstances have escalated.”

Martin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re… sorry. For… being less… supportive than you should have been.” There was a hard-to-read undercurrent in his tone.

“For being… rude to you… and for punishing you…” Jon replied. “Unjustly.” He gestured to the recorder. “All of this… happened because of your adherence to my instructions…” He frowned. “So. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Martin snapped, “at least you’re finally realizing that it was… unjust.” He glared at Jon, who suddenly felt pinned to the spot by eyes that were no longer soft but had gone hard as agates.

Jon blinked at Martin. “Are… are you alright?” He was apologizing! He couldn’t be messing that up this badly, could he?

Martin drew a long breath in through his nose. “Yeah,” he said, in a high-pitched, clipped tone. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He went to stand abruptly, pushing away from the desk, and in that same tone, “Well, you’d better get to… briefing people, then. I’ll just… go see how far my paycheck can stretch in Chelsea.” His tone was dripping with bitterness by the end.

Jon stood up. “Martin!” He was vaguely aware of saying it in the same irritated tone he always used for the man’s name, aware that Martin visibly flinched at the word, and tried to moderate his tone. “What is going on? I am apologizing! Is… am I missing something?” He moved around the desk to try to be sure Martin didn’t just leave without finishing the conversation.

“No,” Martin said, stopping while facing the door, tone still a good two octaves above normal. “No, it’s fine. You’re apologizing, and that’s good.” His whole frame was stiff, though, and his tone practically screamed “lying.”

Jon couldn’t read people all that well, but even he could read the signs Martin was giving off. “While your words are clear, your body language says quite otherwise.” He tried to moderate his tone again, but he couldn’t help sounding mildly irritated. He didn’t like being lied to, especially concerning his own actions, and he wasn’t sure what he had done incorrectly in this situation. “Now will you stop and talk to me?”

Martin turned away from the door, faced Jon, jaw set firmly. “What do you want me to say, Jon? Do you want me to… to forgive you? To say ‘oh, sure, you’re sorry, so that makes up for the last six months where you’ve made me want to quit my job every day?’ Am I supposed to… to… just… oh, well, there’s danger, so now you’ve realized I’m an actual person, now you’re going to stop kicking me around, now you’re going to pitch in to help around here as I’m not already the one spending all his time trying to clean up the mess while Tim and Sasha run out to research things so you don’t have to send anyone to double-check my work? Never mind that I’ve been trapped for two weeks, I could’ve been dead and none of you bothered to check on me!”

Martin was all but shouting by the end of the diatribe, every line of him stiff and furious, and Jon was suddenly very aware of the fact that Martin was taller and bigger than he was. He cringed away from Martin, took a step back. “I… I…” He turned away to his desk, grabbed his phone. “Here…” he said, handing it to Martin. “Look!” The phone would solve the problem, if Martin could just see… “There… I… just… please…”

The moment Jon had cringed away Martin had hunched his shoulders, deliberately making himself smaller. Now he was taking long, deep breaths, his expression ashamed. He reached out to take the phone from Jon.

The display was still on the screen of Jon’s message history with Martin. Before the last message from Jane Prentiss was a long list of messages from Jon--numerous messages inquiring about Martin’s health, worried and concerned. He had linked articles about foods to eat when feeling ill, then when he’d realized some of those might be hard for Martin to make alone, found new links that had easier recipes.

There were also, Jon knew, greyed-out deleted messages.

Martin, know that your presence is missed here at the Archives. I am wishing you a quick recovery.

I know it’s sudden, but I find myself missing you. Just thought you should know.

And others, so many others, as Jon had tried to figure out how to pierce the wall built by the texts he’d been getting back from what he now knew was Jane Prentiss, asking to be left alone.

As Jon watched Martin reading the messages he nervously bounced in place, one arm folded over his chest to hold the other. He could feel his skin glowing from embarrassment and he wasn’t even sure why. The blush faded, however, as he watched Martin. Watched the anger fade, and realized what lay underneath. The pain that had been underlying that anger, the way it lifted as Martin read through the message history--it was like a revelation. Martin must have walked in here convinced nobody at his place of employment really cared about him, and Jon realized that that was, indeed, what he must usually think, if something as simple as text messages was making something like hope bloom on his face.

It occurred to Jon, suddenly, that nobody had checked on Martin. For two weeks. No friends, no family. Nobody had even noticed the man was gone.

Jon had to fix this. Somehow. And not by wrapping Martin up in a fierce hug like he very much wanted to; that would not be appreciated from the man’s asshole boss. Even if Martin looked like he really, really needed a hug.

By the time Martin handed the phone back to Jon, his breathing was shaky and unsteady. He dropped back into the chair, like his legs suddenly weren’t working. “S-sorry,” he managed in the barest of whispers. “Sorry.”

“That’s… my line,” Jon said. “I am sorry. I should have said more to make it clear… you are a valued member of this team.” He shook his head, wincing at how… canned that line sounded, but pushed on. “I should have said it at least once. And… I never did. I held you at arm’s length and ostracized you. And… I understand how you felt all that time now…” He sighed. “And… yes, it may have taken this incident to make me realize how terrible a person I’ve been to you since… since you started working here.”

Martin stared down at his hands; Jon could see he was crying, but silently, without sniffling or sobbing. “Why?” he finally managed. He looked up at Jon. “Why? What did I… do? I mean… there was the whole ‘dog’ business at the beginning… what, do you hate dogs that much?” There was a kind of desperation in his tone.”

“No… I mean, sure I’m more of a cat person, but… no… I don’t hate dogs.” Jon frowned. “I… I’ve given that a lot of thought these past two weeks and I think I figured it out.” He sighed. “It wasn’t you I was angry with.” He took a breath. “I was angry at Elias. I like to have a sense of who I work with, to get to know them before I get into anything serious.” Oh, no, wait, that sounded… he hadn’t meant it like… work. He’d meant work! No, he was overthinking that; Martin knew he meant work. He stammered for a moment, though. “It’s… part of who I am… as a person.

Jon took a breath, to steady himself. Focus on the apology. “When Elias… placed you here without telling or consulting me about the selection process, it… felt like a betrayal. I felt that agency over my department had been taken out of my hands. And yes… I know he runs the Institute, but he should have at least consulted me about who is in my department.”

He dropped his head and reached to take a box of tissues from the side of the desk, to slide them towards Martin. An olive branch. “I took out that anger and frustration on you. And that was wrong, I know that now.”

“Not like I wanted to be here either,” Martin mumbled, reaching out for a tissue and wiping at his eyes. It didn’t do much to stop the tears. “I mean, I didn’t even want the damn library job, I j-just…” He stumbled, stammering, “It’s… it’s harder to get a position with a degree in parapsychology than you might think.” He sniffled. “B-but… even on top of that… you and Tim and Sasha, you’re all friends already, you requested them. Even if Tim and Sasha and I get along they don’t really know me, and you… well…” He sighed. “When Elias said I was going to work for Jonathan Sims I just about freaked out. You’ve got a… reputation, you know? I just… I knew it’d be… lonely down here, and it really has been.” There was a furrow between his brows now as he looked at Jon.

Jon frowned. He’d known he had a reputation around the Institute, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He took a deep breath; this wasn’t about him right now. “Then let us work on fixing that. Starting now. Like I said, we need to be working together more, improve the… office atmosphere. I… have come to admire your dedication to your work. ‘Due diligence,’ as you put it.”

Martin regarded him quietly for a moment. Then he said, “The thing that really bothers me… I don’t… I don’t think you’d understand.”

Jon frowned. Then, finally, softly, “Try me. You might be surprised.”

Martin swallowed. “I… I’m trans,” he blurted. “Like, I was… I had a girl’s name, when I was younger. Figured out I was a guy when I was a teenager, started hormones, and… well…” He took a deep breath. “My mum’s never approved, you know? She’s always been… difficult, she’s… sometimes she’ll… well, I mean, you know how parents will… say your name, right? Like, when you’ve… disappointed them.”

Jon’s frown deepened. He did not, in fact, know how parents said one’s name, but he could remember his grandmother saying Jonathan in tones of deepest disapproval when he’d come back from wandering off. So he nodded; he understood the feeling, at least.

Martin wiped at his eyes again. “The way she said my name… it made me hate my name. My deadname, I mean. But it… helped me realize I was trans, because when I thought about something else I’d want to be called, I came up with ‘Martin.’ And… and I’m kind of glad sometimes, that she… misgenders me, and refuses to call me Martin, because it means she’ll never, ever say it in that… disappointed tone. I have never regretted that choice, not once, until…”

Martin took in a long, shuddering breath, then straightened himself, looking Jon right in the eye. Like he knew what he was going to say wouldn’t go over well, but he had to say it. “The way you say my name, when you snap at me? It’s exactly like my mother says my deadname. And nobody has ever made me regret that choice. Not… ever.” He swallowed. “Until I met you.”

Jon stared at Martin for a long moment, horrified. He was non-binary himself, and yet he’d never changed his name, never even asked people to call him by different pronouns although he might have preferred it; he’d never had the courage to do so. He’d always been terrified of what people might think of him. Yet here was Martin, strong enough to change himself outwardly despite his mother’s disapproval, strong enough to keep coming in every day to deal with a boss who made him regret the name he’d chosen for himself.

In that moment, Jon felt very much like he did not deserve Martin Blackwood. That the Institute did not deserve Martin Blackwood. They would have to do better, somehow.

Finally he managed, “I’m… I didn’t know. I--” He curled his mouth in disgust. How did one respond to that? Do better? That was only a marginally acceptable platitude. “I will endeavor to change my tone.” He didn’t like that any better, but it was the best he could do.

Jon really, really wanted to offer Martin a hug. The man looked like he needed one. Tim would have offered a hug, workplace hugs could be acceptable… but, no, Jon was Martin’s boss, and Martin had just said how much he hated Jon--because if Jon reminded Martin of the mother who deliberately misgendered him, then he had to hate Jon--and who would want a hug from someone they hated?

There was something he could do to help, though. To pay Martin back, as it were. So he, too, straightened, and said, “Well. You were talking about how far your paycheck will stretch in Chelsea, but I think that will be quite unnecessary. Given that you encountered Jane Prentiss while in the line of duty, as it were, I think we can expense your essentials to the Institute without too much trouble.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “W-wait… won’t that… I mean… won’t Mr. Bouchard be… upset about that?”

Jon actually smirked. “Don’t you worry about Elias; I fully intend to take out my irritation about his habits as a supervisor on him instead of you from here on out.” Not directly, of course, but Elias would be irritated by the entire setup, and some petty part of Jon enjoyed that thought.

Martin was staring at Jon now. “I… I wouldn’t want you to… get in trouble…”

Jon waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood. “Let’s get to the shops for toiletries before they close and then we can see about getting some clothing delivered. And, ahh, do you have any… prescriptions you’ll need…?” He was thinking about hormones. “I suppose I could send Tim ‘round to your flat, but I wouldn’t want to put him in danger either…”

Martin stood, hesitating. “I’ll… figure all that out. It’s alright. Really.”

Jon came around the desk to grasp Martin by the arms and look up at him, intently. It was the closest thing to a hug he’d let himself get to. “Martin,” he said, as gently as he could manage, with as much respect as he could manage, “you put yourself in danger because of the way your superiors at this Institute have treated you. Let me at least begin to partly repay that debt. Please.”

Martin was blinking down at him. “Uh… umm… aren’t we having… Mr. Bouchard repay the debt…?”

Jon smiled up at Martin as he dropped his arms. "Ahh, but we’re not going to ask Elias to come help clear out the breakroom. Can you imagine him moving boxes?” He could feel the smile edging into a grin. “His arms would break just from trying to pick one up.”

Martin had started to smile, hesitantly. That was what Jon had been going for; he hadn’t realized how much he actually liked Martin’s smile until he hadn’t been around for two weeks. “I-I mean… you’re not the biggest guy yourself… you might have the same problem.”

“Mmm, fair,” Jon replied, “but I am willing to scrub a floor if I must.”

Martin’s smile widened. “Y-yeah, I can’t imagine… Elias… scrubbing a floor.” He giggled, suddenly. “He probably pays people to do that stuff. He… he’d probably have been hopeless stuck in his flat for two weeks.”

Jon laughed at the mental image of Elias Bouchard stuck in a flat, living off canned meals, a laugh so full he actually threw his head back a bit. “Good lord, Elias, having to live off tinned peaches? Can... you... imagine?”

“H-he’d… probably… start shouting for Rosie.” Martin was giggling so hard he could barely get the words out. He put on a bad posh accent and said, “‘Rosie, why do we have all these tinned peaches? I did not approve this budget!’”

They both dissolved into helpless laughter, both reaching out to the other to hold themselves up. There was a moment, as the laughter waned, that their eyes met, and Jon felt something swoop and flutter in his gut. Martin had such a nice smile, and such a pleasant laugh, and it would be wonderful to have both around more often, and it was making him a little dizzy if he was being honest. When was the last time he’d felt that swoop and flutter? Georgie? Briefly, with Tim?

No, no, that was the laughter and the proximity. That was all. They were bonding over dislike of Elias. That was all.

At least he’d managed to clear the air.

Jon straightened, and kept smiling as he turned toward the door. “Come along, then, Martin,” he said, and again deliberately infused the word with as much respect as he could muster. “Let’s get to the shops.”

Martin nodded. “Thanks for this, Jon,” he said, and oh dear there was another swoop at the way Martin said his name. Had he always said it like that? Had Jon just not noticed? “Really. Thank you.”

Jon turned away to school his expression. This would not do. He was not going to let himself feel any more… swoops for a subordinate. It just wouldn’t do. No matter how nice of a smile he had. He did not have a crush on Martin, because he could not have a crush on Martin, and that was that.

Feeling a little better--it was always a relief, sorting out his emotions--Jon headed out to help Martin get settled into the Archives.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #otp: one way or another together #fanfic #my fanfic #canon tma fic #send help i'm in too deep #i owe the discord server at least two more fics already #GUYS HELP

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dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 · 3 years

Text

The Problem with Perfection Chapter 10 spoilers!

Hey all! So, a couple people asked for this, so I figured I’d post it. It’s chapter 8 of the companion to TPWP, The Problem with Mondo, which corresponds with chapter 10 of TPWP. Yes, this confuses me a lot too, the fact that the chapters don’t align. -.-

Anyway! Don’t read this if you’ve not read TPWP chapter 10, since it will definitely spoil that chapter, ha. Warning for an overabundance of foul language and some sexualized thinking, as well as an absent thought of suicide, same as in TPWP. This chapter is super long, about 20,000 words, and I’m posting all of it because... why not, am I right? Ha.

I did cut a few sentences from this chapter because they might spoil things for later chapters of TPWP, but they don’t really contain anything major.

The chapter is below the cut! Hope y’all like. :-)

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

Mondo is angry. Blindingly angry. So angry he doesn’t know why he’s angry, but honestly, what else is new? He just knows that he’s angry and the reason he is angry is that goddamn motherfucking kid and his goddamn motherfucking glasses-

“They! Are!! Glasses!!! Just!!! Wear them!!!” the boy grits out, thrusting his goddamn hand out towards Mondo, looking like he is about five fucking seconds from bashing his head against the goddamn wall. Mondo almost wishes he fucking would, to save him the fucking trouble! Unable to help himself, he scowls and crosses his arms, shaking his head firmly, so fucking pissed it ain’t even funny.

“No! I ain’t no fuckin’ nerd!” Mondo yells back, glaring like he was born to do it. Unfortunately, it seems so was Ishimaru, as the kid is glaring like his life depends on it, as fiery and beautiful passionate as ever. That goddamn motherfucking...

“Just! Wear them! The doctor says you need them! You don’t have to wear them all the time! Just when you’re reading! Stop! Being an idiot!”

“Me?! I ain’t no fuckin’ idiot, you’re a fuckin’ idiot! If ya think I’m gonna wear that shit, yer outta yer goddamn mind! Now get that shit outta my face, ya fuckwad, or I’m gonna bash yer head in!”

“Like heck you will! You’re all bark and no bite, Owada! Now just! Wear! The! Glasses! You said you were okay with them when you bought them! I will force you to wear them, don’t think I won’t!”

“Oh, you motherfuckin’-!”

“U-uh, g-guys?”

Mondo and Ishimaru turn, as one, to glare at the intruder on their private fucking conversation. Okay, so maybe they’re in the middle of the hallway outside their dorm rooms, but fuck! That don’t mean shit! Eavesdropping is a nasty fucking habit and if this goddamn motherfucker doesn’t butt the fuck out right the fuck now-

“Shut up!” the pair shouts in unison, before turning to glare at each other again.

Mondo doesn’t know why he’s so angry. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, or why he has been doing this for the past week and a half. From hot, to cold, to hot, to cold, again and again and again, never fucking ceasing. One minute he’s fine, relaxed as shit and not at all angry, maybe even feeling kinda good, and then the next...

And he doesn’t know why. Why he’s doing this. Why he’s fucking ruining this shit, like he fucking ruins every fucking thing. He... h-he just...

Things had been okay, you know? Between him and Ishimaru. At first. Sure, they weren’t really friends, evidenced by how they are still referring to one another by last name, but they’d been friendly enough. Mondo had taken care to keep his anger in check, and— to his surprise— it... it hadn’t actually been that hard. It seems that Ishimaru can be pretty fucking cool when they’re not at odds.

He’s also a great fucking tutor. He somehow manages to not sound sanctimonious and pretentious when explaining shit, instead looking so fucking earnest and like he genuinely wants to just... help.

Because of that, they’d gotten along pretty well those first few days. Ishimaru had been determined to get him brought up to speed before they started the fucking novel, so he’d taken care to spend a couple hours a day hanging around Mondo, at various times. The pair usually spent an hour or so in the library after class ended, but more than that, they just... they would walk together between classes, Ishimaru rambling on and on about what they’d just learned about in class. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d allowed it, usually not caring about shit like that, but somehow... somehow, it had been nice. Hearing Ishimaru talk about the shit they’d learned, the kid better able to impart knowledge in the ten fucking minutes they had between classes than the teachers were able to in the hour plus they had. It’s not at all the sorta shit Mondo would have expected himself to enjoy, let alone look forward to, but shit. There they were.

But then... Mondo got stupid. He overstepped his bounds and got fucking scared, fuck.

They’d been in Ishimaru’s room. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d made the offer to go to the kid’s room rather than the library, like they usually did, like was safe, but he... he had. And the kid had fucking accepted, and so there they were, sitting on the hall monitor’s fucking couch, sitting too fucking close. The kid was reading the short story Teach had assigned to the class, the pair realizing it was just... easier, while Mondo waited for the nurse to contact the eye doctor for him, since it turned out that yeah, his eyes were kinda fucked up, shit.

He had felt so fucking weird inside, the first time the kid had read to him, since they’d been in the library and he’d been nervous someone would see them and think Mondo was an idiot who needed to be fucking read to, but... shit. This time it had just been... different. Without the fear of being judged (since Ishimaru never fucking judged him, not ever, god fucking damn), he... he’d been able to listen to the kid reading without any fucking reservations. And he’d had to admit that- that he... he liked it. A lot. Like... fucking a lot.

So fucking much that it had made him feel relaxed for the first time... shit. Prolly ever. Ishimaru just had a nice sounding voice, ya know? It was strangely deep, at times, when he got lost in the story, his words not too fast but not too slow. He actually emoted when he spoke, too, the sound not a dull and dry monotone like so many fucking other people he’s heard read before. It just... made him feel so fucking calm inside, like the monster inside of him had been fucking purring.

And... and then...

Mondo had let his head drop down onto Ishimaru’s shoulder, eyes closing in contentment, the kid faltering for one split second, breath hitched, before he’d smoothly continued, like it had never happened. And with his eyes closed and his head resting on a warm, comfortable shoulder, hearing that wonderful cadence from that wonderful, beautiful mouth... he hadn’t been able to stop the thought. And the thought he had was...

God, his voice is so fucking nice, isn’t it...? Wonder what it would sound like screaming your name as you pound the fuck outta him. He’d prolly be loud as shit, so fucking passionate, clawing you to all hell, but damn if you’d mind. Shit... wouldn’t that be fucking nice...

He had been, to put it mildly, freaked the fuck out.

His eyes had shot open the second the thought had crossed his mind, heart fucking pounding as he wondered where the goddamn fuck that shit came from. Ishimaru had been startled, looking at him with his wide fucking eyes, lips opened softly in shock, voice faltering for the first time and Mondo... Mondo couldn’t fucking handle it, holy fucking shit.

He’d immediately stood and stammered out some bullshit about needing to check on his hog, before fucking bailing, eyes wide and heart an absolute mess. He had, indeed, gone out to his hog and rode around for a bit, not wanting to think, but he’d been unable to help it. To stop it. And it... it made him feel...

He’s not gay. Okay? He’s fucking not. There’d be no fucking problem if he were, but he just ain’t. He likes chicks, something he knows better than anything else, something he’s known since he was a fucking kid, goddamn. He’d even made sure to look at his porno mags that night, reassured when he felt his dick harden so fucking hard as he saw the tits and pussy that always made him so fucking hard to see.

So, he wasn’t gay. He fucking couldn’t be gay, and it’s not possible for him to like both, so he figured that the thought had meant... meant Mondo wanted to fucking pound Ishimaru’s head in, not- n-not any other meaning of the word that it could have meant. He guessed that he didn’t like being around Ishimaru as much as he had assumed and that he actually hated him, after all.

As freaked out as he’d been, he took hold of that idea and fucking ran with it. He told himself that he hated the kid, of course he hated him, his voice was fucking annoying as shit, not nice, not nice at all!

And so, the next day, he’d been cold to the kid. So fucking cold. And when the kid had tried to approach him after home room ended, looking open and earnest and so fucking cute-

Mondo hadn’t been able to handle it. His stomach had clenched, and his heart had fucking lurched, and he told himself it was hatred he felt, it had to be fucking hatred. And so, he’d snarled at the kid, telling him to ‘get the fuck away from me, freak!’ before he’d run off, heart aching so fucking stupidly.

He had considered skipping class, getting on his hog and fucking booking it, but he needed to give his girl a break, and he still kinda wanted to try the whole ‘giving school a chance’ thing, so he’d eventually decided to storm into class, even if he’d been five minutes late. He’d refused to look at Ishimaru, though, thinking that seeing his stupid fucking pathetic face would fucking destroy him infuriate the shit out of him, and as soon as class ended, he’d shot out, not needing to pack anything up since he’d not fucking brought anything, shit.

That had kept happening the rest of the day. Every class they had together (which was pretty much every fucking class, god fucking damn this school) Mondo would carefully keep his eyes off the kid, ignoring the feel of sad, hurt, bright red eyes as they bored into him. After the second class, the kid had tried to chase after him, tried to talk to him, but Mondo would fucking turn and head the opposite fucking direction of their next class, and he knew the kid wouldn’t dare risk being late, so he’d give up pretty quick. He’d constantly be looking in class, though, lips pulled down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Not that Mondo was fucking looking! Shit!

It wasn’t until Ishimaru had cornered him outside his dorm room that night, looking so fucking hurt and upset and not a little bit annoyed that they’d managed to resolve things.

In that Ishimaru had been so fucking annoying that Mondo had immediately started yelling, causing Ishimaru to yell back, his words bleeding hurt, making Mondo feel like absolute scum. They had been loud enough to garner the attention of most of their classmates, even fucking Togami gracing them with his condescending presence, which had made Mondo even more pissed, honestly, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere fucking else.

It was when the kid looked about ready to fucking cry that Mondo had had enough. His insides were squirming, and he felt so fucking scared, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, but he... h-he hadn’t wanted to make Ishimaru cry again. After spending several days interacting with Ishimaru, having a lot of fucking conversations that hadn’t actually ended in the kid’s tears, he... he hadn’t wanted to go back to that.

And so, with all the confused fucking emotions swirling inside him, he’d yelled ‘fuckin’ fine, ya goddamn bastard! I’ll fuckin’ meet you and do that goddamn fuckin’ assignment tomorrow! Now leave me the fuck alone!’ before storming into his room and slamming the door shut so loud it made even his ears ring.

He’d then promptly stormed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go, the water fucking hurting, but he’d wanted it to. He just... he’d felt so... so...

Confused...

He’d never felt this way for anyone before. So angry and scared and confused and yet also so fucking happy, so bizarrely, stupidly happy. Ishimaru fucking... he made him happy. And he didn’t know how to handle that, because clearly, he still hated the kid... right? Right? What other option was there? Why did he want to hit Ishimaru (and he had to want to hit him, it was the only fucking option that made any fucking sense) if he didn’t hate him?

But he’d agreed— stupidly— to meet with the kid for another fucking tutoring session after class the next day. And while the thought had made his insides squirm, he... fuck. He hadn’t wanted to make the kid cry again. God, did he not want that. Even if he did hate him— which he must, he must— he... fuck.

He couldn’t make him cry.

He wasn’t his goddamn old man.

And so, when he got out of the shower, he’d resolved to contain his anger the next day. He’d push it down, keep it locked up tight tight tight, and he wouldn’t let it hurt Ishimaru. He’d gotten into bed (still hated it, but he was slowly getting use to the ridiculously plush material) and fallen into a fitful sleep, dreams full of wide, hurt red eyes, a sad voice begging him to explain why he was hurting him so. He’d woken an hour early with a start, heart pounding, and had spent the remaining time until he usually got up doing push-ups again and again and again, until he didn’t remember the dream anymore.

And then, when he went into class, carrying his supplies for once... he’d given the kid a small, sheepish smile, stomach roiling with all the emotions within it. He’d then spent the rest of home room doodling absently on the notebook Ishimaru had helped him pick out from the school store, doing his best to not think of everything and psych himself out. He’d even managed to feel almost calm as he let himself draw, something he rarely allows himself to do, but always has kinda enjoyed, even if he’s shit at it.

Once home room ended, he’d waited for Ishimaru at the door, telling him as casually as he could that the nurse had contacted him the day before, saying she’d scheduled an eye doctor (he still can’t remember the official name Ishimaru called the dude, shit) appointment for 3:00 the next day, hesitantly asking the kid if he had wanted to come along. He could tell that the kid was taken aback, clearly not having expected such a thing, but he’d still stammered out an acceptance, looking so flustered it wasn’t funny when Mondo turned to look at him with a small, soft smile. He’d not meant to look at the kid like that, but he’d just... been unable to help it.

The rest of the day had gone well, the tutoring session going nicely like it had before that stupid fucking bullshit two days prior. It had happened in the library again, which Mondo figured would be safer. He’d almost started to hope that things would stay that way, stay as calm and easy and nice, but then-

Mondo got angry. Again.

He doesn’t even know why, he never fucking does, but the kid had just... he’d been so fucking patient, helping Mondo pick out a pair of ‘reading glasses,’ since the doc had said he had pretty bad close-up vision and would be benefited from having prescription reading glasses, not just the over-the-counter stuff you find at drug stores. Mondo had felt so fucking lost, no idea what any of the bullshit meant, but Ishimaru had... he’d been so fucking helpful, explaining the complicated terminology and shit, helping him find a pair that didn’t make him look too much like a fucking nerd. And the pair he settled on was honestly kinda nice. It was a rectangular silver metal frame that had deep purple plastic on the sides, and it actually make him look kinda cool... if a bit nerdy. He’d given the salesperson his school insurance card and was pleasantly surprised to find he’d not have to pay a penny for the frames, since the school covers shit like that.

It was then, as he and Ishimaru exited the shop and the kid absently commented that the glasses made him look very smart that Mondo just... fucking lost it.

And he doesn’t even know why.

It just... it made him feel weird inside. Being around the kid. Being soft with him. And he was. Soft. Soft and kind and fucking gentle. And the kid was the exact same back. The entire time they’d been in the shop, Mondo had been thinking how nice it had felt. How domestic. The panic and fear had been slowly rising in him the entire time they’d been in the store, and he’d done all he could to push it the fuck down, but he... he hadn’t...

He’d left the kid standing there, looking so fucking confused, as he hopped on his hog and drove away. He’d not cared how the kid would get back to the school, he had refused to ride with Mondo since it made him ‘nervous’ anyway, so it wasn’t his fucking problem.

And that pattern just... kept repeating. Mondo would get angry, say something toxic to the kid, and storm away. The kid would wait a couple of hours, maybe try and talk with him after class or something, only to eventually corner him and force him to talk to him, looking so fucking fed up, but also so fucking upset and sad and confused. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was doing this to him. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was being so fucking difficult. Like he... he didn’t...

Didn’t know why he fucking bothered...

And… honestly? Mondo didn’t know why either. Why he kept trying. Why he was so stubborn, always chasing after Mondo even after Mondo fucking shoved him away, sometimes literally. Even when Mondo would get so fucking nasty, making tears build up in the kid’s eyes, frustration clear in his every movement.

For almost two weeks this occurred, again and again and again, and Mondo... Mondo doesn’t know why the kid doesn’t just leave him already. Why he doesn’t just say ‘the hell with it,’ realize Mondo isn’t fucking worth it, and leave his ass. Like every other person on the face of this goddamn planet...

It’s only a matter of time until he does, though. Leave him. It’s what always was going to happen, since Mondo couldn’t ever hope to hold onto someone so very, very good. So very, very nice. Mondo is poison. He’s gas. He only knows how to destroy and break and hurt.

He’s not allowed something nice.

He’s not allowed someone nice.

He’s just...

Not worthy of it.

Case in fucking point...

“Look. Owada-kun,” Ishimaru spits, hands clenched around the stupid glasses case that he for some reason has (Mondo doesn’t even know how he’d gotten a hold of them, shit), looking like he wants to crush them, shit. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this! You picked them out! You said they were fine! Why! Why have you changed your mind!”

Mondo scowls at the words, heart racing and swirling and hurting, hurting, hurting, and he doesn’t wanna be doing this, wants to stop, but he can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t! He doesn’t know how to stop this, doesn’t know how to make this go away, all he knows how to do is break and hurt and destroy, destroy, destroy-

“I ain’t changed shit! I never fuckin’ agreed ta wear fuckin’ glasses, now get the fuck outta my face!”

It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie, he can see the anger rising on Ishimaru’s face as he processes the abject lie. Mondo had, in fact, agreed on the glasses, had even kinda liked them, but he can’t concede that, can’t say he does, if he does then- then that means he’s okay with this, this weird thing he has going on with Ishimaru, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that, handle the proof that Ishimaru is so fucking amazing, the proof that Mondo doesn’t fucking deserve him, proof that... t-that he...

Mondo can’t take it. He can’t fucking take it! He tries to leave, to get away, to fucking end this shit already, but then Ishimaru is grabbing hold of him, holding so fucking tight, and Mondo tries to break free, tries to get away, but the kid just doesn’t fucking let go, and Mondo is so fucking freaked out, he just wants to leave, please god, let him just leave, don’t let him break this fucking kid again, god, please-

“You-! You are the most infuriating, pig-headed, arrogant... jerk I have ever had the misfortune to meet! If I never saw your face again, it wouldn’t be long enough!”

“Oh, I’m so wounded, please don’t call me anymore fuckin’ names like that, how the fuck am I ever gonna recover?!” Mondo snarls, sarcasm so thick he’s sure even Ishimaru will be able to pick up on it, wanting to stop but not being able to. “Grow the fuck up, ya cock suckin’ assfucker! Learn some better fuckin’ insults or don’t even bother tryin’ ta play!”

“Just because I am too sophisticated to resort to such foul language does not mean anything! You may be a lowly, classless heathen, but I, for one, refuse-”

“Oh, so now ya think yer fuckin’ better than me?! I told ya already, y’ain’t goddamn shit, Ishimaru! Ain’t no shit at all!”

“I am one hundred times the man you will ever hope to be! And if I’m not... feces, then you’re not even worth anything at all! Y-you’re... you’re an amoeba, so tiny and insignificant that it’s a miracle you think you’re relevant at all!”

“What the fuck did ya call me, ya son ofa bitch?!”

Mondo sees the kid open his mouth— likely to fire something back, barely any space between them— holding onto Mondo’s arm so fucking tight, like his life depends on it or something, looking so fucking pissed and angry and hurt and fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, god fucking damnit-

But before the kid can say anything, another voice pipes up, the same voice as earlier, making Mondo’s rage reach a paramount, oh god-

“Aw, come on! I thought you guys resolved things already, do you really have to do this?! Please!”

Mondo turns to the fucking eavesdropper, snarling at the beyond fucking average boy. Naegi turns super fucking pale at the look, but he doesn’t cower away for once. Mondo doesn’t care. He’s far passed the point of caring.

“I told ya ta stay the fuck outta this!”

Naegi frowns, but Mondo doesn’t give him a chance to say any other stupid ass thing before he’s turning back to Ishimaru, eyes practically spitting fire as he stares so deep into Ishimaru’s that it feels almost like a physical embrace. It makes Mondo’s breath hitch for some stupid fucking reason, his stomach swirling as he looks deep into the most gorgeous fucking eyes he’s ever fucking seen-

But he can’t feel things like that, so he pushes it firmly away.

He can hear their eavesdropper fucking sigh, soft and almost disappointed, and that should make Mondo even angrier, but something in Mondo is feeling so fucking weird now. G-god... he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe it, other than it feels like he’s on fire, but not even in a bad way. Ishimaru is staring at him, eyes wide, anger in them, but also something else, something Mondo can’t understand, no matter how much he fucking wants to.

He can’t let this end here. He wants to let it end, but he fucking can’t. He... h-he needs to figure out how to settle this, how to make this stop, how to not be as fucking pathetic as he knows he is. He... he needs to prove that he’s not as worthless as they both know he is, as weak, as nothing, so fucking nothing. Everyone knows it, knows he doesn’t belong here, knows that Ishimaru is so much better than him it’s not funny, but he- he needs to prove that he has something going for him, that he... he can do something, even if he’s worthless in every other regard, every other aspect, even if Ishimaru is better than him everywhere else he just needs to prove he can beat him at fucking something, god-

He’s issuing the challenge before he can stop himself.

And god, is he so fucking afraid.

“You think yer so perfect, don’t ya, Ishimaru? Think yer better than me? Well... well, yer not, an’ I can fuckin’ prove it. I bet I can beat you, hands down, any day of the fuckin’ week. Y’ain’t better than me, ya shit fuck. Y’ain’t nothin’,” Mondo hisses, lying through his fucking teeth. Ishimaru is better than him. He knows it. He’s always known it. He hates it, though. Not being good enough. Not being worthy. He... he wants to be. Good enough. For... f-for...

Ishimaru’s eyes are shiny again, even despite his glare.

Typical.

“What?! Y-you guys aren’t going to- to fight, are you? Guys-!”

Mondo breaks his stare down with Ishimaru to shoot that goddamn fucking bastard a single, solitary sneer, before turning back to Ishimaru, chest heaving with all the emotions he carries within him.

“Nah. Ground floor, there’s a sauna. Ya know it?”

Ishimaru blinks slowly, sluggish, before nodding slightly, looking very fucking confused. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pulled down, and he looks so fucking cute stupid, god. After a moment, though, it seems he understands what Mondo is getting at, the challenge he is suggesting, as his face lights up, eyes bright and passionate once more, an honest to god grin on his face.

Holy fucking shit...

“Aha! A simple endurance challenge! If that is your gauntlet, then I happily accept! I will wipe the floor with you!”

Despite the anger that is still flowing through him, Mondo can’t help the small smile that passes on his lips, something about the enthusiasm so fucking... not cute, not cute, not cute at all, but maybe, a little, teeny tiny bit... endearing? He pushes it away, though. It’s not helpful, here.

“Yer fuckin’ on. And you,” Mondo points blindly to Naegi— who ‘eeps’ at the gesture, fucking coward he is— not able to look away from Ishimaru for a single fucking second, “will be our witness. Got it?!”

As intently as Mondo is staring at Ishimaru, he doesn’t see the other kid’s response, but he can hear how Naegi splutters, the kid clearly not as enthusiastic about the idea as Ishimaru and himself are. Bastard.

“W-what?! Now?! B-but it’s so late... g-guys, are you sure this is a- a good idea-?!”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ moron, it’s a fuckin’ great idea!” Mondo snarls, at the exact same time Ishimaru— eyes bright and feverish— exclaims, “yes! It is an excellent idea!”

Uncomfortable at their agreement, Mondo finally tears his eyes away, ignoring the churning feeling in his chest as he storms down the hall to where the bathhouse is, mere meters away. Ishimaru stares after him for a stunned second, but quickly spurs himself into motion, using his long-ish legs to catch up quick, head held high as they march determinedly on. God... he’s so fucking...

Shit.

When they reach the bathhouse a few moments later, Mondo firmly pushes aside the rational voice inside him that is screaming at him not to do this. He knows his limits when it comes to endurance. While he’s not the best at running, he has great endurance for other things, especially pain and discomfort. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~)

But Ishimaru... fuck. He’s so fucking passionate, so fucking determined, but who knows what his endurance is like? If he’ll be able to keep up? And it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t give Mondo pause, but he... he can’t help the stab of concern that fills him as they enter the room, Mondo grabbing a ‘closed for repairs’ sign and putting it in front of the entrance, not wanting anyone to interrupt.

He hates the feeling and pushes it away as he turns to glare at Ishimaru, pointing a finger, not wanting to deal with such weakness, but he... he can’t quite manage to force it fully away...

Shit.

“Alright, here’s the fuckin’ terms. First ta tap out is a fuckin’ bitch ass loser who ain’t worth shit. The one who lasts the longest is the official winner. We ain’t allowed ta touch the other or do anythin’ ta them directly, this is strictly an endurance challenge. Oh, an’ we’re gonna do this fully clothed. What do ya say?!”

Mondo sees Ishimaru’s eyes widen when he gets to the last term, the kid fucking shaking his head sharply in denial. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. He’d added that last clause in last minute, realizing as he detailed the rules that they were gonna be fucking half fucking naked in there, and his mind had shorted the fuck out. He’s been in saunas fully clothed before, he knows he can handle it, but he isn’t fucking sure he can handle sitting nearly nude beside Ishi-fucking-maru...

But of course, the kid wouldn’t fucking agree. Of fucking course...

“I do not agree to that last term, but I agree to the rest!”

Glad his angry flush fully disguises the fucking embarrassed flush he can feel rising on his face, Mondo just nods tensely, sneering, as he storms over to the water cooler in the corner.

“Alright, whatever, fucker. Ya got five minutes ta prepare. Then, we’re fuckin’ doin’ this shit.”

With that, Mondo grabs a paper cup and downs some water, feeling so impossibly tense. He can feel Ishimaru staring at him, mouth partially open, but he gets spurned into action when Naegi shifts awkwardly beside him, chasing the kid away to one of the lockers, where he... he fucking...

Starts taking off his fucking clothes...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Mondo is staring. Mondo knows he shouldn’t be staring, knows it’s wrong to be staring, but he can’t fucking help it. His eyes are like magnets, drawn to the kid, watching as he takes off all of his fucking layers, folding each one so neatly and carefully as he sticks them in the small fucking locker. The kid hesitates a little when he gets to his fucking tighty-whities (of course the kid wears that shit, of fucking course), but ultimately, he doesn’t take them off. Instead, he bites his lip and grabs a white towel, wrapping it firmly around his waist before putting the rest of his stuff away. Mondo firmly pushes down the stupid as shit rush of disappointment and tells himself to stop staring, to look away, but god, he fucking can’t. Ishimaru, he...

He’s so fucking gorgeous, so fucking hot, so fucking sexy-

Mondo feels himself heat the fuck up when Ishimaru turns abruptly and looks him straight in the eyes, looking fucking startled at something. Feeling strangely caught, Mondo looks away as quick as he can, pushing away the stupid as shit thoughts, marching over to a locker stiffly. Shit... he’s gotta fucking get laid one of these days. The tension is doing fucked up shit to his brain...

He takes his time putting some of his more fragile shit away, like his crappy cellphone and his key card. He does, honestly, consider taking off his uniform, or at least taking off his duster, but he just... shit. Can’t. Not with how strange he feels inside, his mind’s eye still stupidly forcing him to think of Ishimaru, his stupidly muscular back flexing with every move he made. It means nothing, fucking nothing, but he... shit. It prolly would be better to remain fully clothed, duster included, even if it does put him at a disadvantage. But ya know what, whatever. Doesn’t matter. He knows his limits and knows that he can last longer in the sauna than Ishimaru, even when fully clothed. Shit...

When the five minutes he gave them are up, he meets up with Ishimaru outside the entrance to the sauna, fully intending to slide it open and step inside, when-

“Owada-kun, you cannot seriously be considering entering the sauna fully clothed! It’s suicide!” Ishimaru exclaims, sounding fucking concerned as shit. His eyes are wide, and his brows are furrowed, and he’s biting his fucking lip, god fucking damn, and it’s messing with Mondo’s head so fucking much. Why... why the fuck would he care?! Huh?! They’re not fucking friends! Why would he care if Mondo did try and kill himself, huh?! World would fucking be better off for it, shit!

Deciding to definitely not say that, Mondo just sneers at the kid, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Just ‘cuz yer a fuckin’ pansy ass bitch don’t mean I am! Now, ya ready ta do this, or are ya a fuckin’ chicken?!”

His face flushed, Ishimaru doesn’t even bother to answer, instead just yanking open the door and entering the sauna with a stubborn tilt to his jaw.

Staring after the kid for a split second (pushing down the disappointment that he didn’t press the issue harder, proving to Mondo how fucking right he is), Mondo enters on Ishimaru’s heels, the heat not even bothering him one bit.

It’s nothing compared to the fire that constantly burns within him.

Sliding the door shut behind him, leaving Naegi outside to do whatever the fuck he wants while the contest takes place, Mondo marches over to where Ishimaru is sitting, taking a seat an arm’s length away. He can feel bright red eyes on him, but he determinedly pushes the feeling away, trading a few snide comments with the kid, not even feeling the heat really.

About ten minutes in, Mondo will admit the heat is getting to him a little, a thin sheen of sweat making its way onto his skin, which is more uncomfortable than anything. Ishimaru looks a little woozy, so Mondo taunts that the kid should just give up now. Ishimaru just laughs, saying how he never gives up, ever. Fucking pretentious bastard.

After half an hour, he can admit he is feeling kinda uncomfortable, the heat becoming somewhat unpleasant, but he’s still feeling pretty good, all things considered. Ishimaru looks flushed as all hell, though, his cheeks bright red and sweat clinging to his muscles. The kid tells him— unprompted— that he’s doing fine, and Mondo’s brain feels too stupid to allow him to do much else than glare, shit...

After around fifty minutes, the kid... he looks fucking awful. Mondo isn’t doing too hot, the uncomfortable feeling spreading to be extremely uncomfortable, but he knows he can handle it. The kid, though... he looks like he’s starting to lose it. Ishimaru mentions absently that he’s starting to feel cold, which honestly concerns Mondo, since he knows that shit is a bad sign, but his head is too stupid to remember why, so he just says it’s prolly not good. The kid doesn’t call it quits, though.

Instead, he actually... talks... huh.

“Y-you can take off your uniform... if you w-want... I- I won’t judge...” the boy mumbles, sounding super fucking exhausted. Mondo tries to snort, but it’s a lot harder than it should be, shit.

“N-nah... I’m... I’m... I’m good,” Mondo finds himself muttering back, looking at the kid intensely, wondering why he isn’t giving up when he so clearly feels sick. Mondo finds himself muttering about how red Ishimaru’s is, likening him to a hot spring monkey, of all things. The kid mumbles back about being born with a red face, which makes no fucking sense, but ya know what? He’s too tired to waste energy on this shit. He’s got a challenge to win.

After what he figures is an hour and five minutes, the warning bell rings, telling them they have five minutes until curfew. Mondo figures the hall monitor will end this now, since he wouldn’t dare stay out past curfew and risk breaking one of his ‘precious rules,’ but the kid doesn’t seem to even notice the bell had rung. S-shit... that... that’s not good, is it...?

Mondo gets distracted from his stupid as shit concern when a new voice pipes up, shocking Mondo. Huh... he hadn’t realized the kid was still out there. Shit.

“U-uh guys? It’s almost curfew, shouldn’t you... stop? I know you both want to prove how big of badasses you are but... don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Mondo scowls at the meaning of the words, knowing that he sure as shit ain’t gonna back down first. He’s already so worthless. He’s gotta prove that he can at least do this, of all fucking things.

“Shut up!” he barks, at the same time Ishimaru does, making him feel fucking wigged out at how they’re both on the same page again.

Naegi replies back to them, saying something about it being nighttime, and a tie... it honestly offends Mondo, but before he can reply, the kid is... talking... saying something about how in a true competition, there are no ties. That you either win or you lose, and that... that’s the only thing that matters. It honestly kinda pisses Mondo off, even if he agrees fully, so he fires back how he will push the kid right up to the gates of hell, meaning it fully.

He tells Naegi to leave then, knowing that this might drag on a lot longer than he had anticipated. Shit. He knew Ishimaru was fucking stubborn as shit, willing to do absolutely anything to reach his goals, but this... this is just madness. Utter madness. As Naegi leaves, Mondo cannot help how he stares at the hall monitor, who looks so fucking sick right now. He does his best to ignore it, to wait the kid out, but when roughly fifteen more minutes pass and the kid isn’t tapping out, despite looking half dead, he... he can’t help the worry that he feels. And then, when the kid closes his eyes, barely breathing, Mondo... s-shit...

“Hey... man... are you... are you okay...? Ya don’t... don’t look so good...”

Mondo listens, getting really kinda freaked, when Ishimaru lets out a soft puff of air, almost like he’s trying to laugh but can’t find the energy. He lolls his head over to Mondo, the first movement he’s done in minutes, but his eyes are still closed, which looks so fucking freaky. It takes him far longer than it should to open his eyes, and when he does, they... shit. They look glazed, like the kid isn’t fucking in there, like he... he’s...

Already dead...

F-fuck...

It really does look like that, though. Eyes glazed, mouth partially open, chest so scarily still... o-oh, shit. Shit, what if he... what if he is dead...?! Y-yeah, he just moved, but he- he looks so still, it... Mondo...

But then the kid is speaking, and he sounds so very out of it, but at least he’s alive, thank god...

“I- I’m... I’m fine, I...”

Oh, shit... no, he... he’s not fine, is he...? Shit... s-shit...

“Shit... man... no, y’ain’t. I know my... my limits. I’ve got some time... left in me... but you... shit. Just give up, dude. Just... just give... up...”

It makes something in Mondo clench when he sees the kid’s face screw up, like he wants to cry but just has no tears left within him. And then he... he’s speaking...

“No... n-no, I can’t... I- I can’t... give up... I have to... have to...”

The kid stops, then, and Mondo feels so fucking confused, his head all stupid because of the heat, making it hard to think. What? He has to... what?

“Hafta... what? What... is so important... ta ya?”

The kid blinks, like he hadn’t expected to be spoken to, before opening his mouth and muttering words. It... it’s like the kid doesn’t even know he’s speaking, the words sounding so fucking slurred and soft. Mondo has to strain to hear them, even though the silence is oppressive between them.

“I can’t... give up... must... restore... honor... family... f-family name...”

Mondo furrows his eyebrows, his lips turned down in a frown, not... not understanding...

“Yer family... name? What… what about it?”

Ishimaru blinks, like he can barely understand what Mondo is saying, and fuck is that scary...

“I must... fix his mistakes. I must... I must bring honor t-to... to our name... my grandfather...”

Okay, that... that doesn’t make any fucking sense... his grandfather? The fuck? Shit... Ishimaru needs to stop this, he... he’s not making any sense...

“What? The fuck... the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout, man? Shit... Ishimaru, yer ‘bout ta... ta fuckin’ pass out... why can’t ya just... just give up, man?”

Ishimaru isn’t looking at him anymore and is instead staring blankly at the steam that is billowing around them, looking like he’s not aware where the fuck he is. It makes Mondo’s stomach clench, the concern rising. He... he doesn’t wanna give up, needs to prove himself, but he... Ishimaru... f-fuck...

And then... Ishimaru starts talking again...

“It... it’s all up to me to fix it... t-to make it better... m-make it- it right-! I... I can’t... give up, I... I’m not... not allowed to... give up... giving up is- is wrong... and immoral, and- and I am not wrong! I... I’m not- not immoral... I... I’m better... better than my grandfather... better than myself... better... than...”

Okay. Okay. Okay, it’s official. Mondo is fucking freaked the fuck out. What... what does any of that even mean? He... Ishimaru...

“Fuck, dude, yer- yer scarin’ me... what the hell does… does any a’ that even… even mean? Yer the fuckin’... Ultimate Moral Compass... ‘course yer not- not... immoral...”

Ishimaru is shaking now, eyes still glazed, staring at the steam as if it holds the answer to life itself. And fuck... it’s so fucking creepy...

“But I am, I am... I’m worthless, I’m nothing... my grandfather... he’d done so many terrible things, had hurt s-so many people... he’d ruined... ruined Japan... e-everyone hated him... hated me... I have to do better... to be better... to fix... my grandfather’s... mistakes...”

His grandfather? Who the fuck is his grandfather? And why... why does he even matter? Even if he was so fucking terrible, Ishimaru... he ain’t... he...

“Dude... y’ain’t... ain’t yer grandfather... yer yer own person... an’ frankly... I kinda... kinda like... s-shit. Just... stop this, man. Just admit it. Admit it’s... too much...”

The kid shakes his head, and Mondo doesn’t know how he’s able to even hear him, as far fucking gone as he looks, but fuck, he’s clearly responding, ain’t he...?

“Nnnn- n-no! I- I... I can’t... can’t admit... weakness... god I’m so... so weak... pathetic... the children, they’re right about me, they’re all so... so right... I’ll never... amount to- to anything... I’m worthless... pathetic... scum...”

H-holy shit... Ishimaru he... he can’t fucking believe that... can he? No... n-no, he... he ain’t none of that shit, Mondo is, Mondo is, but not- not Ishimaru! He... he’s fucking... he...

“Ishimaru... Ishimaru, stop... s-stop! Y’ain’t... none a’ that is... is true... yer the best... goddamn person I ever... ever met, ya... ya never gave up on me... no matter how horrible I treated ya... ya just... wouldn’t leave... I tried ta make ya leave, why... why wouldn’t ya leave...”

He hadn’t meant to ask the question, voice so fucking soft, but he couldn’t help it. It’s been plaguing him for weeks now, wondering why... why Ishimaru bothered staying... why he didn’t just leave his ass... why he didn’t just... give up on him... like everyone always does...

“Me... leave? Why? Where would I... go...? I’ve n-never... had a friend... if this is... is friendship... then what else can I... do? I don’t... w-wanna... be...... alone.........”

Oh... oh, shit... suddenly, so many things make so much fucking sense. Why the kid always seems so fucking nervous and awkward around people, though he tries his damndest to hide it. Why he is always alone, never seen really talking to anyone, not without a reason. Why he always... always does his best to extend olive branches to people, offering to tutor or help or do whatever is needed to... to get them to talk to him... g-god... he never would have thought the kid would have no friends, even though it’s so fucking obvious when Mondo thinks about it. He’s just... he’s just so fucking bright and full of sunshine... Mondo can’t imagine people seeing that and not... not wanting to...

It’s right then, in that moment, brain stupid from heat, halfway gone but not fully gone yet, that Mondo... Mondo makes a decision.

If they survive this stupid fucking challenge... he... he will be Ishimaru— no, Kiyotaka, his name is- is Kiyotaka... he will be Kiyotaka’s friend... and he will be a fucking good one, the friend that the kid... that he fucking deserves...

If the kid even wants to be friends with him...

“Fuckin’... shit, man. Yer not... alone... I’m here. Ishimaru... Kiyotaka... I’m right... right here...”

The kid shakes his head, breath still shallow, but now it’s wavering, shaking... trembling... g-god... fuck...

“No... no... I’m alone, I’m alone. Everyone... always leaves... my mother... my grandfather... even my father would leave... if he could... he’s never... never understood me. No one... understands me... I don’t... even... understand...... myself..........”

Oh. Oh. Oh. This... this poor fucking boy... he... s-shit. Shit... this... they gotta fucking stop this... they...

“I... I understand ya. Yer... yer like me... ain’t ya? Shit. We gotta... gotta stop this, man... what are ya... tryin’... ta prove?”

Kiyotaka is shaking again, looking like he wants to cry but just... can’t. God... god... fucking... god.

“Everything. Everything. Every… everything… I have to prove them... wrong. I have to prove... that I can do this. If I... if I give up... i-if I let myself give up... then I fail. I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail. I c-can’t... fail, I can’t... g-give up... or else... what is... the point... of me...?”

Point? The point? Why... why does he have to have a point? Shit... he’s so fucking amazing, he... he doesn’t have to have a point... no more than just... just being...

“Ain’t gotta... have a point man... ya can just... be. Be... Kiyotaka. What’s so wrong... with that?”

The blank look on the kid’s face grows, his voice soft, weak. Trembling, like he doesn’t mean to say it, like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Mondo has never heard someone sound so... so... dead before... h-holy shit...

“Everything. Everything. Everything. E-everything... is wrong with... me... I- I’m too... too much. T-too passionate... too vibrant... I- I hurt... hurt my own eyes... I hate... l-looking at myself... hate... b-being myself... if I could... be someone else... I- I would... gladly...”

No. No. No, fucking... no! Ish- Kiyo... Kiyotaka can’t fucking believe that... yeah, he’s so fucking passionate, so fucking bright, but that... that’s not a bad thing... he... he’s so fucking good... so fucking... amazing... and he... Mondo wouldn’t...

“I wouldn’t. Want that. Yer... fuck. Yer somethin’... somethin’ special... I thought I... I hated that ‘bout you, but... man you... you shine... I don’t deserve... someone as... as wonderful... as you...”

Kiyotaka is shaking his head again, barely breathing, looking so dead, so very, very... dead...

Oh, god...

“I- I’m not... wonderful. I’m not... anything. T-the children... they hated me... t-they all... hated me. My f-father... hates me. My mother... if she could s-see me... now... s-she’d hate me... too. Why... w-why do I bother... trying...? W-why... why don’t I just... g-give up...”

N-no... no, no, god, please... no... Mondo feels pressure behind his eyes, and he doesn’t think he has ever felt such pain. Because that... that sounds so goddamn familiar... he always has seen Kiyotaka as so different to him, so much better, so much brighter. But if the kid is to be believed... he... he thinks of himself like... like Mondo thinks of himself, and he... he can’t... can’t fucking stand that thought, oh god...

“Kiyo... Kiyota- Taka. Kiyo... Taka. Just... ya don’t hafta... give up... but yer... yer gonna kill yerself if ya... keep this up... s-shit...”

Mondo feels himself go cold when Kiyotaka responds, sounding half dead, looking so... so nothing...

“Kill... myself? No... I’m not- not that weak... not anymore... not... n-not again... but maybe... maybe... m-maybe it would be better. If I weren’t... weren’t...” a pause. “Alive...”

What?! No... no, no.... nonononononononononono-!!! He... he can’t... he can’t-

“What?! Dude... no... god... fuckin’... dammit! Ya can’t be... serious... Kiyo... Taka, ya can’t...”

“I am. I am. I- I am. If I wasn’t... so weak. If I wasn’t... s-so afraid. I know... k-know how to fix it... a-all of it. How to... t-to make it better. My father... would be happier. The children... w-would be happier. And I... I... I’d be... I’d be...”

A pause. Inhalation of breath. And then... softly, so fucking softly...

“Dead...”

No. No. No, fucking-! No. This... this is so fucking stupid, why is Mondo doing this, he... he has to stop this. This kid ain’t gonna stop, he can’t fucking stop, he won’t stop until he is fucking dead, and Mondo... Mondo can’t... he fucking can’t-

He can’t lose someone else... not during another fucking challenge that he fucking issued... he just... can’t.

“Okay. That’s it. This ain’t... fuckin’ worth it. If y’ain’t... gonna quit... then I! I fuckin’... I fuckin’ will. Ya... ya win... Kiyo... Taka... ya... ya win. Now, c’mon, man. Let’s… let’s get outta here.”

With all the strength he has left, Mondo stands and hobbles over to where Kiyotaka is sitting, looking like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s not moving, barely breathing, and his eyes are so glazed over Mondo doesn’t think he can even see right now. Mondo has never seen someone look so still before, and it scares the ever-loving shit out of him. Especially now that he... he knows that... that the kid has tried... or at least wanted...

Fuck.

But he doesn’t have time to hate himself for issuing this stupid ass challenge. He doesn’t have time to waste. Gathering all his strength, he bends down, and he wraps an arm around Kiyotaka, heart stopping when he feels how boneless he is, not moving at all. But then, as he starts moving towards the door, he feels the kid start to struggle. It’s weak and doesn’t sway Mondo even a second, but fuck does it relieve him. The kid is even able to walk a little, barely. It... it’s good.

The second he manages to get the door open, however, the cool air almost torture on his overheated skin, he feels Kiyotaka gasp, all the fragile strength he had gone as his knees buckle, making him deadweight. But Mondo hasn’t spent the majority of his life lifting weights for nothing, so he just adjusts his grip, taking on more of the kid’s weight. He doesn’t lift him, doesn’t have time for that, but he drags him bodily over to the bench, accidentally throwing him on it since he’s not really at a hundred percent himself. He sees the kid start to topple, then, and he immediately moves forward to steady the kid, the skin under his hands far, far too warm. Oh... shit, that’s not... not good, oh fuck...

“Goddamn shit. Ya look... fuck man. Why didn’t ya just... dammit. Ya need water... I’ll be right back.”

Mondo stand abruptly then, feeling clumsy and wrong. His chest feels so fucking painful, like it’s being sat on by an elephant, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more concerned for anyone. Well... other than one person... but shit, he can’t think of him, not now. Not now. Not when Kiyotaka needs him. He takes off his duster as he strides forward, tossing it carelessly on a bench, too fucking hot to deal with that shit. He needs to go quick, needs to... to get back to Kiyotaka... and he needs to drink some water himself, fuck, he’s so fucking dehydrated... fuck.

However... once he’s at the water cooler, filling up one of the paper cups for himself to drink, he hears the kid muttering again, the words making no goddamn sense, but damn if it doesn’t make his heart clench...

“...they won’t, they won’t, they won’t... I’m alone, again... all alone... everyone has left... everyone leaves me in the end... why would I expect anything different... why would I expect-“

Shit. Shit. Shit. Mondo quickly finishes filling the cup and downs it, filling the second one as quickly as possible while the kid rambles on about being alone again. As soon as the cup is full Mondo practically teleports back to the kid’s side, an odd sense in him that he never, ever wants to be anywhere else...

“Shit, Kiyotaka, I’m here. I just... had ta drink myself, shit. Now c’mon. Drink this. Please, man. Fer me. I can’t... ya can’t fuckin’ die on me, man... f-fuck...”

He carefully places his hand on the back of Kiyotaka’s neck, lifting it gently up, so he can get the kid to drink some water. He knows that the boy is prolly dehydrated as fuck, and he seriously hopes that’s the only thing wrong with him, because if it isn’t... s-shit. He can feel Kiyotaka struggle as he moves him, his lips moving, muttering those fucking words again...

“W-why am I so weak, I need to... to be stronger... to be... better...”

God, is everything this kid says gonna make his heart break? God... he’s not equipped for this, he doesn’t know how to be kind, to be gentle, but after all the shit he has done, all the pain and misery he has needlessly made this wondrous, incredible, sad fucking boy go through... he owes it to him to not only try, but to succeed.

Even if it fucking kills him...

“Shh... hey, it’s okay. Y’ain’t fuckin’ weak, man, yer goddamn incredible. Now c’mon. Stop fightin’ me. Let me take care a’ you. You... you’ve been so strong fer so long. Let me... let me help you...”

With that, he slowly presses the cup against the kid’s lips, and he feels as he struggles, whimpering softly, scared. Shit, he... he prolly has no idea what the fuck is going on, is so fucking disoriented...

He begins whispering to the kid then, not knowing what to say, but just... knowing he has to say something, something soothing. He hums softly as he decides to just... let the soft words that he’s been gathering for weeks now out of his heart, telling Kiyotaka that he is there, that he will always be there, promising that he’s not alone, that he’ll never be alone again, that Mondo will take care of him, he promises... he promises...

And then he... he says...

“Open up, Kiyotaka, shit. P-please... I’m beggin’ ya man... just... drink some water...”

The kid... Kiyotaka stops struggling then, and finally, finally opens his lips. It’s just a little, a small amount, but it’s enough for a small trickle of water to get passed his dry and cracked lips, which is so fucking relieving. But then... then the kid startles again, a soft sound of distress getting released as he panics, taking too much water too quick. Oh, shit...

So fucking scared, not knowing what to do but knowing he has to do something, Mondo lowers the hand holding the cup but doesn’t put it down, moving his other hand to rub soothing circles on the kid’s back, shushing him softly.

“Aw, shit. Slowly, man, slowly. That’s it, nice an’ easy... I’m gonna try that again, okay? Go slow this time. Idiot.”

With that, Mondo moves his hand back to Kiyotaka’s neck and brings the cup back up to his lips, praying that he will drink this time. He’s so fucking dehydrated and if he won’t drink, Mondo is gonna have to call an ambulance or some shit, because he needs liquid, and fast.

Luckily, this time when he asks the kid to open up, he does so immediately. And then, when he tips a little of the liquid into his mouth, the kid doesn’t panic and just... sips it. Slowly. Mondo can see his throat working, moving slowly, swallowing the water, and fuck... he’s never felt so relieved in his life, watching the kid drink some fucking water, god...

However, then the kid is letting out a sound of desperation, seeming to realize that he is so fucking thirsty or something. He sees the kid’s hands try to come up, wavering so fucking much as they try and force the water down faster, but Mondo stops him, knowing he needs to go slow.

“Aw, shit man, stop! Ya gotta go slow. Yer dehydrated, ya can’t drink it too fast... trust me, man. I got you. I won’t let you down. Not again. I… I promise.”

And he means it. He fucking means it. He has failed this kid so many fucking times, but he won’t this time, and he never will again. Because now he... he knows that this kid fucking matters. He’s always known that, from the minute the kid had run into him and knocked his world on its side, but- but he... he’s always been so afraid of it. Of the feeling. Of what it means.

But he’s not afraid of it. Not now. Not... not anymore. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, why this boy matters so fucking much to him, but it just doesn’t matter now, and he refuses to let his goddamn fucking nonsense ruin this shit anymore. This kid has faced some truly horrible fucking things, things that Mondo has barely scratched the surface of but can tell have damaged the kid so fucking much. He has scars all over his chest and back, which Mondo has noticed before, of course he’s noticed them, but now he’s really starting to realize what exactly they mean, and it just... it’s fucking him up inside, and all he wants is to bundle this kid up and never let him get hurt again, keep him safe from all harm, and Mondo has always felt like that, always wanted that, but now, for once...

He’s not afraid of it.

And he won’t back down.

Not unless Kiyotaka wants him to...

(But even then. Even then, Mondo will do everything he can to keep him safe. He won’t stalk the kid, but he will make sure that no one dares to lay a finger on him. He’s firmly under Mondo’s protection now. Nothing will change that. Absolutely nothing.)

Knowing that Kiyotaka needs to drink more, so he’s not so weak (physically. He’s so fucking strong emotionally, so fucking strong) anymore, he presses the cup back to the boy’s lips, his heart lurching softly when the kid immediately opens up and drinks, slowly, not even needing Mondo to remind him to go slow and steady. Mondo is so fucking proud of the kid, like a fucking mother hen, but he doesn’t care. This kid deserves all the softness in the world. If there’s one thing Mondo is sure of, it’s that.

It doesn’t take long for the cup to run empty, but the kid needs more, so Mondo gets up to refill the cup. But then he’s fucking crying, sad and pitiful, and Mondo immediately returns, holding him close, saying to him, “aw, shit, I’m just getting more water, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

And when Mondo is forced to leave again— though god does he not want to— he keeps talking. Promising that he’ll be right back, that he’s not leaving, that he will never leave again... promises that he will never break, and not just because he doesn’t break promises, but because he fucking means the shit out of them. More than any promise he’s ever made before.

He’s back soon after, bringing two cups with him this time, helping Kiyotaka drink, and drink, and drink. Mondo doesn’t know much about severe dehydration, just knows that it’s important for the person to be given fluids, preferably sports drinks, but since he doesn’t have that shit, water will have to do. If Kiyotaka doesn’t get better after the third cup, Mondo’s gonna try and see if he can take him to the nurse if the lady is still there. If not... shit. He’ll prolly have to call an ambulance, since he doesn’t think Kiyotaka could handle riding on his hog to the hospital, which is at least a ten-minute ride away. He’s hoping he won’t have to do that, though. Hopes that drinking the water will be enough to help him. He also hopes that it’s just dehydration that’s the problem... fuck.

The good thing is that Kiyotaka is drinking willingly. And the more he drinks, the more lucid he appears. He still seems very out of it, but about halfway through the third cup, he starts blinking rapidly, like waking himself from a dream. His eyebrows furrow, and he starts looking around a bit. He takes in the bathhouse and even looks down at his chest, like he’s just then noticing that he’s half naked. Mondo allows him to do this, but always makes sure the kid is still drinking, wanting to make sure he gets at least three cups in, since he had to have lost a lot of water while sweating. Mondo himself isn’t feeling too hot and knows he needs to drink more, too, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t ensure that Kiyotaka is okay before doing anything else for himself.

Mondo knows the exact second that things slot into place for the kid, since one second he’s loose and pliant in his arms, allowing him to hold his neck and give him the water, and the next he’s sitting ramrod straight, eyes wide. It startles Mondo a bit and he straightens up from the hunch he’d found himself in, so fucking relieved to see some lucidity in those bright red eyes. Fuck, but was that glazed look terrifying...

“Oh, shit. Are ya back? Ya really fuckin’ scared me there, dude, the fuck...? I was ‘bout ta take yer ass ta the nurse, consequences be damned. Shit, should I still do that...? Kiyotaka?”

The kid is just staring at him, his skin far too pale, his eyes moving back and forth over Mondo’s face as he seems to try to be figuring something out. They then widen somehow further and then-

“Aw, shit! Fuck, man, what the hell!”

Mondo stares wide eyed at the kid as he abruptly stands, his body shaking horribly, looking like he just saw a ghost, shit... Mondo is afraid the kid is about to collapse so he stands quickly, hands hovering to ensure he doesn’t fall, but the kid doesn’t seem to notice him. Oh... shit... he’s not better, is he? God fucking dammit...

“W-w-w-what... w-what... h-h-happened?! I... I didn’t... oh god...”

Mondo sees Kiyotaka sway then, looking like he’s about to faint, scaring the absolute shit out of Mondo. Rushing forward, he grabs the kid by his shoulders, holding him upright. Part of him wants to pull him close, to wrap him up and never let him go, but he can tell the kid is super fucking freaked out, and he doesn’t want to make him panic, shit.

“What the fuck... aw, shit, y’ain’t better. Okay, that’s it. I’m takin’ ya ta the fuckin’ nurse. Goddamnit...”

Mondo tries to move Kiyotaka, then, carefully guiding him over to the door so they can make the stupidly long walk to the nurse’s office, mind racing a mile a minute as he tries to determine if it wouldn’t just be better to call the ambulance now. On one hand, he doubts the nurse is still there, since it’s well after curfew, but on the other... calling for an ambulance means he might have to explain this shit, and he just... shit. But he needs to do right by Kiyotaka, and if that includes getting himself in trouble, he’ll fucking do it. He doesn’t care what happens to him, just as long as this wonderful, incredible boy is safe. Huh...

As distracted as Mondo is, he doesn’t expect any resistance to his movement, expecting Kiyotaka to be as pliant as he previously had been. As such, when the kid fucking pulls away from him, weak as it is, Mondo isn’t expecting it and thus is unable to keep his grip. And he watches, heart stopping, as the kid slams into the row of lockers, collapsing immediately to the ground with a soft noise of pain.

Shit!!!

“Shit! Kiyotaka, are you fuckin’ alright?! What the hell, man?! Stop bein’ an idiot and let me take ya ta the nurse, fuck!”

He doesn’t mean to sound angry or anything, he’s just so fucking scared, needing the kid to cooperate so he can just get better already and not make Mondo worry he’s gonna fucking die or something... but given the way that Kiyotaka glares at him (or tries to glare, Mondo can tell he’s still a little out of it and can’t quite put the usual amount of passion into it), he can tell the kid intends to be difficult, looking at him like he doesn’t want Mondo to come any closer or something. Mondo immediately says, ‘fuck that,’ though, and rushes to the kid’s side, kneeling down, his eyes bleeding with his concern. He watches the kid blink, some more lucidity rising within the red, as he opens his mouth to speak.

“W-wait! I don’t... dang it. I don’t need to go to the- t-the nurse! I’m just... confused. Give me... give me a moment to... collect myself!” Kiyotaka says, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking. Mondo looks at him firmly, ensuring the kid means it and that he’s not just saying random, nonsense bullshit again.

Once he’s satisfied that the kid is, in fact, lucid enough to make that decision, he nods stiffly, still feeling so very, very concerned.

“Alright... shit, fine. If ya say so. But ya gotta drink some more water, alright?! Slowly. I should drink more too, fuck...”

Mondo stands, then, and walks over to the water cooler again, hands tingling unpleasantly as he leaves Kiyotaka’s side. He quickly fills up two fresh cups of water and hurries back, handing the kid one of the cups as soon as he is by his side.

As soon as the kid takes it, Mondo flops down to sit beside him, so close they touch, and begins to drink his water, finding comfort in being able to feel the kid warm against his side. He is honestly thirsty as fuck, wanting to gulp it down again, but he forces himself to go slow, not wanting to be a hypocrite. He notices after a second that Kiyotaka isn’t drinking and is just staring at him blankly, eyes glazing over again, which scares him more than he is willing to say, fuck.

“Dude. Drink. Or I’m draggin’ ya ta the nurse, kickin’ an’ screamin’. Don’t think I won’t,” Mondo rumbles, startling the kid out of whatever fugue he’d entered into. The kid glares at him lightly, not nearly as strong as Mondo knows it could be, but at least he doesn’t try and counter him. He just brings the cup to his lips and drinks the cool water slowly, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks hard about something. They don’t glaze over again, though, so Mondo lets him be and just drinks his water, every cell in his body so fucking aware of the kid sitting directly beside him. It honestly would scare him, how much he cares about this kid, if he’d not already decided to not care about that shit anymore. He cares about the kid. He doesn’t know why, he just does. End of fucking story.

Mondo doesn’t know how long they sit there drinking their water, and he doesn’t really care. He usually hates sitting still for so long, his skin crawling to get up and do something already, but strangely... he doesn’t really mind it too much. Sitting here, beside Kiyotaka. It... despite the worry he still feels, there’s also a strange calmness inside him now. Like... like something inside him that had been out of place and broken for years is just... gone, allowing him to breathe easy for the first time. It’s so strange but also... so very, very nice...

Eventually their cups run empty, and Mondo is about to offer to get them both some more water again when the kid speaks. His voice is low and shaky, but it sounds a lot better and more lucid than it had before, which relieves the shit out of him. But then he comprehends the words, and he...

“O-Owada... back in... in the, uh, sauna... I didn’t, um. Say anything strange. Did I?” Kiyotaka asks softly, looking very nervous. It concerns Mondo a lot that the kid apparently doesn’t remember what happened in the sauna, but he supposes it makes sense. He had been super fucking outta it...

He still takes his time to think about it. He usually just blurts out his words, no thought put into them at all, but this... shit. This matters. And he has to be so fucking careful if he doesn’t want to hurt the kid again. And god, does he not wanna do that...

Finally, he figures he’ll go the safe route and figure out what, exactly, the kid does and doesn’t remember. If he remembers nothing, then maybe... maybe it would be better to keep it that way, shit...

Ignoring the way his heart clenches at the thought, he sets his face into a carefully neutral expression, revealing nothing as he speaks, voice a low rumble.

“That depends. What do ya remember?”

Mondo watches, heart clenched strangely again, as Kiyotaka bites his lip gently, eyes unfocused as he thinks. They’re not glazed, though, so Mondo thinks he’s just concentrating, not zoning out. After a few moments, the kid glances up at him, expression open and searching. It makes Mondo want to gasp, everything in him swirling, and when the kid speaks, still looking at him, he... h-he...

“I’m… I’m not sure. It’s all... fuzzy. I can’t quite tell... what is real or not. I have no idea what I said during that last part, though... just fragments of old memories and thoughts.” Kiyotaka pauses, his hands shaking lightly. He looks away then, down at the ground, and Mondo feels so strangely bereaved... “But I... I remember you... you said... things. About- a-about me. Y-you... you called me... wonderful. Special. H-heh! H-how r-ridiculous! I must... must have been- been hallucinating! Aha!”

The kid sounds nervous, frantic, like he’s afraid Mondo will hurt him, like he’s afraid Mondo will laugh at him, will tell him that he... he’s wrong, that Mondo hadn’t said that, that he... he doesn’t believe that...

Which is bullshit. Because he did say that. And he’d meant it. Means it. Fully and completely.

Mondo consciously forces his shoulders to lose the tension that had entered them unbidden at Kiyotaka’s frantic words, sighing softly, a wry smile rising on his lips as he looks at the kid. The kid looks so fucking scared, so desperate, like he doesn’t believe that Mondo had said that shit, but that he wants to believe it.

And, shit... even if he hadn’t said it, he sure as shit would say it now. Because Kiyotaka truly is wonderful and special, ain’t he...?

Heh...

“Nah. That, uh. That happened. You really don’t remember what you said?” he asks as casually as he can, his head tilted in question, hoping he’s hiding the way his heart is racing well enough, but honestly not really caring if he’s not. He... he doesn’t want to keep shit from this kid. Not... not anymore... he watches as Kiyotaka shakes his head weakly, moving his eyes to stare at his hands again. It makes Mondo’s smile widen, eyes soft as silk. Heh. So... so fucking cute...

“Heh. Makes sense. Ya weren’t exactly all there, ya know. Kept mumblin’ bits a’ nonsense. Could barely make sense a’ ya myself, tell the truth. Somethin’... somethin’ ‘bout yer grandfather. ‘Bout needin’ ta right his wrongs. An’ then there was somethin’ ‘bout other kids? An’ hatred? Ya mentioned how yer da don’t understand ya, how he hates ya, or somethin’. An’ ‘bout how... how ya... ya hate yerself. Which I think is fuckin’ bullshit, ya shouldn’t fuckin’ hate yerself, yer incredible, but whatever. There was a lot a’ other stuff too. ‘Bout not givin’ up, ‘bout havin’ ta prove people wrong. Some other shit, too, but I don’t really ‘member it all, sorry. But... shit man. Is that... is that real? Did ya... did ya really mean alla’ that?”

Mondo doesn’t really mean to ask the question, knowing the kid needs to be allowed to rest and relax, not be asked stupid fucking questions, but he can’t help it. He’s not lying when he says he doesn’t quite remember everything. It’s all starting to blur in his head, and while he’s fairly certain he remembers the most of it, some details are starting to slip away, and he just... did the kid really say all that shit, or had he imagined it, too? Shit...

But then... then, after a moment, Kiyotaka, he... h-he...

“Aw, shit,” he mutters under his breath, which seems to just make the kid cry harder. It breaks Mondo’s heart so much, hating seeing his tears. God... this kid just always fucking cries around him, doesn’t he...? Shit... shit! H-he didn’t want to make the kid cry! G-god, he... he wants so badly to hold the kid, to keep him safe from the sorrow within him, but would the kid even want that? After everything he’s done, all he’s taken from him, would he actually want to be held in his arms? It’s his fault he’s crying, his fault he’s in this situation, and he doesn’t know if Kiyotaka would want to be anywhere near him, let alone in his arms! But he... he wants so, so badly to... t-to...

“Please, man, don’t cry, shit, I’m sorry! I... aw, fuck it. Come here.”

Mind made up, Mondo darts forward and— carefully as he possibly can— wraps an arm around the kid, pulling him gently to his chest, firm and tight. He can feel the kid struggle against him, and it kills him inside to feel it, especially when the kid starts frantically apologizing, like he thinks Mondo is going to hurt him or something. He thinks it might be best to let him go, to apologize and never touch him again, but he... h-he thinks the problem isn’t that Mondo is hugging him, but that the kid thinks Mondo is upset. So maybe... if he can reassure the kid that it’s okay, that he wants this, maybe... m-maybe he’ll stop struggling so hard... and maybe... m-maybe...

“Shhh. Shh, c’mon. It’s okay, Kiyotaka. I’m here. Y’ain’t alone. I got you. Ain’t got nothin’ ta ‘pologize fer, ya got it? Yer okay. We’re both okay.”

He keeps his arms steady on Kiyotaka, praying to any god that will listen that he’s doing the right thing, that he’s not hurting the kid more, that this is okay, and then... after a minute... after a minute...

The kid stops. Stops struggling, stops apologizing. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are still leaking tears, but he doesn’t seem distressed at Mondo holding him anymore. At least... Mondo hopes he isn’t. And then... t-then...

Kiyotaka buries his head in his chest, firm and present, hiding his face. His arms come up too, fists curling into Mondo’s tank top, clutching it like his life depends on it. And then he... he just...

Lets go.

The kid is crying so fucking hard, chest heaving, sobs loud and noisy, and fuck, does it hurt. Mondo feels so fucking helpless as he holds the kid, doing all he can to rub soothing circles on his back, whisper soft words in his ear, doing all he can to remember the shit Daiya would say when he was little and he still allowed himself to cry, not yet realizing it was wrong of him to do such a thing. He feels like it’s not enough, never enough, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s never seen the kid cry so hard before. Before he- he would always stifle it, keep it in.

Mondo hadn’t realized it at the time, but seeing the kid truly let go now, he can see just how hard he would fight to keep his tears and true sorrow contained, and he feels so much for the boy that he can’t even begin to describe it. It’s like... a sad kind of pride. Like he’s proud the kid was able to keep going despite the sorrow and despair he clearly feels, but also so, so fucking sad that the kid had to do it. That he had to keep this all in, unable to have anyone to share his burden with, to shoulder the pain and anguish he so clearly feels inside. Mondo... M-Mondo knows what that is like, what it’s like to have to always keep everything in, never let it out, and he... he hates that Kiyotaka knows it, too. The pain. The loneliness.

Maybe they really aren’t so different... are they?

Fuck... and who knows? Maybe that’s why he’s always cared so much about this kid. He... he just reminds him of him so goddamn much. Of... of the kid he used to be, before he built up walls so high around that child that he’d never see the light of day again. Of the scared little boy that he was, wondering why his parents hated him, why he was never good enough, why he didn’t fucking matter. He’d always been so scared and sad back then, so small and weak. Kinda like Kiyotaka is now, even with how fucking strong he knows this kid to usually be.

But...

But he had Daiya, didn’t he? Even when the whole world was against him, (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~) he... he always had Daiya. Daiya, who loved him. Daiya, who cared for him. Daiya who raised him, Daiya who taught him, Daiya who sacrificed fucking everything for him. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~). It didn’t matter that he was scared, or that he was weak. Daiya loved him regardless, and he always, always kept him safe.

Kiyotaka... Kiyotaka never had that... did he? He can’t say for sure, but the kid has never mentioned a sibling, either older or younger, which makes him think he’s an only, no sibs, bro or sis. Which means that he... he didn’t have anyone always on his side. Someone who would protect him no matter what. Or someone that he could protect, no matter what. His da is clearly not that great, if Kiyotaka’s words about him hating him were to go by, and his ma is gone, who knows for how long, or what his relationship was to her when she was around. He... he didn’t have someone to protect him... to keep him safe, from all harm... to... t-to love him...

Eventually the kid stops crying so hard, the desperate sobs petering out into soft, quiet ones, his breath hitching only slightly every few seconds. And then, a little while later he... he stops sobbing entirely. The tears have run dry, his body has stopped shaking, but he... he doesn’t move away. He just stays there, in Mondo’s arms.

Like he belongs there...

“Ya feelin’ better?”

The words are said softly. Gently. He doesn’t wanna spook the kid, knowing how fragile he prolly feels right about now. Mondo gets it. He hasn’t let himself cry fully in years, not even... h-heh. Well. Point is, while he’s not truly cried in years, he remembers how fragile it leaves you feeling afterward. How shaky.

And when he sees Kiyotaka’s eyes dart up, looking scared and afraid, Mondo doesn’t tense up. Doesn’t try and hide the openness on his face. He lets the kid see it. The softness. The care. The... the affection, because god, does he feel affection. He lets the kid see it, and he feels the kid settle against him, the fear vanishing, though the lingering sorrow remains. God... how Mondo wishes he could take that away...

“Yes. I... yes. M-Mondo... t-thank you. I... I’m sorry...”

Mondo can’t help the way he reaches out at that, hand gently grasping a warm, wet cheek. He realizes absently that that’s the first time the kid has said his name, and god is it making his insides squirm. And he can see the kid look at him with wide, watery eyes, lips open on a soft gasp, looking almost... dazed... shit...

“Don’t. Thank me. Apologize. Ain’t nothin’, got it? I... I didn’t mind. At all. So, don’t... don’t apologize. It’s alright. You’re... you’re alright.”

And he means it. God... does he mean it. It... it had felt nice. So very, very nice. Holding Kiyotaka. Comforting him as he cried, somehow not fucking it up as badly as he’d been fearing. He’s always been so fucking shit at comforting people, feeling like he has to be tough all the time, unable to comfort since tough people aren’t soft and sympathetic. But here, with Kiyotaka... h-he’d been able to be soft. Kind. Gentle. All the things he’s secretly yearned to be for so fucking long, but never was able to, since he doesn’t lead a life that is suited for such things. He always has to be so tough, so strong, but... but with Kiyotaka... with this wondrous, amazing, incredible, beautiful boy...

He can be soft.

And he will never be able to thank Kiyotaka enough for giving him that ability.

And when Kiyotaka smiles at him, wide, bright, unrestrained...? Mondo can’t help how he smiles back, wider than he’s ever felt it go before, heart beating so softly and yet meaningfully, feeling so very much for this precious boy. He... he’ll never be able to repay him for this... will he? For what he has given him this day... even if they are never this close again, even if Kiyotaka doesn’t want anything to do with him after this, he’ll never forget what this felt like. What it feels like to be soft. And gentle. And... and kind.

But... shit. Shit.

Now that they have this... now that he’s tasted this... what happens now? He... he doesn’t wanna...

“Shit, man. The fuck we do now? I... I don’t wanna go back ta how it was. I... shit. I was a goddamn monster ta ya these last few weeks... since we met, shit… I... goddamn it,” Mondo mutters, feeling his smile fade as pain fills him, remembering all the shit he has done to this poor, amazing kid. The shit he’s said. The way he’s acted. Kiyotaka gave him so much today, but he hadn’t earned any of it, had he...? He can see the kid shaking his head, looking frantic, like he doesn’t agree, and Mondo can’t help how he glares. Lightly, but it still makes the kid flinch back, proving how much he’s hurt him, and how much he can still, potentially, hurt him. God... he doesn’t wanna ever hurt him... not again… “No, don’t deny it. I was a fuckin’ moron. I just... I ain’t ever... I don’t get you, Kiyotaka. What I feel... when you- you look at me...”

And it’s true. He still doesn’t quite get it. What he feels. Why he feels it. It... he thinks he might kinda get it, might kinda realize what this feeling is, why he wants to protect this kid so badly, but it... it doesn’t quite feel like it fits. And he just... he just doesn’t know... but... if not this then... what else? H-heh...

Sighing softly, feeling so confused but strangely not angry about it, Mondo allows a wry smile to rise on his lips as he presses closer to the kid, as close as he’s always secretly longed to be, since that first day when he held him but not ever close enough. One of his hands is curled loosely around Kiyotaka’s waist, while his other is still gently cupping his cheek and has been for a little while now. He notices dimly how they are almost bare, Kiyotaka wearing only his underwear while Mondo is in his thin tank top and loose black pants, and he can feel the kid’s heat as it presses against him, oddly intoxicating. Mondo’s hair is down from its pomp, having been knocked loose sometime in the sauna, and it’s been years since someone outside his gang saw him without it up, it makes him feel so naked to have it down, but he... he doesn’t really care. Not when it’s only Kiyotaka who sees it.

He... he wants Kiyotaka to see all of him... every last part.

Because he... he views the kid like... like a...

“It’s like yer my brother or somethin’. Like... my nerdy, dorky little brother. Someone I gotta take care of. Protect. Keep safe, from all harm. I never... shit. I had my brother, but he... he’s gone now. I can’t... I couldn’t protect him, fuck. An’ I… f-fuck. I can’t protect you, either, can I...? No, I… I can’t... I can’t... a-and why the fuck would you want a fuck-up like me, anyway? You... god, you could do so much better... why would you want someone like me as your brother, s-shit...”

The thought stabs Mondo through the heart, the realization that as much as he may want to have this with Kiyotaka, to have a brotherhood with him, they... they likely never will. Because Mondo has messed up too much. Because Mondo ruined their chance before it ever even had the opportunity to live. Because Mondo is so fucking broken and damaged that no one in their right mind would ever want him as a brother. Daiya was forced to have him, and he was so fucking amazing that he chose to love him anyway, but Kiyotaka... he doesn’t have to be stuck with him. He doesn’t owe Mondo anything, anything at all. In fact, Mondo is the one who owes Kiyotaka. So much. So very, very much. Kiyotaka wouldn’t want him. He just... he wouldn’t.

And as he feels the kid freeze against him, breath stuttering and harsh, he... he knows he’s right, isn’t he? S-shit... he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have thought himself good enough to deserve such a gift. Kiyotaka, wanting him like that... wanting him at all... while he may have been soft and pliant in his arms a moment ago, seeming like he was at ease, that doesn’t mean it was because of Mondo or anything that Mondo did. He’d been through an emotional time and he’d needed comfort, and Mondo had just been the nearest warm body. Doesn’t mean he trusts Mondo or that he wants anything from him at all. He’d have to be the world’s biggest fool to think Kiyotaka could ever want him, want him at all.

And Mondo... he may be a fool, but he ain’t that big of a fool.

Heart aching painfully in his chest, Mondo can’t help how he pulls away, not wanting to force Kiyotaka to be near him when he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve it at all.

“Shit, I was right, goddamn it, aw shit! J-just forget I said anything, I- fuck!”

Mondo hands come up to clutch at his hair, then, the grip tight and painful but he doesn’t care. He wants it to hurt. To ache. It’s what he deserves for fucking this whole thing up, for being so woefully unworthy of being close to such a bright and beautiful boy. Maybe, had he been better— a better person, a good person— he could have been worthy of it. Had he never let his insecurities get in the way, had he just accepted what he felt as true the minute he felt it, not pushed it away in fear, maybe... maybe then, he could have had this. Kiyotaka, as his friend. Kiyotaka, as his brother.

But no. No, no. He had pushed it away. Had been afraid of it, so very afraid. Had let his fear turn to anger, like he was so wont to do, and ruined everything before it even began.

He deserves all the misery he feels for how stupid he’d been...

Mondo gets jolted out of his thoughts when he feels a soft, tentative hand touch him, his eyes wide and manic as he looks at Kiyotaka, who looks so fucking afraid, god. H-he scares the kid so goddamn much, like he scares everyone, because he’s a monster, a senseless beast that only ever hurts people. Breaks people. He’s not allowed nice things, not allowed good things. Not allowed to be gentle, or soft, or kind. He... he’s just not...

To his utter shock, he can see Kiyotaka smile at him. It’s soft, and hesitant, and... and beautiful... but it can’t be real. It... the kid is trying to be kind, trying to hide his fear to make Mondo feel better, because he’s so goddamn nice, so fucking good, shit-

“N-no! Don’t worry! I was just- not expecting that! But I- I feel- the same. I feel- the same! I would be honored, Mondo Owada, to be considered your brother! I’ve never had a brother, never even had a friend, but I couldn’t imagine a better one than you! Y-you... you’re incredible...”

He... he... does he really mean that...? Does he truly... truly wanna be Mondo’s... Mondo’s brother? The kid is so bad at lying, and it hadn’t sounded like he was lying, but... but it... shit. It can’t be true, it can’t... after all the shit Mondo has done, how could the kid ever see him positively, even a little? Mondo isn’t a good brother, he’d always been so shit to Daiya, taking and taking and taking and never giving. He’d taken everything from Daiya, never satisfied with what Daiya gave freely, so he stole the most important thing in the end.

H-he’d just steal everything from Kiyotaka too.

It’s what he does...

“Ya can’t mean that, Kiyotaka... I’m a goddamn mess... and you... you are... shit. You’re goddamn perfect and I’m hot dog shit, ya can’t... y-you can’t...”

And it’s true. Mondo has more to say, more to confess, but his throat is so thick, and he doesn’t know how to say it. To confess all his crimes to Kiyotaka, to let him know how unworthy he is. He- he hears Kiyotaka take a deep breath, and he doesn’t wanna hear what the kid has to say, doesn’t wanna hear him agree, but then he’s speaking, and his words... t-they...

“Mondo... I- I’m not perfect. I... I’m not. B-but that’s okay! I do my best, but so do you! I can see how hard you try and sometimes that’s all that matters! You’re not... dog feces! You... you’re so much more, Mondo...”

No... n-no, the kid, he... he doesn’t understand, he just- he doesn’t understand! Mondo, he has to... has to tell him. N-not all of it, he’s not strong enough to confess it all, he’s always been so goddamn weak, but he- he has to... a little. Enough so the kid knows. So he stops feeling pity for him and realizes that he...

He’s just not worth it...

“No. N-no, I ain’t shit, goddamnit, I...” Mondo has to stop, feeling so fucking conflicted. On one hand he wants to confess, on the other hand he wants to be selfish, and he just... h-he just...

But he can’t. Be selfish. Not... not about this.

Not with Kiyotaka.

With a soft sigh, he feels the tension inside him melt away, his body relaxing with the decision he’s made. All of his emotions— both good and bad— fade away until all he feels inside is... is...

Cold resignation...

“I hate myself. Always fuckin’ have. Heh. There, I... I fuckin’ said it. I love the gang, don’t get me wrong. I love bein’ with ‘em, bein’ a part a’ somethin’ bigger than myself. I love leadin’ ‘em, ridin’ my hog, wind in my hair... I fuckin’ love it. Even bein’ here, unable ta lead directly, I still like callin’ the shots from behind the scenes while my second in command implements it an’ shit. Means somethin’, ‘least. But... I dunno. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle ofa fight and I’ll just... wanna stop. Quit. Do somethin’... do somethin’ else fer a change. But I… heh. I can’t. I promised my bro... Daiya, I... I promised him I’d keep the gang together. He built it from scratch an’ I... I can’t leave that. I made a promise, a man’s promise, ta keep us together. So, I... I gotta keep doin’ that. Can’t stop. Ever. Not ‘til the gang is dead an’ shit, all the members movin’ on ta do better shit with their lives. An’ me… heh. Not much use fer me after that, is there?”

Mondo pauses, and then looks down at his hands, a small, sad smile on his face.

“But you? Yer gonna go places, man. Shootin’ fer the moon. Prime fuckin’ Minister, shit, man. Never met anyone with such high goals, really. Never met anyone who wanted ta do that sorta shit, change things from the inside. Heard ya in class, talkin’ ‘bout yer plans an’ shit. Wantin’ ta make the world a better place, havin’ such hope for this garbage planet. Ya... ya’ve got drive. Determination. An’ I know yer gonna do it, ya know. Succeed. More than any a’ the other chucklefucks we go ta school with, ‘least. Yer just so... determined. Got such passion. I... I admire that ‘bout ya, always did.”

Mondo pauses again, and he… he laughs. It’s sad, and pathetic, and it... he... h-heh...

“But that… heh. That ain’t me, Kiyo. Ain’t me. I ain’t got plans, ain’t got any fuckin’ clue a’ what I’m gonna do after school ends. They got me takin’ fuckin’ leadership classes an’ shit, but the fuck am I gonna do with that bullshit? I can lead a gang, yeah, but that… heh. That’s ‘bout it, Christ. An’ ya… yer gonna see that one day. And yer gonna leave me. And I’ll be happy fer ya, ‘course I will, but... sh-shit. God... goddamnit...”

Mondo doesn’t know where he’s going with this. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or why he’s saying it. His head is so jumbled, so scrambled, and part of him wants to tell Kiyotaka everything. About his parents. About his brother. About what he did, what he stole. He wants to confess so, so badly, to see the hatred and anger and rage on that kid’s face when he realizes how big a piece of shit Mondo really is, horrified that he’d ever felt pity for such a pitiless creature.

But...

He can’t. Can’t do that. He... he can’t burden Kiyotaka with his bullshit. And knowing the kid... he’d still try. To feel pity. To feel sorrow. He- he’s such a good person, so bright and shining. He’s the kind of person who would see a merciless and dangerous monster like him and think there’s something worthwhile in it. It wouldn’t be until his neck is snapped under Mondo’s uncaring hand that he’d realize he was wrong. And maybe... maybe not even then. He’d die, thinking Mondo was better than he was, even if it were Mondo who killed him.

God...

So, he can’t tell the truth. Can’t burden the kid like that. But he... he can’t let him get close. Even if he... he really wants to...

“I’ll just hold ya back. Ya don’t want someone like me, Kiyo. Ya don’t want someone like me at all. So... I ‘ppreciate yer words. But it may be best ta leave this here. Ta... ta forget ‘bout this all and just... move on. I’ll leave ya alone and ya won’t hafta-”

“No!” Mondo hears echo through the room, cutting off his words so thoroughly. It startles the fuck out of him, and he can’t help how he stares, wide-eyed, up at Kiyotaka. It’s weird, looking up to see the kid, but he’s sitting upright, almost standing but not quite, knees firmly planted on the floor. But seeing as how Mondo is crumbled pathetically on the floor, sitting back on his thighs, he has to look up to see Kiyotaka. And he looks... looks so...

Scared...

But...

Not... not of- of... of Mondo...?

“Mondo, please! I just... look. I- I try to be perfect, but I... I’m not! And I know you aren’t either! But... but maybe that’s okay! Maybe... m-maybe... maybe we can learn to be not perfect... together? I, ah. I don’t know! A-all I know is... I want to be f-friends with you, Mondo Owada. I don’t care about your flaws; I don’t care that you’re in a gang! I just... I want... w-we can be brothers. If you want... we can be brothers. I want... I would want nothing more than to be your brother! Your kyoudai!”

Brothers. Brothers. Kiyotaka wants them to be... brothers...

It’s too good to be true. Too fucking good to be true. Mondo doesn’t get nice things like this. He doesn’t get soft, kind, gentle things. He gets shit. He gets cruelty. He gets anger and hatred and rage. He gets angry fists and cruel words, and a suspicious look on his back at all fucking times. After all the shit he has done, the people he has hurt, the lives he has ruined, he... he doesn’t deserve... he just doesn’t...

But as he sits there, staring up at Kiyotaka with wide eyes and an open mouth, he... he remembers something. Something the kid had said, in the sauna. How he... he never had a friend before. How everyone always hated him. And it could have just been insecurity talking, the kid thinking people hated him when they really didn’t but judging by the scars, he... he would doubt that.

He’s never had a friend. He’s never had a brother. Someone to keep him safe. To protect him from all harm. Someone to hold onto, someone to tell him it is alright. That he is alright. He... he hasn’t had that.

And Mondo is the worst choice for a brother. He knows it, okay? He’s so fucking awful it’s not funny. But... but he... the kid doesn’t seem to get that. And Mondo is too weak to explain why he shouldn’t want it. And, as such, he... Kiyotaka wants to be friends. Brothers. With him.

Mondo is a mess. He messes everything up, ruining everything he touches. He... he doesn’t want to ruin Kiyotaka too. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He... he never...

But maybe...

Maybe...

It’s stupid. God, so fucking stupid. But maybe... if he tries hard, so fucking hard... if he is careful, keeps his anger in check, does all he can, he... maybe he...

He can be Kiyotaka’s brother...

And keep him safe...

It makes him smile. It’s small at first, tentative. Like a stiff wind will blow it away. But as Kiyotaka keeps looking at him steadily, earnestly, he... he feels the smiles strengthen. Feels as it grows wider and wider, until it fills his whole face, his eyes squinting with how wide it is. He’s never felt like this before, so scared and terrified, but also... also...

Hopeful.

“Ya... ya really mean that, Kiyo?”

Kiyo. Mondo doesn’t really know why he’s calling the kid that, nicknames aren’t super common in their culture, but somehow, he... he kinda likes it. He doesn’t know if the kid does, he should ask, but before he has the chance to, the kid is nodding. Enthusiastic and bright, a shaky grin on his face. He still seems a little out of it, but god, is he trying... fuck that kid is so amazing...

“Yes! Of course! I always mean everything I say! I would not lie to you, Mondo, I promise you that! We shall be the best kyoudai! You’ll see! Aha! This is fantastic!”

Oh, god... this kid is so fucking cute! God... h-he really shouldn’t be thinking that, should push it away like he always pushes stupid ass thoughts like that away, but he... he’s allowed to see his brother as cute... right? Or, well... his little brother. Though... fuck. Is Kiyotaka younger than him? He seems like it, as naive and endlessly optimistic as he is, but fuck, he doesn’t actually know. Mondo is usually one of the youngest in his class, since his birthday is at the end of the year, but he’s always felt decades older than the chucklefucks he goes to school with. Maybe it’s ‘cuz he was forced to grow up so fucking fast in order to survive, shit.

But you know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter if Mondo is older or not. He’s the older brother regardless. That shit is felt, not necessarily determined by birth order. Daiya was his older brother in more ways than just because he was physically older, after all.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that... that Kiyotaka wants this. Wants... wants Mondo. And Mondo doesn’t deserve it, had never deserved it, but fuck, is he a selfish bastard. But he won’t take this shit for granted. Now that they are brothers, Mondo will go all fucking out. No fucking reservations. They are brothers, now, and Mondo is the big brother. The ani. It’s his duty and obligation to keep Kiyotaka safe from all harm, including (and especially) from Mondo himself. And he won’t. Hurt him. Not now, not ever. If he ever does, he will stab himself in the gut, commit fucking seppuku, he swears he will. He’d rather die than hurt this precious, amazing, incredible boy ever, ever again.

And so, Mondo grins, and he laughs, and he lets his arms reach forward and wrap around the kid, like he’s been wanting to do since he ripped himself away the last time. Part of him is afraid the kid won’t want it, or he’ll realize how stupid this whole thing is, but Kiyotaka doesn’t even tense at all as he goes willingly into Mondo’s arms, melting like warm putty against him. Like he... he belongs there...

S-shit...

“Okay. O-okay. Kiyotaka, I... I’ll do my best. I can’t promise ya anythin’, know I’m a goddamn fuck-up who ruins everything, but... but for you? I’ll try. That... that’s all I can offer... heh…”

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but he feels Kiyotaka wrap his arms around him, holding on so very, very tight, and it... it feels...

Like coming home...

“That is all I could ever ask of you, my kyoudai! Y-you’re not a- a screw up! And- and your best is more than enough!”

Shit. Shit. No one... no one has ever told him that before. That the best he offers is more than enough. It’s never been enough, he’s never been enough. He’s a screw up. The unwanted kid. The person who is good for violence and anger and rage, and that’s about it.

But here, being held by this remarkable fucking kid... hearing him say that it’s enough... that he’s enough…

Maybe he’s inclined to believe him.

Wow... just...

Wow...

After a minute Mondo pulls back, knowing they need to talk about stuff, knowing he has to make promises, and it makes his heart sing when he feels the kid resist, arms refusing to let go at first. It makes him laugh softly, especially because he fully understands. But he doesn’t intend to go far. Just... he needs to look the kid in the eyes. He... he needs to see those beautiful as sin eyes...

Pressing his forehead to Kiyotaka’s, soft and gentle and intimate, he can’t help how he smiles, eyes shining with the light he feels inside. And Kiyotaka... he...

He looks at Mondo like he fucking matters...

“I’ll be good. Fer ya... I’ll be good. Promise, Kiyo. And ya can hold me ta that, got it? This is a promise between men. That means I gotta keep it.”

The kid looks stunned, eyes glazed but not in a bad way, breath hitched, and it... it makes Mondo feel...

“Likewise! I- I will do everything I can to be the best brother I can be! I promise! We shall be the best kyoudai in the world! That’s a Kiyotaka Ishimaru guarantee!”

The enthusiastic words make Mondo laugh again, and he pulls away to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders, ruffling his hair gently like Daiya would always do to him. He notices that the hair is a bit longer than it once had been, and fuck, does he like it. The sweat from the sauna had made all the gel run out and his hair is now soft as it dries, curling lightly around the kid’s ears and it just...

It’s so beautiful...

But ruffling the kid’s hair makes it fall in his eyes, which makes the kid let out an annoyed sound, adorable again, and Mondo can’t help the way he laughs. God, this kid makes him so goddamn happy... he’s never felt this happy before... never...

“Yer the absolute, goddamn best, kyoudai. Kiyo. Hey, uh... is it okay if I call ya that? Kiyotaka’s just a bit of a mouthful, ‘sall. Ya got any other nicknames I could use?”

He looks at the kid at that, Kiyotaka’s (or should he say Kiyo? Does the kid like it? Shit...) mouth pulled down in a thoughtful frown. A moment passes, and then-

“A-ah! Kiyo is fine! If you’d like! B-but... well... m-my mother. She called me... Taka. Y-you could use that, as well! If you’d like...”

Taka, huh? Taka. Taka. Yeah... yeah, he- he likes it. He likes it a lot! It suits the kid, and while Mondo still does kinda like Kiyo, he might like Taka a bit better. And if the kid wants him to call him that, then shit... who is he to deny him...?

Smiling, soft and gentle in a way he’s never been able to be before, he nods.

“Taka... heh, I like it! Alright, Taka. Mondo ain’t exactly got any good nicknames fer it, but ya can call me that, if ya’d like.”

Mondo watches as Taka blushes lightly, lips still partially open as he breathes in and out slowly. His eyes are kinda glazed still, but he seems present enough. Just... like he’s thinking of something. Mondo wants to reach out, wants to pull the kid into a hug again, wants to always, always be touching him, but he keeps his distance. Just... just for now. But later...

The kid shoots up again, interrupting Mondo’s thoughts, looking so enthusiastic again, eyes bright and smile happy. Holy shit...

“Oh! I can always call you kyoudai!! That way the whole world will know our manly bond!”

It makes Mondo laugh again, harder, and he can’t help how he reaches out to ruffle his hair again, needing to touch him at least a little. Kyoudai, huh? ... yeah. Yeah, he likes that, too. Daiya was always ani to him, the proper name for the big brother, and Daiya usually called him shit like ‘kid’ or whatever, so it’s not like Taka calling him that will bring up any bad memories or shit. It’s just... something for them. Their own, little thing, for them and no one else.

Him and Taka. Taka and him. Two... two kyoudai...

Incredible...

“Alright, Taka. If ya’d like. Now, it’s fuckin’ late. I ain’t even gotta look at a clock ta know that. Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get ya ta bed.”

Mondo stands, then, realizing how fucking late it is. The kid always gets up stupidly early, he remembers Taka saying that once a little while ago, so he knows they should be heading to bed soon. He feels strangely reluctant to do that, never wanting to part from this beautiful boy, but- but he’s the big brother. He has to keep his little brother safe and healthy, and that includes ensuring he gets a good night’s sleep. Even if it means they have to part ways...

As Mondo stretches, he sees Taka stand as well, his body flushing bright red as he looks down at himself and seems to notice his state of undress. Like he’d forgotten or something. Mondo hadn’t. Not... not for a single second. Shit...

He feels his eyes dart down to the kid’s chest, unbidden, and he feels the small smile die on his lips as he sees the long, jagged looking scar that goes from Taka’s collarbone to the bottom of his sternum, right over his heart. How... how the fuck did he get a scar like that...? It doesn’t look like one that would come from surgery or something, since it’s too jagged, and it also doesn’t look accidental. But... but how the fuck...

“How’d ya get that? The... the scar?” Mondo finds himself asking softly before he can stop himself, his hand rising absently to trace the length of it. Fuck, but it feels as jagged as it looks... angry and painful. H-he hopes it doesn’t hurt anymore...

“A-ah... that...” Taka mutters, his body flushing. It jolts Mondo out of the fucking fugue he entered, and he removes his hand quickly, feeling embarrassed. S-shit... he shouldn’t have asked that, it ain’t his fucking business. Yeah, they’re kyoudai, but that... that don’t mean he’s earned the right to hear the kid’s dark history. He still has to earn that shit. He knows that.

“Aw, shit! Taka, ignore me. Y’ain’t gotta talk ‘bout that shit. Uh, shi-shoot, I mean... stuff? Sorry… heh, know ya hate swearin’ an’ sh- stuff. Heh…”

Taka blinks at Mondo’s rambling words, which makes him feel strangely nervous. He doesn’t let it take over him, though. Doesn’t let himself get angry. But strangely... the anger he usually feels when embarrassed or nervous just... never showed up in the first place. Huh...

He watches, then, heart clenching, as Taka smiles at him, soft and gentle as ever. F-fuck...

“I... I don’t mind! It’s not exactly a pleasant story, but I trust you, kyoudai! And... I don’t mind you cursing! Much! It... it’s what makes you, you! Just as long as you don’t do it in class or in the halls!”

He... doesn’t mind him... cursing...???? After all those warnings, all of those detention slips, he truly expects Mondo to believe he doesn’t mind it when Mondo fucking curses?

But... huh. He can’t detect a lie in the kid’s words. He looks as earnest as ever, and it just... god. Mondo can’t begin to describe how he feels right now, just that it feels... soft.

Taka... Taka makes him feel soft. And fuck, is it not bad... not bad at all...

Unsure of what to say, what to do, Mondo just laughs again, since that’s the only thing that even slightly manages to express the softness that he feels inside, and he smiles at the kid gently while nodding. He should feel stupid, ridiculous, but he just... doesn’t.

God...

He watches then as Taka walks over to the locker he’d used earlier, seeming to want to no longer be partially nude. Mondo doesn’t mind it, has never minded being around naked dudes, but he guesses not everyone can be like that. As the kid dresses, he starts to talk. And the story he tells...

“It was one of my middle school bullies. I, er... wasn’t well liked, as a child! They never liked how I would get them in trouble, not to mention... ah. M-my, well. My grandfather,” Taka mutters, voice turning nervous as he talks about his grandfather, glancing at him anxiously.

Mondo still isn’t entirely sure what the kid’s deal with his grandfather is, but he can tell it bothers the kid, shit, so he does his best to not look at all judgmental, even though the fact the kid was fucking bullied makes his blood fucking boil... shit. He’d expected it, honestly, but it still fucking angers the fuck out of him, Christ…

Luckily, it seems his anger at that isn’t too obvious, since the kid continues then, voice less shaky and upset, even though the shit he says...

“One day, one of them was... particularly angry. I’d gotten him suspended, you see, for a week. It was his own fault, he was the one who had scratched profanities into the headmaster’s car, I’d just been the one to report it! Still, he was... angry. So, after school, he had his friends hold me down while he cut this into my chest. A reminder, he said, to mind my own business. I think he was going to do more but was interrupted by something. It was most unpleasant!”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Holy shit, holy shit!

What the goddamn shit?!

Some goddamn motherfucker... carved that shit into Taka’s chest...?! And how the fuck can Taka sound so casual about it?! Mondo has never felt so much rage directed towards someone he’s never met, but holy fucking shit, that goddamn bastard had better hope Mondo never meets him, or else he is fucking dead. The thought that anyone could ever hurt this wonderful boy in such a way is just so... insane to Mondo. How people can see him and not want to keep him safe from all harm is just... he doesn’t get it. Even when he told himself he hated the kid, he couldn’t bear the thought of actually hurting him. Not really.

And Taka he... he looks so fucking sad, right now. But also, just... resigned. Like he expects that treatment and, while it sucks, it’s just... life. Which is so much fucking bullshit, holy fucking shit-

Mondo unintentionally lets out a strangled noise, his anger and rage choking him inside. He sees the kid look up at him and sees panic rise in his face when he sees the anger Mondo so clearly feels. Oh, shit... shit, he’s not mad at Taka, he’s not at all, but he can’t make the anger go away, because... because...

“They fuckin’ what?! What the goddamn shit?! Please tell me ya got those fuckers expelled!”

He had to have... right? Taka is so gung-ho about rules and shit, he- he must have told on those fuckers and got all of them expelled... r-right?

Wrong...

“A-ah! N-not exactly! I... I never reported them! I rarely ever did, to tell the truth... it wouldn’t have mattered, see! The teachers didn’t like me much either; they only ever believed me if I had proof, and even then, only half the time! And they never much cared when I got hurt... b-but it was okay! I persisted and never let them break me down! My struggles made me stronger! Aha!”

W... what? He... he... oh, oh god... n-no...

“Y-you... what?” Mondo whispers, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands shaking. He has never felt so horrified before, a terrifying realization overcoming him. Because he... he was right, wasn’t he? This kid... h-he was abused. Horribly so.

By literally fucking everyone, holy fucking shit-!

“I mean... that’s just... how it was? I handled it, though! I never gave up! They... they did not break me!”

Oh. Oh. Oh, this... this poor fucking kid... his poor fucking kyoudai, having to go through that nightmare, actually believing that it was just... normal. Just... how it was. But he... he can’t actually... actually believe he deserved it... r-right...?

“Goddamnit... that’s why ya keep tellin’ me ta... ta punish ya, ain’t it? Taka, please tell me ya don’t actu’ly think ya deserved that shit?”

He can’t. He can’t. Please, god, he... he can’t...

Mondo watches, heart breaking so thoroughly inside his chest, as Taka looks down at his uniform jacket, the only piece of his get up he’s not yet wearing. He’s frowning gently, like he actually has to fucking think about it, oh god, no...

“I- I... I suppose so... I mean-! I... I don’t know. They all hated me... s-so... they must have had a good reason... r-right? To... to hate me. I... I must have deserved it... right?”

No. No. No. Mondo... he can’t fucking handle this shit. So many things make so much sense now, and he has never hated himself more. For not seeing it sooner. For not allowing himself to care about this boy all along. For maybe even reenforcing this goddamn bullshit, making the kid think he is right, when he sure as shit ain’t. He...

He can’t help how he moves. Swift and quick. He- he just needs to be near the kid, needs to hold him, reassure him that no, he didn’t. Didn’t at all. He needs to do what he should have done weeks ago, in the laundry room, and reassure that kid that no. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Not... not ever...

He stops, though, when he sees Taka look up at him, terror in his eyes, like he... he thinks Mondo is going to fucking hurt him. He wants to go forward, wants to hold the kid so fucking bad, but he doesn’t have that fucking right, so he stays where he is, all the sorrow he feels surely reflected in his eyes. And as the kid looks at him, he... he relaxes. He still looks upset, but he doesn’t look scared. That... that’s something...

Right?

“No. Fuckin’ no. Y’ain’t deserved any a’ that shit, goddamn, man… and I promise ya, Taka, I’m gonna make sure ya see that one day, even if it takes the rest a’ my goddamn life. And that’s a man’s promise.”

And he means it, fuck does he mean it. He had never meant anything more. He will spend the rest of his goddamn life ensuring that this wonderful kid knows how special and amazing he is, and that he never, ever deserves to be hurt. It’s his life’s fucking goal now, the one thing that fucking matters. He will take care of Taka for the rest of his goddamn life, even after the kid finally wises up and leaves his ass. He will watch from the shadows, keeping a careful eye on him, there to keep him safe from all harm. This kid will never know pain again if it’s the last fucking thing Mondo does. He swears.

As the kid looks at him, he sees the softest and most beautiful smile he’s ever seen lighting up the boy’s face. His eyes sparkle with it, and he’s looking at Mondo like he’s important again. Like he... like he matters. And Mondo...

He won’t ruin this shit. He just... he won’t.

This matters too goddamn much for him to let it slip away.

“T-thank you... thank you, kyoudai. I... thank you.”

Mondo smiles gently at the kid, moving forward to tentatively wrap an arm around his shoulder, squeezing gently, needing to touch him but not wanting to overwhelm him, god.

“Ain’t gotta thank me, bro. Now, we really should head ta bed. Got school tomorrow an’ I don’t want my bro ta be tired! Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get goin’.”

Taka nods quick and puts his jacket on, buttoning it with practiced fingers. The kid turns back to the locker, frowning gently at whatever he sees inside. Mondo watches as the kid reaches out and grabs it, his breath hitching when he sees the kid is holding the glasses case that started this whole fucking mess. He... he honestly had forgotten about that shit, to tell the truth, with all the drama that just occurred. But as he looks at the kid, who is looking so softly at the glasses case, like they’re precious to him, he... he knows he owes the kid for the shit he put him through earlier, for no fucking reason. He can’t quite find it in him to regret what happened, not when it ended up like this, but he... he has to make it up to the kid. All of it.

So, quick as a wink, Mondo darts his hand out and carefully takes the case from Taka, ignoring the startled sound the kid makes. He can feel the kid watching him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t let it stop him as he opens the case and— without a single moment’s pause— puts the glasses on his face, blinking at the foreign feel. It... it hasn’t changed his vision much, since this shit is only supposed to help with close up shit, but it... huh. He guesses it ain’t so bad...

“Huh... I guess they ain’t that bad... tell me, kyoudai. How do they look?”

He hadn’t really meant to ask the question, but he just... couldn’t help but remember the shit he’d done the last time he’d worn the glasses and Taka had told him what he thought. He... maybe he wants to show that it’s different, now. That he won’t get angry, not this time. To prove that he will never hurt Taka, never again. Not... not ever again.

He watches as the kid flushes bright red, mouth open slightly again, and- and god, is it an attractive look on him... s-shit... and then the kid is smiling shakily, giving a shaky thumbs up, and that’s even... even worse... or better, heh...

“You look amazing, kyoudai! They suit you well!”

A-amazing, huh? Shit... no one’s ever said he looks amazing before... he’s had a couple of people call him hot, or even sexy once or twice, but never... never amazing...

He adores it... adores... Taka...

It makes him smile again. Soft. Happy. So goddamn happy... he will never be able to repay Taka for the happiness he gives him... not even if he dedicates the rest of his life to trying. Which he will. He... he will...

But it’s late. So fucking late. They... they need to get to bed...

Even if Mondo never wants to part from this amazing kid...

“Ah, cool. I guess. Now, c’mon! Bed! Ain’t gonna be the reason ya can’t focus in class tomorrow, ya nerd!”

With that, Mondo turns to grab his duster off the bench he’d tossed it on earlier, shrugging it on carefully, before finally exiting the bathhouse, Taka on his heels.

Shit...

#The Problem with Mondo preview #Mondo Owada #Mondo's POV #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #Danganronpa #Danganronpa fanfiction #My fanfic #Ha hope y'all liked it #:-)

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paroxysmal-distaste · 3 years

Text

acatalepsy. || prologue

copied and pasted from my wattpad, excuse the old writing.

playlist. 0. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. ----- ◈ Chapter 0 - Prologue ◈ ◈ Date Published: 24/12/2018 ◈ ◈ Word Count: 2147 ◈ -----

UNKNOWN DAY IN AN UNFAMILIAR UNIVERSE

"What the hell are we doing in here?"

"Lighten up! You barely leave the house anyways."

"Yeah yeah yeah, you don't need to remind me. Did you bring the flashlight I asked you to bring?"

"I thought you were taking it."

You face palmed.

Recently, there's been a train accident where it's said to be believed that the tunnel was haunted. Everyone thought this was true because apparently there would be less people onboard after going through the tunnel than before. Almost like they were taken by something.

You thought it was bullshit.

The area had already been blocked off, but that doesn't stop your adventure loving friend from dragging you into her curiosities. In a way, you had always admired that about her, but other times you saw it as a flaw. One of those times being now.

"Mags?"

"Hm?"

"Can I go now?"

"No."

You rolled your eyes and frowned, speeding up your pace to keep up with her, "Wait up, will you?"

"Does your phone have any battery?" She questioned, ignoring your comment.

"Just a bit, I don't know if it will be enough though, especially since the flashlight takes up a lot of it."

"Turn it on for a moment, I can't see where I'm going." The both of you lifted up the Caution, Keep Out! police tape as you carefully stepped over the rumble. The atmosphere surrounding the place was giving you the chills, and you shivered quietly.

"Can we speed this up a little? I'm getting the creeps." You stated blandly, subconsciously tightening your grip around your backpack straps. You kicked a squashed can of Sprite to the left of you.

"Give me a hand with this." Mags gestured for you to help her with what seemed to be a large part of debris from the crash.

"Alright, but if it accidentally drops on your foot or something and it breaks, don't blame me." You raised your hands up comically and pursed your lips, before dropping them loosely to your sides. You grunted as your fragile hands attempted to pull off a large chunk of concrete from the side of the tunnel.

"You know, you're acting kind of weird. What's the rush? You don't have somewhere to be, right?" She asked abruptly.

You froze,"N-no, what makes you say that?" Your body stiffened as your friend squinted her eyes at you suspiciously.

"You seem to be in a really big hurry for some reason and you don't usually care when I pull you around on these trips."

You lifted your arms and shoulders, turning your head to the side, "I-I don't know, I think I'm just tired I guess."

"You're a terrible liar! You're meeting up with someone aren't you?" She placed her hands on her hips and neared you, making you back away nervously.

"Pffft- whaaaaaat? No way." You tugged at your turtleneck, "It's getting a little hot in here. Mind if I just-" Just as you were going to push past her, she said something that made you pause.

"It's Miles, isn't it?" The constant shifting of your eyes made her own widen and her lips to curve into a smile. "I knew it! You can't hide anything from me!"

"Shush! I was going to tell you, but I didn't know if I would call it anything yet." You fiddled with your hands in an antsy way, before pushing a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

"Ooo, you have to tell me what happened!"

"He just asked me out, that's all!"

"That's all! What do you mean- that's great!"

Your face reddened as she hugged you, "Stop... you're making it seem bigger than it is."

Mags nudged you suggestively, before walking forward. "I'll drop it. For now."

After a moment or two, a giant hole in the wall was finally revealed, and your friend carefully put a foot in the gap, trying to squeeze their way in.

"I can't get in! I think I'm stuck." She murmured, her voice echoing since half her body was left through the wall and her legs were kicking up and down in panic.

You snickered at her flailing limbs, and you could hear her getting cross at your lack of helpful action.

Something made a clicking sound, and you shielded your eyes from the sudden bright light in your face. It flickered for a moment, and a loud horn sound blew.

"M-Mags." You tugged at the bottom of her jacket, your eyes widening as you noticed that the light was from an incoming train.

"Huh?" She questioned, "I can't see! What's going on?"

Your face paled as you began to roughly tug at her legs, accidentally slipping one of her shoes off. "Dammit! A train's coming!"

"I thought there weren't supposed to be any trains seen this place had been closed off!"

"Yeah, well, it's not going to be stopping anytime soon - let me help you, stop kicking!"

Just as Mags was easing herself out of the hole, something made you pause momentarily.

Something tickled your arm, and instantly, you began to mentally freak out. Whatever it was, if you made any sudden movements, you were sure it was going to harm you.

"Ow! Something bit me!"

Never mind.

A burning sensation began to occur on your palm, and it felt as if your skin was falling off. You tried your best to not yell out in pain, since you and Mags were trying your best to get out of the place alive.

"I'm out! Quick! Hurry up, it's coming!"

You snapped your head to look behind you, seeing the lights coming closer. Turning your attention back to what was in front of you, a few metres forward was Mags with her hand extended, waiting for you to grab it.

The train seemed to get closer every second, and you bolted forward, almost tripping over the tracks.

You finally managed to clasp your hand around your friend's, and she hoisted you up immediately.

It was right on time too, because the train violently broke through the large concrete rumble, and continued going ahead at full speed.

The rubble of rocks flew everywhere, causing both you and Mags to fall backwards and to scoot backwards with your hands.

"Oh my goodness." You ran a shaky hand through your hair, which was now messed up. By doing so, a striking pain ran through your arm again, and it brought attention to what happened earlier.

You breathed in through your teeth, as Mags grabbed your hand gently in worry.

"I think it was a spider, but it must have been a pretty nasty one because it hur- gah! Careful!" You snatched your hand away from her grasp, making her stumble out a 'sorry'.

"Let's just get out of here." You frowned at her before walking out of the subway, her footsteps following quick behind.

You stared at your hand curiously, wondering what sort of bug would produce a large wound and sensation like that.

A radioactive spider definitely didn't cross your mind.

---

You ended up cancelling on Miles, and it made you feel terrible since you were really looking forward to your 'hangout'. He had invited you to go rollerblading with him, since he knew you loved it.

What you told him was that you weren't feeling very well, but you promised you would make it up to him.

That bite from a week before, was no ordinary bite. Your daily life was increasingly difficult, from accidentally ripping papers the second you tried to remove it from your own fingers, to climbing walls.

You did put two and two together, and realise that it must have been during that train episode because that's where you first started feeling weird.

Going out for a walk, you hummed the song that was playing through your headphones and looked around at the lights and streets of Brooklyn.

The moment was short lived though, since what happened next was only made aware to you when you heard an extremely high pitched scream. It must have been pretty loud since your headphones are always full volume, which signalled that something was seriously wrong.

You pulled your hoodie down, and carefully removed your headphones to find out what was happening.

Another villain.

And Kid Arachnid - as everyone called him - was saving the city once again. You had never seen him in action up close, and it only took you a few moments to notice that his abilities were the same ones that you had.

Your fingers began to tingle, and you looked down at them, slightly startled at the realisation. Were you just like him? You didn't know, and a small part of you wished you were. It would be interesting becoming a hero and fighting alongside Kid Arachnid.

A loud yell pierced your thoughts again, and you jumped at the sudden sound.

A car was thrown your way, but a string of webs managed to prevent it from going any further.

You looked up to see your saviour, who was now struggling to fight against the person opposing him.

A strong urge to help was almost forcing you to get up and assist him, but your fears held you back.

The villain seemed to have said something to him that alarmed him, because he ended up grabbing you and holding you up.

"Y/N!"

Wait, Y/N? How does he- His voice. I know that voice. Of course I do, I could recognise it a mile away. A mile...

Miles.

Everything that happened next was a blur, and you still couldn't process it. Before you knew it, you were free from the malefactor but in exchange for the well-being of someone else.

"Miles." You whispered, before running over to where he was laying. Almost instantly, you moved him off of the wreckage to make him feel a little more comfortable instead of having sharp rocks digging into his back.

"Miles- are you o-okay?" You managed to cry out. "You didn't have to do that!" You kneeled down to his level, unsure how to treat him.

"I did anyways though, didn't I?" He grinned and stated in a raspy voice. Of course that was his response.

"I-I should have gone to our meetup- maybe then I wouldn't have disappointed you, and left things like this. I-I-It's all my f-fault and-"

"Y/N. It's not your fault. This was bound to happen eventually." He was cut off when he gave out a weak cough.

Your hands shook vigorously as you placed them over Miles' cheek, using one to pull off his mask.

He smiled delicately when he saw you a little clearer, and he pushed the strand of hair that was sticking out behind your ear. "You always did have those little bits of hair pointing out all the time."

Your laugh made the tears that were brimming your eyes fall down on his chin.

Miles' eyes trailed to his stomach, where a large and deep, bleeding cut was held. There was no way he was recovering from that.

Suddenly, he squinted, and a pressure built into your head. It felt like a headache, but it actually felt nice. His eyes widened at you, and he smiled.

"Y-you're like me."

"W-what?"

He didn't reply, and his eyes were beginning to close.

"Miles. Miles! Answer me!" You tried your best to try to shake him awake without damaging him, but he wouldn't wake up. "M-Miles...?"

You stood up carefully.

This happened way too fast. First you get bitten by a radioactive spider, next your crush, best friend and also the city's super hero dies in your arms.

You couldn't even cry anymore, because you were still processing what had just happened. The villain was still on the loose.

Of course, at this point, you were fully aware that what ever caused Miles to be as skilled as he was, also got you.

It was a spider.

You dug your fingers into your fist until your knuckles turned white.

If there isn't going to be anymore Kid Arachnid, then there needed to be someone else to be there for him. Not to take his place, but rather, in his memory.

An idea started to form into your mind.

Chapter 1 >

#milesmorales #miles morales x reader #miles morales #acatalepsy

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thebookreader12345 · 3 years

Text

Friendly Parenting

Pairing: Natalie Manning x Best Friend! reader

Summary: Y/n moves in with Nat to help her through her pregnancy and promises to be by her side through everything life throws at them

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: light swearing and mentions of pregnancy/birth

Word Count: 1,232 Words

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

“And this is the last one,” I state and bring in a suitcase from my car.

“Thanks again for doing this, Y/n,” Natalie told me.

“Nat, I’m your best friend. I will do anything you ask. Besides, I don’t think anyone is more excited than me for you to have this baby. Except for Helen,” I point out.

Natalie laughed. “Okay, so, what do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever the baby wants is fine with me,” I answer and drag my suitcases farther into the house.

“Pizza it is. I’ll be up to help you unpack as soon as I call the food in,” Natalie spoke.

“Gotcha,” I respond and bring my bags up the stairs and into the guest room Natalie had set up for me. I set my bags on my bed and opened them before starting to put my clothes in the dresser. It was weird seeing all of my clothes laid out in front of me because I wore scrubs on most days. I loved my job as a doctor in the ED, and don’t get me wrong, it did take up a lot of time, but it was worth it. Getting to help people was something I had always wanted to do, and being able to actually do it was a dream come true. Natalie joined me a few minutes later, and together we unpacked the rest of my clothes. Clothes were pretty much the only thing I needed to bring. My parents had put the rest of my things in storage so that when it was okay for Natalie to be alone, all my stuff would be waiting for me to move back into an apartment. “And of course, the room would not be complete without this,” I say and place a picture frame on the nightstand. The picture was of Nat, Will and I standing in front of the new ED after it had to be rebuilt. Will was another close friend of mine, and he had the hugest crush on Natalie, which everyone knew about except her. Once we were done unpacking and the pizza had arrived, we sat in the living room and ate.

“Y/N, that patient you had last week was totally into you. You should text him.” Natalie told me.

I shook my head. “No. No way. That’d be so weird. What would I even say? ‘Hey. This is Dr. L/N. I was just wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.’”

“That’s exactly what you should say,” Natalie said.

“Your hormones are making you crazy. I’m not doing that. Besides, I’m perfectly happy being single,” I state.

“And I know that, but I think there’s a guy out there who could make you very happy. Oh! What about Connor?” Natalie asked. I almost spit out my water, and ended up choking on some of it as it slid down my throat.

“Connor?” I cough out.

“Come on. I see the way you guys look at each other. There’s something there,” Natalie accused.

“Nat, Connor just started at the hospital. I barely know him,” I point out.

“Liar! You probably know everything about him,” Natalie spoke.

I waved her thought aside. “Enough of this. You should not be worrying about these stupid things. It’s not good for the baby.”

“He’s been kicking like crazy today,” Nat admitted and rubbed a hand over her swollen stomach.

“Maybe it’s because he’s excited that I’m here,” I suggest jokingly and take another bite of pizza.

“I actually think you might be right. He seems to like the sound of your voice,” Natalie confessed.

“Because I’m going to be the one to spoil him when he gets older,” I respond. “Now, lets see whatever stupid cheesy romance movie is on TV.”

1 Month Later...

“Look at that. My two favorite women,” Maggie said as Natalie and I walked into the ED together.

“Hey Mags. Hey Will,” I greet my two colleagues. “Any incoming traumas?”

“You missed one. A big trauma came in earlier,” Will informed me.

“Damn. Nat, if you make us late one more time,” I joke.

“Hey. It’s not my fault that this baby slows me down,” Nat retorted.

“Mmhmm. I will talk to you guys later. Right now, I’ve got to help Nat get to the lounge,” I tell Maggie and Will.

“Have fun,” Maggie called out as we walked away. A few hours later, while I was doing some charting, I was informed that Natalie’s water had broke, and she was in a room upstairs. So, when I went up there, I made her walk a little bit around the floor.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Natalie asked me.

“Ten more laps,” I reply.

“You know, I am seriously regretting this whole thing,” Natalie exclaimed and gestured between us.

“Good. I guess that means I’m doing my job correctly,” I state as we continued walking. At that moment, we passed Natalie’s room, and standing by the doorway was Will. “Hey, Will.”

“Hey. Sorry I took so long to come up. I had to bribe Fromson to cover my shift. What do you need me to do?” Will questioned.

"I need you to walk with her for now, and I will be back as soon as I can,” I answer.

“Wait, you're leaving?” Natalie asked me.

“I’ve got a few cases to close up. You’ll be in good hands with Will. I promise,” I assure her. After leaving Will and Natalie, I headed back down to the ED to finish up discharging my patients. As I was finishing my last chart, Maggie called out for me.

“Y/N! Incoming!” Maggie shouted.

“Mags, I’ve got to get back to Nat,” I tell her.

“You’re the only doc in here right now. I need you,” Maggie spoke.

I sighed and set down my tablet. “Fine. But this better be quick.” It was anything other than quick. By the time I had finished with that patient, hours had gone by. As soon as I finished the paperwork, I rushed up to Nat’s room. When I entered, I found Natalie holding a baby. Her baby. “Natalie, I’m so sorry. I wanted to come right back, but I got stuck with a case and-”

Natalie cut me off. “It’s okay. Maggie told me everything, and she was here for me. Now, would you like to hold Owen?”

“Wait, Owen? You took my suggestion?” I ask.

Natalie nodded. “Yeah. Here,” she said and passed me the baby. I smiled down at the baby in my arms and took a seat in the chair next to Natalie’s bed. Owen cooed at me as I held his tiny hand with my fingers. He was amazing.

“He’s beautiful, Nat,” I announce to my best friend. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for being with me through everything, Y/N. I really appreciate it,” Natalie declared.

“You’re going to appreciate me even more when I help you take care of this little rascal. If you thought being pregnant was rough, wait until we have to sleep in a house with Owen waking up every hour of the night,” I explain.

Natalie laughed. “Well, I’m glad I’ll be doing it with my best friend.”

“I’m glad I’m doing this with you. Now, enough of all this talking. I just want to squeeze Owen’s chubby cheeks,” I exclaim.

___________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett

#one chicago #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #natalie manning #best friends #baby #pregnancy

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eccentricmya · 3 years

Text

I Win

(Just a quick one about Mae and Mags after the rescue.)

"Are you sure about this?" Maglor asked, staring at the wooden swords Maedhros had asked to be brought in.

"I have to start somewhere, Káno," Maedhros said, hefting one of the swords up to weigh it in his hand. He had already remarkably improved in keeping the balance on his swings. But now the next phase of his arm training required him to start practicing real combat. He could only hack away at the dummies for so long before the itch to improve started again.

And Maglor understood that, he really did. But frankly, Maedhros still looked like an animated frame of bones and Maglor didn't want to risk it. Or maybe it was that Maglor himself didn't want to be the one to inevitably hurt him. Again.

"No, I meant, are you sure you want to practice with me?" He asked, trying not make it obvious that if given the choice, he would've rejected Maedhros' request. But he didn't have the right to say no. Not to Maedhros. Not after everything.

Maedhros turned to him with a quizzical brow, "Who else would I trust with this?"

And he said that as if it was apparent. No hesitation at all. Just the quiet bafflement that let Maglor know Maedhros was completely serious. Which is why, he refrained from bringing up Fingon. They'd already had several arguments over 'Maglor's supposed inferiority to Fingon' - or that's what Maedhros painted it as. Maglor just called it the truth. It hadn't been Maglor who'd rescued Maedhros from Morgoth's clutches, after all. No. He'd just abandoned him to it. 'Supposed' inferiority, indeed!

But those arguments were one of the few instances when the Maedhros of old had shone through - frustratingly stubborn and infuriatingly logical. Maglor wasn't even ashamed to admit that he'd instigated some of those by deliberately being self-deprecating. And if he had felt happy and sick in equal measure at hearing his injured brother calmly praise him, well, only Eru would know.

Yet for all his manipulations, when Maedhros had made up his mind that it would be Maglor who'd help him establish mastery over sword again, Maglor could not - would not - refuse.

"It would be strange to beat you at swordplay," Maglor remarked, picking up a wooden sword of his own.

"Now, are you sure about that?"

The lighthearted jibe made Maglor look up, and for a moment, he almost didn't recognise the expression on Maedhros' face as amusement. It wasn't even because of the gruesome scars his brother now had to bear, but the fact that it had literally been years since Maglor had last seen him happy. It was enough to make him feel like he was sharing a joke with a stranger who he would become great friends with somewhere down the line.

It was like rediscovering all the signs that marked Maedhros as a loved one to him.

So while Maglor continued to beat Maedhros at swordplay one practice at a time, Maedhros continued to relearn the 'warrior' part of himself. A part they had feared lost after the agony of a chopped-off hand had offset sympathetic tremors in his remaining one. It hadn't been easy to rehabilitate Maedhros' left hand, but it had been possible. Thus they had made it work.

And Maglor - with his conscience burdened with guilt - had arrived bright and early to every practice, even when beating his older brother into the ground was the furthest thing he wanted to do every morning. His younger self would've rejoiced at any victory over Maedhros, scarce as they were to come by. But the Maglor of now had a very different definition of 'victory' and it certainly wasn't staring down the length of his sword at an exhausted looking Maedhros.

"I believe you're overdoing this," Maglor commented, as he walked away to put his sword back. He heard Maedhros wincing softly as he stood up but didn't turn around to check. "We've been practicing every day for weeks now. You need rest to recover too."

"This is recovery," Maedhros retorted, his voice holding none of the pain his body must be in.

Maglor scoffed, "Not if it leaves you unable to stand afterwards."

"Káno, what's the matter? I thought you'd enjoy evening our score."

The teasing was new too. It's like ever since he saw Maglor's reaction to that first cheeky remark, Maedhros had taken to be in good humour all the time. It was as worrisome as it was uncomfortable to witness.

"This isn't evening it unless we're even in skills first," Maglor answered with a shake of his head. "And we both know we're not."

"Don't put yourself down, brother!" Maedhros said, smiling awkwardly as he was wont to do nowadays. Every mannerism of his was awkward and stunted to a degree now; like he was merely imitating whatever image he had of himself from before. From a time when calling him 'Maitimo' didn't result in averted gaze from people nearby.

Maglor sighed. There really was no arguing with Maedhros when he was like this. "Perhaps you need a change of partner. Diversify your style more. It's not good for you to get used to mine alone."

"No," came the succinct reply. The coldness of his voice was surprising.

But Maglor's response wasn't, when it eventually was uttered in a soft, tired whisper, "Whatever you wish, Nelyo."

And so, on they went. Maedhros losing again and again, but never once letting Maglor go easy on him. He had even made him promise and that was something none of them took lightly. But Maglor had given his word anyway, even when he secretly regretted it. Adding on to the mountain he was making out of his regrets.

Until the day came when it was Maedhros holding Maglor at sword-point.

"I win," Maedhros stated, more bewildered than he had any right to be. He was bound to win any day now. Maglor had sensed it. "I win, Káno! I win."

"Yes, yes. I yield," Maglor said, gently pushing aside the sword aimed at his throat.

Maedhros grinned. And this time, it didn't make Maglor uneasy to see it. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, Maedhros was genuinely smiling and Maglor could do nothing but return it. Maybe not as brightly though. For Maglor had a feeling that all his smiles for Maedhros were tinged with remorse now. And he could do nothing to erase it. Past was difficult like that.

"How does it feel to lose... for what? The thousandth time now?" Maedhros asked playfully, his humour spontaneous rather than forced.

It felt good to see his eyes shining with true joy again. A part of Maglor was immensely proud of putting that expression on his brother's face again. While a different, darker part of him wanted Fingon to see this too, wanted to let him know that while he may have rescued Maedhros' body, Maglor was the one to rescue his soul. But his mother had taught him better, so he wouldn't pay attention to that petty urge. Besides, he had already won. He didn't need Fingon to acknowledge it.

So with a wry quirk of his lips, he said, "I don't think I could ever lose when you're winning, Maitimo."

And when Maedhros unexpectedly teared up at that, Maglor didn't need to ask if he'd rather have Fingon wipe them. Because Maglor understood now that Maedhros trusted him to not only build him back but also to watch him break in the first place.

So Maglor did both.

#Silmarillion #Maedhros #Maglor #Silm ficlet #Or should I call it a drabble?#Whatever. it exists.#JustBizarre

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ezgithechaotic · 4 years

Text

The Parent Trap | Chapter Four; a stroke of (bad) luck

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

AU: The Parent Trap, dad!harry

series summary: Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.

chapter summary; Y\N gets interesting news, Harry loses something he cares a lot.

author note; I’ve been dealing with my university application for a long time so I haven’t had the chance to write anything lately. And I know it’s pretty short, I promise it will get longer in the next chapters. It’s been a while but here we are.

I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

Taglist is open. (12\20) (You can see the taglist in the comments.)

The Parent Trap Masterlist

It had been a week since Edward left for camp, and Y\N lost herself to work. Despite Nate's tries, Y\N rarely left her study room. All she did was to answer e-mails and design new clothes. Whenever she stopped working, her mind was starting to operate like a mad woman's. As if worrying about Edward wasn't enough, she had been thinking about Harry non-stop too. She had tried to stay away from the thought of him for a long time, but lately, it seemed like an impossible thing to do. She was thinking about him before going to bed, as she was eating, drinking. The only thing that kept her mind away from Harry was working.

As she waited for her team, laying on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, Y\N's mind started to work like mad, again. It was the first time in a week that she let herself breathe, but allowing herself to do that only felt like torturing. It's been nearly nine years, but he still had this power over her that she hated.

As she laid in the sun with her sunglasses on and her eyes closed, she could feel her body and the bottle of coke in her hand warming up. Sometimes Y\N hated California hot. She missed how London was always chill and foggy. Many people despised London's weather, but Y\N never felt that belonging feeling anywhere but in London. Maybe it had been the people. She could never be sure, but if there was one thing she was sure it was that she was, definitely, homesick. Y\N was brilliant and one of the best designers around the world. She had done everything she could to make her dreams come true. She had been working on her upcoming winter collection and the collaboration she was going to make with Gucci. But the only thing she was thinking was the emptiness inside her.

Why wasn't it enough?

The sound of a car pulling in her front veranda pulled Y\N away from her thoughts. She straightened up and took a sip from her coke. When she heard noises coming from inside the house, she made her way to the kitchen. Nate must have allowed everyone in, she thought. As she entered through the garden door, the cold air hit her body, giving her goosebumps. She put her half-empty coke bottle on the kitchen counter and took her sunglasses out. Her smile widened as Y\N approached her team, waiting for her in the living room.

Y\N adored her team. She always tried and considered other's opinions on her designs. That's why her team included every type of person. She wanted to make a difference, do something that would affect people, whether the way that they dressed or thought. Y\N wanted to help people express themselves, and the best way to express yourself was through your clothes. So, she created a whole new brand for people who couldn't talk about who they were.

In the living room, Nate was handing snacks out, and there were clothes everywhere that would fill a wardrobe. Her sketches were laying on the big wooden table, and a few interns were watching with horrified looks. She could see that sweet chaos wandering around the room. One of the interns, Hailey, jumped to her feet as soon as she saw Y\N.

"Hi, Mrs. Y\L\N! We were waiting for you." Y\N could see she was shaking. So, she smiled at her, trying to ease the tension. "Please, Hailey, call me Y\N."

Hailey sucked a load of breath and turned to her friend, shocked. "She knows my name," she whispered. Y\N giggled when she heard her. Nate was watching her with a smile on his face, knowing Y\N was finally carefree. She stood in the middle of the room as everyone waited for her to say something. She smiled.

"So, let's start then."

As Harry kept wandering around the room looking for his cardigan, he made Sarah and Mitch more and more annoyed.

"Enough of it, Harry," Sarah said. "Just accept that it's lost."

"I was wearing it yesterday. I must have left it here." His frustration grew when he was left empty-handed. Harry slumped down on the closest couch with a puff. He was hoping to find it in the studio, but regardless of hours of searching, he couldn't find it. With closed eyes, he rested his head at the back of the couch, trying to remember where he might've left the cardigan. Harry had been so anxious because he very well knew it was a limited collection. So it wouldn't be possible to purchase a new cardigan if he couldn't find it.

The door opened and closed after the sound of a few footsteps. Harry's eyes were still closed with a scowl on his face.

"Is he still looking for it?" Jefferey asked Sarah Mitch was already up tuning his guitar. Sarah slowly nodded her head, turning towards Harry, knowing he was listening. "I don't think this is about the cardigan, though."

Harry opened his eyes. "What would it be about?" still staring to the ceiling, "I just really loved that cardigan." He whispered under his breath. Mitch sighed knowingly and put his guitar down. "Why don't you guys go find Adam and Ny so we can practice." He said and planted a kiss on Sarah's hairline. "I'll call Jonathan Anderson and see if he can find you one," Jefferey said as he opened the door for Sarah, but his eyes were on Harry. He slowly nodded without saying anything.

"Do you want to talk?" Mitch leaned to the now-closed door. Harry seemed like he was questioning his whole existence. "We all know it isn't about the cardigan, H."

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"With what?" Mitch knew, damn the whole world knew. But he let Harry say it because he needed to get it off of his chest.

"With everything!" Harry leaned forward, cupping his face with his hands. He could feel the coldness of his rings. "With Camille, with proposing her. Do you think I just asked her to tell myself that I got over everything?"

That I got over Y\N...

"I don't think you need me to tell you none of us likes Camille. But it's not up to me or anyone to tell you that you're doing something wrong if you're happy." Mitch knew Harry was suffering despite his words. "But if you're not happy and trying to hold onto a relationship that doesn't make you happy, you're just fooling yourself, mate."

"It was going good, you know?" Harry started to play with his ring that was sitting on his middle finger since Y\N gave him for his nineteenth birthday. "I never thought someone could love me after Y\N. Even though nobody knew what happened between us, I was the reason why she left. I guess I punished myself for it by not allowing people to create any bond with me. After all those years, I thought I could finally be free from the burden I thought Camille would be the one. But now, looking at her, I don't know if she's the one I want." Harry sighed. A million thoughts he couldn't control were wandering inside his brain. "And now ı lost one of the few connections I had with Y\N. It's like the universe saying to me to keep torturing myself."

"There is no need to torture yourself, H. Maybe the fucking universe is trying to tell you to stop holding onto a carding and hold onto her instead. Believe me. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you just talked to her."

Y\N could feel her migraine growing at the back of her head. She had been standing and putting clothes together for too long; she even lost her sense of time. Her attention turned to the model in front of her as he heard another click of a digital camera.

"I don't like the color of this jacket. Do we have a blue one?" The moment she reached forth her hand find the jacket her assistant was holding up. Y\N kindly smiled and thanked her. She took the weird pink colored jacket from the model and threw away. The moment she was about to talk, Y\N heard her assistant talking.

"Yeah, he's in California," Y\N smirked as she took a step closer. "Your boyfriend?" She asked. But she could see her assistant's face immediately changing, her lips frowning and her eyes having that weird look.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to meddle. You don't have to say." Y\N took a step back, turning her old place.

"No, it's okay." Maggie smiled, even though it didn't reach her eyes. "We were just talking about some singer."

"He's not just some singer." A younger boy talked. Y\N assumed he was one of the interns. Maggie sent the boy a look, but he didn't seem to understand why everyone was so anxious to talk about him. "He's Harry Styles!"

Y\N felt like she could blackout at any moment. Her lunch was climbing its way up, and anyone in the room could hear her heartbeat. He could be a block away from her. She could see him when she went out to get some coffee. Let alone coming across to him, even being in the same city, terrified her. The possibilities scared her so much she could run away from the country any minute.

"I'm sorry, he's just new." Maggie apologized, thinking it made Y\N upset.

"No, Mag, there's no need to be sorry." She tried to smile and stilling her breaths. "It's not like it's forbidden to talk about him."

"Y\N," Nate calling her, pulled her away from the conversation. He was holding her phone. "It's Jonathan." Y\N's eyebrows furrowed, wondering why Jonathan Anderson was calling her out of the blue. She took her phone and stepped outside of the living room so she could hear him better.

"Y\N, I need a favor." Jonathan talked at the end of the line sounding panicked and out of breath.

"Hello to you too, Jonathan." She smiled, forgetting about Harry for a moment. "Sorry, I was trying to catch a taxi. À l'aéroport, s'il vous plaît." Y\N giggled to her friend's anxiousness.

"It's okay, what did you need?"

Jonathan sighed. "You remember the patchwork cardigan from two falls ago you designed for my collection, right?"

"Yeah, sure. What about it?"

"Here's the thing." He stopped, asking the driver to drive faster. "One of my precious customers lost his cardigan and asking if we could find him one."

"I thought it was limited."

"It was. So, I promised to try and find one similar. But I don't have any cardigans in the collection this season. And since it was your design, I thought you could help me."

Y\N took a deep breath, massaging her temple with her free hand. "You know I haven't put the collection up for sale yet, John."

"I'll owe you big time." Y\N could hear the desperation in her friend's voice. "Fine, send me his address. I'll make sure he gets a few options."

A day later, Y\N found herself at the entrance of the said man's house in California. Sunglasses resting on her nose, she took a look around the garden as she drove her way to the main door. The house, maybe naming it a mansion would be more appropriate, had a big garden full of Y\N's favorite flowers. The walls were white-painted, reflecting the afternoon sun. As she parked and took the boxes out of her trunk, she couldn't take her eyes off of the pink door.

She ranged the bell, realizing she didn't even know the name of the man whose house she was about to step in. A blue-eyed woman with purple pants opened the door for her. Y\N could recognize her design from a mile away. So, when she saw the pants, she smiled up at her.

"Hi, I'm here with the cardigans. Jonathan sent me."

The moment Sarah realized who she was, she felt her heart racing. "You're Y\N Y\L\N!"

"The one and only." She giggled. "Nica pants, by the way."

Sarah couldn't talk for a few seconds. Not knowing if she should be excited or anxious, she invited her in. Harry was a room away, and Sarah had no idea what his reaction would be. She eventually invited her in and introduced herself.

"Are the cardigans for your boyfriend?" Y\N asked, trying to learn the man's name. Sarah laughed despite her nervousness. "No, they are for my... well, he's my boss, I guess."

Y\N slowly nodded. She didn't say anything not to be nosey, but a weird feeling was filling her. She stepped into the living room after Sarah. Then she saw him there, standing in his white pants and blue shirt, his hair a little messy, rings on his fingers and without any shoes.

Time slowed around her, and Y\N could only see Harry for a moment. Out of breath, she tried to have a sense of her surroundings. But her brain stopped working, and the only thing it did was screaming. Her eyes burned from not winking, and she wanted to pinch herself to be sure that it was all real because it felt like a sweet dream.

Her eyes met Harry's.

Harry thought he was hallucinating. He had been thinking about her, too much, it was official now. His heart nearly exploded from his excitement. He didn't know if he should be excited. What if she was not real? What if, finally, he lost his mind? He was in a dream until he heard her velvet-like trembling voice.

"Harry?"

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction imagine #The parent trap #the parent trap au #the parent trap au moodboard #harry styles the parent trap au #harry style the parent trap au

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

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Paper flowers: The little things

In life it’s often the little things that make the difference between a good day and a bad one. Your best friend and the person you just cant stand to be around.

This chapter Patton especially is confronted with how the smallest actions can cause big changes.

In the imagination, it’s noticing the little things that gives the nemessis an advantage.

Virgil was looking up at the clouds passing by in the purple sky of the field. In the edges of his vision he could see flowers in several hues of red and purple.

Suddenly a shadow fell over him and a face entered his vision.

It was Roman, his head cocked to the side, a smirk on his face. “S’up Princey?” Virgil smiled as he sat up. Roman sat down next to him and with a wave of his hand, a new species of purple flowers was added to the field. Forget-me-nots to be specific.

“I do appreciate the flowers Virgil, but may I ask what I did to deserve them this time?” Roman wondered curiously. He’d gotten in the habit of adding Virgil’s flowers to the field. Or well copies of them. The original flowers were held in a vase in his room. Was there a slight chance of someone walking in and seeing them? Yes. But he could play it off. Purple was a royal color and Roman only associated it with Virgil because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color in one of their early conversations, when the friendship was still new.

“Just… Felt like it…” Virgil couldn’t pinpoint it. He’d been feeling pretty down the past week and found himself grateful for Roman’s presence in his life.

The whole point of the flowers was to let Roman know Virgil valued him as a friend and a side without having to get into details.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate your thoughtful gifts,” Roman offered looking at their doors, now each framed by rose bushes in the other’s color. Roman had considered giving Virgil the purple roses but that felt like regifting him the one he’d made him and that just wasn’t right.

He chanced a glance at his friend, gaging his mood.

"Soooo... you want to talk about what had you storming of this morning?" Roman asked casually.

Virgil sighed he should have known.

Virgil had joined breakfast more often since the first time a few weeks ago. And this morning as Roman was teasing him he called him Kevin again. Virgil had rolled his eyes and reminded Roman that that was not his name. Roman had beamed when he said he knew. He was way to proud of that. The moment of secret camaraderie was broken however by Patton suggesting they could call him Marcus if he preferred. That had set Virgil off. He'd said something about how they couldn’t force him into opening up to them and stormed off. That was less than an hour ago.

Knowing Roman, Virgil was rather impressed that he’d waited this long. He appreciated it though. It’d given him the time to calm down and sort through his thoughts.

“I just… Marcus… it’s the name of a villain. And I know that that’s what I’m going for. But… It makes me feel like I’m still stuck down there.” It was stupid, irrational, he knew. But it had triggered him none the less. “I’m fine with the character being called that. But Marcus… It’s not me.”

Roman nodded thoughtfully and let the subject go.

"Patton wasn't too upset with me right?" Virgil worries.

Roman shrugged. "He seemed mainly worried about you. I said I'd talk to you about it."

Virgil nodded. "Sorry. You shouldn't have to clean up my messes," he mutters as he plucks at the grass.

"Nonsence. Cleaning up each other's messes is half our dynamic. Sometimes you cover for me, and sometimes the other way around. You have the harder job. I get to play my overzealous Prince card. You have to play the bad guy."

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah you're right, I know you are... thanks."

Roman waved him of. "My pleasure. Oh about the next vine!"

While Roman and Virgil discussed whether they should make another video about the rivalry or another Dark lord's least hated things episode (those were very well received), Patton was pacing in the living room.

He hadn't even noticed Logan standing in the doorway, contemplating wether he should offer assistance. This was most likely an emotional driven issue and that was not his area of expertise. Then again the one having the issue was the one he'd usually alert jn such situations. Who knows a voice of reason may be the solution.

"Patton. What is troubling you?"

Patton jumped a little at the unexpected voice.

"Oh, Logan. Didn't see you there bud," he smiled tensely, trying to hide his turmoil.

Logan, wasn't fooled though. "Understandable. You were clearly preoccupied. Is there any way I could assist you?"

For a second Patton considered playing it off, he didn't want to put his worries on Logan. But if Logan noticed and found it necessary to comment on his mood, then it was probably best to come clean. And who knows? Logan was very smart. Maybe he'd help him figure this mess out.

He let out a long sigh and leg himself pretty much fall into one of the chairs. "I messed up Logan. Like in a bad way."

Logan took a seat. "If this is about Anxiety's outburst this morning, mag I remind you he's had similar if not worse fits in the past?"

Patton nodded. It was true but there were so many layers to this time. He decided to start with the one that stung the least, though it was also the one he most dreaded to admit.

"Why was he fine when Roman did it though?” he asked.

Logan frowned and thought about it. “Roman calls Anxiety nicknames all the time. You don’t. He might have taken your comment more seriously because of that.”

Patton’s eyes widened. He had been trying to explain how things worked on their side of the mind to Anxiety ever since he decided to try tough love. And thinking back, maybe his phrasing had made Anxiety think that Patton was pushing him to pick a name for them to call him.

“We could call you Marcus if you prefer.”

Patton groaned, how was he going to fix that? No wonder Anxiety preferred his fights with Roman over Patton’s attempts at friendship.

“I am sorry. Did I make it worse?” Logan wondered uncomfortably.

“No, I mean. I don’t feel better, but I’m less confused. So you are doing great actually,” Patton smiled tensely. There was another much more complicated issue he needed to talk about.

“Is there something else I can help with then?” Logan offered, hoping to make Patton actually feel better. It was the least he could do after all the effort Patton regularly put in trying to make everyone comfortable, even if he wasn’t always successful.

Patton let out a long breath. “You remember when Anxiety told us he could sometimes hear us in our rooms?”

Logan nodded, he had attempted to approach the subject again, but Anxiety had made it clear that he would not answer his questions under any circumstances. A source of mild frustration, but Logan assumed that Anxiety had his reasons to deny him this research. Anxiety was usually rather open to learning how things worked if it might affect them or Thomas.

“Afterwards,” Patton continued pulling Logan back to the present. “We talked… And he gave me a chance to open up to him. To prove that I was genuine in trying to be his friend. And I hesitated. I second guessed and he… He looked so hurt, and I didn’t know what to do and I let him leave!”

Patton confessed. Just saying it out loud helped him feel a little better already.

It had taken him by surprise, the brief look of rejection and hurt on Anxiety’s face before he went back to his usual detached sarcastic self. For a second he had proof that there was more to Anxiety than met the eye, sadly that was right after he messed up a chance of bringing it out.

Logan processed that for a minute. “Patton, Anxiety is hard to predict. But, just because you’ve had a small setback doesn’t mean there won’t be any opportunities in the future. Something made him try and reach out that time. So it could happen again,” he offered. It was the most he could do. Providing a rose colored outlook would be more up Roman or Patton’s alley. All he could give was facts.

“Do you really think so?” Patton wondered hesitantly.

Logan nodded. “Undoubtedly.” And that was the truth.

Paton smiled, his eyes still slightly watery but there was once more a spark to him that made Logan relax. He hadn’t even realized he was tense until now.

“Thanks Lo. I actually feel better now,” he told the intellectual side.

Logan smiled. “A pleasure Patton.”

Both sides promised themselves to keep an eye out for opportunities in the future. Though both had slightly different motivations.

One thing was sure. Next time Anxiety decided to invite either of them in, they’d be ready. They considered including Roman but decided against him. Patient was not his strong suit.

He’d probably scare Anxiety off with well-meant enthusiasm.

The dark lord laughed maniacally. He had Prince tied up and at his mercy!

“Behold!” He exclaimed as he uncovered his surprise for the noble heir.

Prince gasped and then squealed. “Oh my goodness!!! How did you know my greatest weakness!?”

Dark lord flushed. “You said something about it in our first fight,”

Prince gasped, clearly moved. “I can’t believe you remembered,” he squeaks through an almost sob.

Important Question!!!

“I did!” Dark lord announced. Raising a hand. “And now perish!!!” he pressed a button and as he let out a scream of victory his opponent screamed in horror.

Next: Assumptions

Do you guys want Prinxiety to be romantic in this story? Let me know, through a comment an ask a dm. Any way you want. Just let me know. I can understand that some are here because of the platonic prinxiety and i don’t want to take that away unless you guys are all waiting for these to to fall in love already. So...

Prinxiety! Romantic or platonic?

Also any other ships you guys are hoping for?

#Paper Flowers ay #sanders sides #ts sides #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Prinxiety #Platonic #for now #logicality

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