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ithinkthereforeidread · 3 years

Text

the collected poems of todd anderson

christmas day of 1959.

ao3 link here

He knew this day would come. He’s been dreading it, sure, he’d never really enjoyed Christmas much beforehand, his multiple unopened desk sets epitomised such. At his house, fires weren’t warm, hugs were stiff and silence was punctured by the sounds of laughing children in the house next door. It’d always been this way for the Anderson family. Todd grew to accept it.

But this year was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to spend his Christmas at Welton, with all the Dead Poets.

Usually, the boys would go home to their families for Christmas, but through the efforts of Neil he assembled a complex string of falsities about a gargantuan Latin group project that all the Dead Poets needed to finish.

“Serious business, I care about my education father, why else would have you sent me here?” said Neil over the phone, holding his index finger to his mouth to silence Todd from his chuckling, although all Todd really saw was the wide grin that hid behind it, and the way Neil’s eyes crinkled up all the way, a complete oxymoronic action when Neil was usually on the phone to his father. Todd stifles back laughter and Neil smacks him lightly, only causing him to laugh more.

“Well, that was quicker AND easier than I expected...” Neil states after placing the phone back on it’s cradle and ending the call. “But hey!” Neil squeaks, “We’re all spending Christmas together! The biggest concern was just getting my father to agree, everyone else’s parents seemed fine with it.”

Todd and Neil start to walk, side by side, Neil bumps him playfully. “I’m so glad you told me, Todd.” Neil turns his head and looks towards the shorter boy. “My Christmases at home aren’t that great either, I’ve always wanted to spend them here, but I could never work up the courage to ask my father, ask Charlie, in our first year he almost called up my father himself. It was hilarious, he had to look up at the phone, he was so short.”

“You and Charlie have been friends for ages then?” Todd queries “Oh yeah, we met in our last year of preparatory school, he was a pretty mischievous kid, obviously not much has changed.” Neil laughs, “he was just always so confident and sure of himself… I always wanted to be like that, nothing ever got to him.”

“Has that changed?” Todd’s questions were always short and straight to the point. Startling upfrontness in the most unexpected of moments. It was something Todd was known for.

“Not really… I mean, I try to get him to open up… he just isn’t an emotions type of person, I think?” Neil scratches the back of his head. “During our 9th year he went through something really big and not great, but he didn’t tell me a single word about it. To this day I have no idea wahat happened. I tried asking but it didn’t lead anywhere… all I know is some kid had been expelled but it didn’t look like him and Charlie fought or anything because they spent so much time together ....” Neil trails off.

“You know people stare at us sometimes.” Todd blankly states, an unconscious switch being flicked immediately. “When we’re walking to classes, when we go into our dorm, when we exchange smiles in classes… They bump their friends with their shoulders and snicker under their breaths… Have you noticed that Neil?”

Neil’s walking pace slows slightly, “Uh… no, I-uh I didn’t… Do they think we’re-“ “-Maybe.” Todd interrupts before Neil can say The Word. “Bu-but we aren’t, I mean, you were talking about that girl from-“ “-Yeah! Ginny, from the play, wow, I mean, she’s just great.” “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”

God.

This got awkward.

Nice one Todd.

Did it again.

Ink splatters dried on the paper he cradled so delicately, he stares at the contents once more.

“what wouldn't i give to love myself as feverishly as I love you? what is the opposite of amnesia? that is what you are. sometimes i cant find my way around my memories. i have to take detours… i think you were the best one.

little fragments of joy pepper my vacancy i didn't know that i should want to be hopeful or that being hopeful meant giving up some intrinsic part of me.

last night i had a dream that we were breathing underwater flying high in the sky, arms outstretched, laughing, smiling, hugging, bodies pressed onto one another. it didn’t last long. piece by wretched, fragile piece i throw out every hated qualm of thee your impenetrable stare fixed onto me

i have hoped for love that is beyond you being caught by me or me trying to slip through the cracks. they read me, you, us, with their glacial eyes and think they know but they don't

and it seems neither do we.”

“Wow, Todd. This is so… different. But good! It’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in our English class, in the poems we’ve studied… I just… wow.” Neil looks up at Todd, eyes so soft, Neil knows how big of a deal this is to Todd. He doesn’t just share his work with anyone.

“I-I’m glad you liked it.” Todd smiles, it’s almost as if he’s had to completely remove himself from himself in order to let Neil observe and compliment this part of him, he takes the page out of Neil’s hands and places it in his book. “What-er, who was it about?” Neil gingerly queries. “I- uh, well.” Todd’s heating up now, he should’ve expected Neil to ask him this question. Dammit. Why was he so stupid for letting him read it. “Well, I-I don’t think you necessarily have to go through something to write a-about it, it-it’s fiction for a reason.”

Neil’s lips downturn slightly, “I guess, but everything that we produce in art- whether that be acting, or poetry writing, painting- whatever… it… subconsciously shows something that you might not necessarily want to show or see, right? Like how Keating got us the other day to choose a poem we liked and recite it… It tells you so much about a person. When Charlie was reading his poem… wasn't all you could think about was how bleak it was?” Neil continues, “The academically and poetically rigorous selection made by Cameron or Knox’s complete devotion and enamoration with the simplest emotion of the human being, love? We hide these parts of ourselves, maybe we view them as flaws and faults of our cognitive machine, but art reveals them all.” Neil delivered a love poem to the class himself. He takes a big breath and lets the words he just spoke sit in the air of their dorm for a while.

“Into the meadows dawn..” Todd clicks his fingers, a vague ritual to jog his memory. “flashes my faun.” Todd recites “O Hunter, snare me his shadow… O Nightingale catch me his strain. Else moonstruck with music and madness, I track him in vain” all they’re doing is staring at each other.

“You- you remembered my poem?” Neil questions. “Yeah- I went to the library after you said it- wanted to see if there was more… Oscar Wilde…” “Yeah.” “I notice them staring now that you mentioned it.” Neil breaks the trajectory of the conversation, “God, they’re all so stupid, it’s as if Judy Garland and President Eisenhower just strutted into the school, arms interlocked!” Todd chuckles. Then more silence.

“Has anything changed, Neil?” “What do you mean?” “Between us. What this is. Our comradely bond, as Keating puts it.” Todd chuckles, “ Our co-dependence, attachment at the hip.”

More silence…

“I-I think…” Neil finally states, “that it was never anything it wasn’t already… perhaps we ignored it, suppressed the feeling… but… it was always there.”

“For me, at least.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

~~~

The wind pierced Todd’s skin in tiny microscopic ways, embedding itself under the protection of his coat and completely evading the rest of his physical form, though perhaps the wind wasn’t the cause of the spine-curdling ache he felt, but simply an additional symptom.

Bells rang, green and red Christmas themed paraphernalia adorned the streets he’d previously been driving through, staring out the window at lights and snow that trickled onto an already naturally bleached layer of the ground. His footprints leave indents and obtain a slippery consistency to the outer sole and toe cap. He treads more carefully.

His hands clutch the leather cover of the journal he is hiding underneath his jacket, minimising any further damage that may soon come its way, finally, through minutes of soul-searching and carefully treading through stones and flowers, he makes his way to Neil.

He looks at him with a certain sense of fragility, his stone head protruding from the ground and covered in snow. Todd wipes some away to see the carvings made into him. His full name. Aged 17. Dutiful son of Tom and Susan Perry.

The newness of it all sends a pang to Todd’s stomach as he looks at the other stones weathered with age and the constant bombardment of the elements. That’ll be Neil one day. Flowers not fresh and carvings unreadable. Forgotten to the world and all its inhabitants, rotting in satin lining and cherry oak wood. Todd stifles back a sob and covers his mouth, forcing himself to get it together for just this moment.

“Merry Christmas Neil.” Todd whispers, the words can barely come out. “You-you’re not here physically but you’re here with me, and Charlie, and-and all the other Dead Poets.” he continues, “though- though Charlie isn’t here technically either. He left. Had to. He’s not graduating, at least he’s not at Welton” Todd looks down, brushes his emerging tears away with his shoulder

“I just wanted to come here and give you your gift, I’ve had it in the making for a while now, you’ve seen some of it already. I wish I could’ve given it to you earlier… if I had known this would happen.” he pulls out the journal, and opens it up.

“Here, I’ll read you some.” Todd, though already cold and miserable, situates himself next to Neil’s cold headstone and leans his head on it, opening the journal's contents to its first page.

“Dear Neil,” Todd’s starts, but adds an offside, “It’s dated on the 7th of a while back, my-my birthday.”

“I hope this book finds you well,” Todd’s breath hitches, “especially considering that I’m probably too anxious to deliver it to you. What you’ll see here is what we spoke about the night we first kissed. About freeing ourselves from any subconscious fear or dichotomous dread of both working with and against the grain or being liked or disliked. The people I look up to the most are inspirationally unpopular. So, here’s a suite of poems by yours truly. Hopefully you’ll find your own meaning and reverence in the words my brain has conjured up, words mostly pertaining to you. Every inch of your being alive has me transfixed and enamoured, and I’m truly gobsmacked on the good deed I must’ve committed to have deserved having you in my life.” Todd’s face is red and stuffy from the cold and his breathing is short and punctured.

“You’re sleeping right near me at this moment, and as a sweaty toothed madman once said. We were together. I forgot the rest. Consider this journal a detachable limb of my own self, something you can always carry around and know that I am with you, always. You can suck the life force, the bone marrow out of the words I have written in here and I would applaud and encourage you to do so. Without you, I have no idea where I’d be right now. I owe you so much Neil, you’ve taught me that sometimes the world can be good. That a person’s smile can brighten an entire room. A performance perfectly acted can be a person’s ultimate achievement and their triumph. You are the word phenomenal incarnate Neil, I hope my words do you some sort of justice.

You deserve the world, Neil. I’m brainstorming ways to give it to you.

With love, Todd.”

——————————————————————————

i hope you guys enjoyed!! its fucking brutal honestly but needed some angst and tragedy in my fictional life to reflect my own.

just a preface that some of the poem todd read's is borrowed from pete wentz old emo livejournal posts because i need to somehow tie my two big interests together and MAN does that man write some gay ass shit. hope your heart doesnt hurt too much <3

creds to @neilscrown on tiktok for posting the headcanon "Todd definitely bought Neil a Christmas present and he never got the chance to give it to him so he would sit in his once shared room and stare at it" it tore my HEART OUT and inspired this rambling

#dead poets society #dead poets #dead poets honour #dead poets fanfiction #anderperry #anderperry fanfic #todd anderson #neil perry #todd and neil

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wincore · 4 years

Text

sweet tooth | dong sicheng

pairing: vampire!sicheng x reader

words: 2.8k

summary: out of all the inconveniences a vampire boyfriend could pose, there’s about two tonight: a) him losing it at the next person who compliments his fangs, or b) you losing it at sicheng’s 100% blood alcohol content

genre: vampire!au, boyfriend!au, college!au, (tooth-rotting) fluff, comfort, humour

warning(s): mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, college halloween parties

song rec(s): candy - baekhyun // wish you were sober - conan gray

a/n: let’s pretend it’s halloween pls <3 also im sorry it’s so short and more drabble-ish but i wanted to write something gentle and comforting so!!! yeah ^^ also there is no plot. eep.

It’s two in the morning.

Or rather, it feels like two in the morning.

A frat party is a horrible substitute for an actual Halloween party. The alcohol content is through the roof and the number of pairs making out is enough to make you feel queasy. You never knew horror themes had the innate ability to make people so flagrantly horny—you’re half glad you’re not, god forbid, single. Most of your friends were too busy, however, to organize the close-knit party you usually have each year—so here you are, with an invitation from a friend of a friend (of a friend). Your boyfriend might be the only one feeling more out of place than you are.

You glance at Sicheng from the pool table, the cup frozen against his lips while his eyes scan the room from corner to corner. You don’t do crowds and neither does he; though he does have the unwitting ability to charm any crowd he’s in. You’re not quite sure if he’s still unaware of that.

You watch as a girl you can easily recognize from your campus approach him, all smiles and giggles. She says something and you scoff, almost completely certain about what it is she said.

Sicheng might be unaware of it—but you are, and painfully so.

She looks at him starry-eyed and the scent of rum wafting around her. A part of her jacket is off her shoulder, a faint blush covering her cheeks that you can spot even under the dim lights. She’s definitely flirting—you know that because rumours go around faster than assignments in this university. Choi Joohee has a very public, very open crush on your boyfriend.

It’s not like it bothers you. Not at all.

Just a little bit.

Jealousy has never been your thing and you’re half certain what you’re feeling isn’t even jealousy—just a taste of alcohol and the proximity of a Halloween house party.

Speaking of which, the only thing harrowing about this place is the amount of alcohol everyone seems to be consuming—including your boyfriend. Ten dragged Yukhei home a while ago and a part of you is still not confident enough to handle a boyfriend with very pointy fangs and midnight cravings for blood (or juice, as Ten disgustingly phrases it).

Sicheng nods along to something Joohee asks, an eyebrow raised quizzically on her and you assume he’s been zoning out the whole time. The urge to laugh surfaces and you swallow it whole. He’s so cute, even in this state. The lights dance across his face; candy blue, rich purple, saccharine red. The colours don’t help him stand any straighter, or slur his words any less.

You think it’s time to help your boyfriend out. However, the moment you walk through the swarms over to them, Joohee’s face sours. Of course, as the only competition (is it a competition if you’ve already won?) to the object of her affections, you don’t rank too high in her books. It made you a little upset at first, but you got used to it. (“She’ll get over it,” Sicheng had reassured several times. “Don’t worry.”)

People grow, and with that thought, you let it be.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Joohee tells Sicheng and walks away, like he’s supposed to follow her.

You roll your eyes and turn to Sicheng, who’s had a very delayed response to Joohee’s departure. His head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded and you’re almost afraid he’s going to drop to the floor right there and then. This is bad. The thing about vampires is that they absolutely should not, under any circumstance, have alcohol. Calling your boyfriend a lightweight is beyond an understatement.

“Sicheng,” you call softly.

He turns to you, taking a moment to process, before pulling his lips into a wide smile. His fangs poke out even when he presses his lips back together, a contemplatory look over him.

“I thought you left me here.” He forces a sardonic smile.

Drunk off his ass and Sicheng still manages to be annoyingly sarcastic.

You open your mouth and close it again. It’s not like you can chide him without letting your fondness show. The Adonis features that grace his face don’t help. Flushed all the way to the neck, a drunk Dong Sicheng is very rare. The last time this happened must have been at least two years ago (and though you weren’t there then, the way Ten and Kun freeze up at the slightest mention, you decided to not ask).

“Why did you drink?” you ask, huffing. “You can’t even smell alcohol.”

There’s a short pause.

“Because you were ignoring me,” he replies, leaning in.

Heat washes into your cheeks. You forgot how unrestrained he gets with alcohol in his system.

Sicheng seems to have enough consciousness left in him to feel somewhat embarrassed, standing up straight and fiddling with his thumbs. You slip your hand into his without delay and pull, trying your best to navigate through the crowd. Is an ordinary Halloween party too much to ask for? Just when you can finally spot the front door, Sicheng stops abruptly, making you stumble backwards into his chest. He smells like the old deodorant he’s been using for a year underneath the smell of beer and… is that blood?

“Where are we going?” he asks sharply.

“Home, Sicheng,” you whine. “You can stay in my bed.”

He stays rooted in place stubbornly, and you wonder what it is now. This is the time you have to wonder if you’re dating a (potentially) immortal creature or a recently birthed baby.

“We should enjoy more. You’ve hardly smiled the past few weeks,” he mutters.

Your heartbeat spikes for a moment, when he brushes the hair from your face. All this time and he hasn’t changed the words he offers to you in private, the care on his lips and fingertips. A room full of people who aren’t listening is the best place to talk.

The first time you saw Sicheng was in the middle of the night, in the dark hallway of your shared apartment building, blood staining his jaw from a bag he’d acquired from med student Wong Kunhang. (You’re very sure that’s illegal.)

Needless to say, you’d fainted immediately after. When you came to, you were met with a man with pretty eyes and fangs poking out his mouth and in a bed that wasn’t yours. There was no blood this time but you screamed anyway, cut off by the man’s hand over your mouth.

“Calm down,” he said, voice surprisingly deep. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”

“You were planning to kill me?” you asked, panicking.

“I just said I wouldn’t,” he replied quietly, eyes wide and almost as stressed as you are.

Sicheng heaves a sigh, massaging his forehead. You shake yourself off the memories, tugging at his shirt so you can sit somewhere at least. The alcohol must have numbed his ears too. The low R&B tunes make no sense on Halloween night; even less when they’re played a few bars above the acceptable volume. If you’re not out of here soon, you might lose your hearing altogether.

The couch is slightly less stinky than you would have expected. (You grimace as you think to the last time you were at a frat party and in particular, the vomit.) Beside you, Sicheng mumbles about something you’re not quite sure of, a quiet rant with one-track emotions. It makes you giggle and for a moment, you forget the predicament of being stuck with a drunk vampire boyfriend who has just finished teething.

“Hey, guys.”

You look up to see Jihoon, the very friend of a friend (of a friend) who had invited you to this mess. It’s not like you harbour ill feelings towards him; but the guy has approximately zero ability to read the room. It’s mostly funny.

Sicheng makes a vague gesture that you assume means ‘hello’, sitting up straight so he doesn't look noticeably tipsy. You make light conversation with Jihoon, Sicheng’s arm around your waist tightening reflexively. You don’t plan on party-hopping, no matter how much Jihoon urges the two of you—seriously, does he not see the look on Sicheng’s face? He looks more zombie than vampire.

“You know, you don’t actually have to wear costumes for this, right? We didn’t set a theme,” Jihoon remarks, tilting his head to face your boyfriend. “The fangs are really cool, though. Holy shit. Dude, they look so real.”

Sicheng’s lips twitch but he forces them into a smile, trying to move as far away from Jihoon as possible. The fangs are usually not out and about in the open, slightly retracted during the day. The night, however, keeps him on edge. Sicheng hates the spotlight that only ever shows up for the wrong reasons, and he’d much rather graduate without having to deal with horny vampire-lovers. (It’s not that sexy; and you know from experience.)

The way Sicheng looks makes you wonder how many people have pointed out the fangs tonight. You purse your lips to keep yourself from laughing.

“Thanks,” he responds, voice his usual deep baritone.

Jihoon leaves after being unable to draw any more conversation out of Sicheng, some peace gracing you despite everything.

If you ever write a book on how to deal with vampire boyfriends, the first rule would be to never kiss him at night. The fangs are not as withdrawn then and they hurt. (The second is, of course, to never let them get a whiff of alcohol.)

When Sicheng first kissed you, it was midnight and you were at the convenience store to buy a few lunchboxes and instant coffee mix. You’d yelped when his fang had pricked your lower lip, alarming the worker and around fifteen minutes of (dishonest) explanation later, the two of you had left without buying what you came for.

After fretting for a while, Sicheng had kissed you once more with careful consideration—till the damn fangs got in the way again. It was sweet for a moment—like candy—though, the metallic taste of blood had invaded it afterwards. No matter how awkward or painful it was, your elation outweighed the rest.

Kisses weren’t the only thing interrupted by fangs.

The turtlenecks and scarves certainly raised an eyebrow in your circle of friends. There was concern at first, then teasing and then a whole lot of inside jokes which made you want to smack each and every one of them. (“They’re hickeys, I swear, not vampire bites,” you had informed Ten. “Ew. I did not need to know that.” “Shut up.”)

Even so, Sicheng is warm—always has been, and not on the skin.

You feel pressure on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck and you adjust yourself so it’s more comfortable.

“Tired?” you ask.

“Not at all.”

You shake your head at his lie. Gently pushing his head away, you get up from your seat and pull him up with all of your strength. Linking your arm through his, you smile at him when he raises an eyebrow. It’s time to get home, you’ve decided and these are times when one vote is enough.

When you reach the front door, stumbling out with your suddenly talkative boyfriend, the autumn breeze hits you. Under the moonlight, the rosy hue over his cheeks is clearer and even more so when he smiles.

“It’s like our first date,” he says.

You smile back at him.

“You were so embarrassing,” he adds.

Your smile drops and you smack his arm, eliciting a soft complaint from him.

Your first date was the only normal thing in this relationship—a date at the amusement park on Halloween, a bunch of kids mistaking your now boyfriend for Count Dracula and caramel popcorn smeared over your fingers.

Sicheng sighs, lowering his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a moment or two, the party music finally fading and Sicheng’s warmth seeping into you. You fix the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the material. His hands rest lightly against your back yet still secure.

A kitten lick at your neck jolts you back to reality. You gently push him by the shoulders, finding his fangs bared already. He stays unmoving for a few seconds before closing his mouth and going back to leaning against you, breath falling in waves against your neck.

“I’m not your juicebox, Sicheng,” you snap, frown deepening.

“But you have so much blood,” he mumbles, his forehead hot against your shoulder.

“Sicheng.”

He sobers up a little, pulling back with a stream of pouting apologies. You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Despite everything, your boyfriend is such a child sometimes. There’s a short pause.

“But wait, don’t go biting someone else’s neck,” you quickly add, flustered.

Sicheng suppresses a smile.

“So I can have a little—”

“No.”

Sicheng pouts but agrees enough to follow you, the two of you moving soundlessly over the sidewalk. Being alone with him has always been easing; you don’t need a crowd for comfort.

With fingers interlaced, you walk alone with him as the orange street lights cast shadows on the buildings lined up. A few more blocks and you’ll reach your apartment, get to push Sicheng into bed and pray he doesn’t throw up at your front door—and yet still, you walk as slow as you can as if the autumn wind will be gone as quick as it arrived.

The number of people shrink the further you get from the party, and you heave a sigh of relief, glad to be away from, what you and your friends call, the rich neighbourhood. The familiar path to your apartment, no matter the pricing, has much better air to breathe in. It’s past midnight and yet, you can see the city lights in the distance, the ones that never sleep—for the living or the dead.

Something runs into your legs and you jump onto Sicheng, who in turn flinches away with a strangled yelp.

You look down to see a giant golden retriever in a white blanket which you assume is meant to be a ghost outfit. It wags its tail, sniffing around your boyfriend’s legs, making him giggle as he crouches down to pet the creature.

“I’m so sorry!”

You look up to find a young girl holding a pumpkin almost as large as her head, an apologetic look over her head. Some part of you is happy to see a costume, considering you were robbed of yours. (Sometimes you dream of matching costumes but again, the damn fangs.)

“Piri loves people, I’m so sorry if he bothered—oh hey dude, cool fangs.”

Sicheng offers the fakest smile ever, accompanied with a thumbs up gesture. You sigh, apologizing to the girl before parting ways.

“That’s the eighth time tonight,” Sicheng says, scowling almost. “I counted.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. Calm, relaxed Dong Sicheng tends to lose it at repetitive comments with only three sips of beer.

When you reach the apartment building, clouds cover the moon and you draw your jacket closer to yourself. You think for a moment about the inevitability of time and whether you’re even allowed to fall in love this way. You push the thoughts aside almost inevitably. When the time comes, you will have a decision to make—and after everything, it is love which turns people.

For now, you can enjoy this Halloween night with your (literally) one-of-a-kind boyfriend.

You fumble around with the keys, Sicheng looking at you with sleepy eyes as he leans against the wall. He must be worn out from the alcohol by now.

“Hey,” he calls, the words more muffled than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, tugging him inside all the while maintaining your balance.

“You know my favourite blood type?” he continues.

You shake your head. “If you’re thinking of feeding, I’ll get some blood bags from Kunhang.”

Sicheng pouts. “You ruined the line.”

“Huh?”

“Yours. Yours is my favourite blood type.”

Despite the terrible execution of his so-called pick-up line, you find yourself shaking with laughter. You’re not sure if it’s the late night or the October air—the two of you share the silliest of laughter at the doorway to your apartment.

Within the moment itself, Sicheng leans in to kiss you and your hands move to run through his hair out of habit. The taste of beer and the prick of his fangs makes you pull away. You look at each other for a moment before you give in anyway and kiss him against the doorframe.

October ends with memories—your first date, Sicheng’s cooking disaster, and now this. It’s blissful for the few moments the two of you let it be. That is, until Sicheng opens his mouth.

“Oh, by the way, can you apologize to Ten for me? I think I bit him thinking it was you.”

“Sicheng, what the fuck?”

October ends with proximity, sweet as candy and warm as toast—stumbling into bed with all that and more.

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golchaworld · 4 years

Text

Brown Sugar, Cinnamon Spice | H. HJ

pairing: baker!hyunjin x wedding planner!reader, (implied fem!reader), various celebrity cameos

genre: tooth-rotting fluff, a pinch of angst

word count: 5.4k

warnings: none!

summary: amidst stress and loneliness, you find your own decadence.

A/N: this is probably the longest fic I’ve written in the shortest amount of time! This only took me a few days start to finish. I guess I was super in love with the concept, and I hope y’all are too. As always, comments, critiques, and feedback are welcome and encouraged. My ask box is always open. Enjoy :D

You swear you’re going to die from a sugar overdose. Not from the piece of red velvet cheesecake sitting in front of you, but instead from the gazes that the couple in front of you shares. They fuss and coo, feeding each other different types of cake with disgustingly sweet smiles on their faces. It would be cute...if you didn’t have to deal with this everyday.

Planning weddings was always your dream. There was something so whimsical about the aura of weddings, the aura of love, that was always destroyed by the stress of planning. Ever since you were little, you vowed to take as much stress off of engaged couples as possible, in order to let them bask in the excitement of getting married.

Four years after college, and here you are, the best wedding planner in the city. The best wedding planner in the city, and absolutely, devastatingly single.

It’s not that you expected to be happily married by 25, but it would be nice to at least have a boyfriend, a significant other, someone. But no, instead you’re forced to help happy couples as they live out your dream. All too often you find yourself wishing you were in the place of the bride-to-be, having a fiancé to fawn over.

It’s sad, really, the way you watch the couple across from you as they bask in their pre-marital bliss. Every glance feels intimate. Every spoonful that they feed to each other feels private. You smile sadly before clearing your throat.

“I’ll leave you two to go through more of the cakes. Let me know when you guys make a decision. I’ll be waiting up front.”

The couple dismisses you with a wave, barely taking their eyes off of each other. You just set your shoulders and smooth out the blouse that’s tucked artfully into your skirt. Your heels make a satisfying click as you make your way to the front counter, adorned with cases of pastries and other sinful sweets. It’s the one behind the counter, however, that makes your head fill with sugar.

Hwang Hyunjin was more than just a familiar face. He was a college acquaintance, mutual friends always having the two of you running into each other. After graduation, the two of you were the only ones who decided to stay in the city, some twisted stab of fate bringing you closer.

You can say he’s your glorified best friend. The two of you aren’t exactly the closest, but you see each other often enough that conversation has moved from awkward to easy, distant to friendly. It also helps that the both of you have entered a sort of...business agreement.

You send any couples needing to taste cakes to his bakery first. When anyone comes to him with an order for a large event that needs planning, he sends them your way.

Now, the man just looks relaxed, smiling at you with a streak of white flour on his cheek. He leans one arm against the counter and you struggle not to look down at the way it flexes. Hyunjin always said that baking proves to be a full body workout. You can’t help but agree.

“Which one are they leaning towards?” Hyunjin asks in lieu of greeting.

“No idea.” You scrunch your nose in disgust. “They were too busy feeding each other and flirting to make any actual judgements about the cake.”

Hyunjin giggles in that unique way of his, high pitched and muted. His cheeks scrunch up, causing crow’s feet to form around his eyes. The flour flakes off in some spots.

“You can’t blame them,” Hyunjin teases. “They’re in love. Unlike a certain grumpy pants over here.”

You scoff at his insinuations.

“Don’t be jealous, Y/N.”

“I am not jealous! It would just make my life a lot easier if they just chose the damn cake.”

Hyunjin cocks an eyebrow. “Which one of us is actually baking it again?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut it, Hyunjin.”

The bell above the door chimes, announcing the arrival of a new wave of customers. Hyunjin shoots a wink your way before heading over to the cash register. He has on his salesman smile, and that alone has the group of girls in front of him swooning.

In college, Hwang Hyunjin was the mega-hot culinary business student who never slept around and went to church every Sunday. Now Hyunjin is the mega-hot baker-slash-bakery owner who may or may not sleep around but still goes to church every Sunday. It’s fair to say that the entire city is in love with him.

They have a right to be, of course. Hyunjin is a hot, young, single guy who bakes for crying out loud. He specializes in wedding cakes. What 26 year old man specializes in wedding cakes?

Hyunjin, the anomaly that he is, is the apple of everyone’s eye, a diamond in the rough, a sweet lawn in the concrete jungle. He’s a breath of fresh air, coated in sugary sweetness.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him.

Even now, you watch how he makes small talk with his customers, how he shoots them small smiles and flirty winks. He lays the charm on thick; anything to get them to buy an extra cannoli, he says. And like a moth to a flame, you’re drawn in. You’re drawn into his sweet smile, his long blonde hair, the beauty mark under his left eye. It leaves you with a sugar rush.

Eventually, you’re called back to reality by your clients approaching. They decide on a simple yellow cake with the strawberry and vanilla pudding filling. Internally, you smile, knowing that it’s Hyunjin’s best seller...obviously for a reason.

You leave the couple with a reassurance that you’ll set up an appointment with Hyunjin to go over the design of the cake. They mentioned that they already have pre-determined cake toppers, and you fight not to roll your eyes. It’s always the cheesiest when the couples pick their own toppers.

You plaster on a smile and wave them goodbye, watching as the door closes behind them with a soft thud, the bell above still chiming. You glance down at your wristwatch and sigh. You have 15 minutes to get to Yeji’s dress fitting, all the way across the city. You straighten your shoulders, fix your blouse, and give Hyunjin one last glance on the way out.

He winks in return.

. . .

The catch of Hyunjin being your pseudo-best friend is that he has to take care of you. Not that you need a lot of taking care of. But at the end of a long work day, Hyunjin is always there to pick up the pieces. He always gives you a choice of desserts to make the day better, and today you choose to do so with tiramisu.

You practically groan when the first bit of coffee cream hits your tastebuds, followed by the bittersweet hint of cocoa powder. The cake is rich and moist, melting on your tongue in a way that’s not overly decadent. It’s not until you hear a chuckle from across from you do you realize that your eyes are closed.

When you open them, Hyunjin beams at you from across the counter, laughing at the way you’re indulging in your dessert.

“Stop laughing at me,” you command around a mouthful of cream.

“I’m not! It’s just,” Hyunjin tucks a blonde strand behind his ear. “You eat this tiramisu like twice a week, and every time you act like it’s the first...or like it’s going to be your last.”

“You should take it as a compliment.”

Hyunjin chuckles again. “Maybe I do.”

The bakery has a different aura at night. Instead of the lively buzz of coffee cups and sugar rushes, it’s bathed in a velvety decadence, illuminated by the subtle light of the pastry display. All of the chairs have been put up for the night, all of the leftover pastries have been discarded, all of the employees gone for the night. It just leaves you, Hyunjin, and the bold cream of tiramisu.

The first time Hyunjin had invited you to the bakery after hours, you thought he was joking. The two of you hadn’t been that close yet, and spending secluded, unstructured time together seemed like a recipe for disaster. To your surprise, however, the night was comfortable and casual, spent test-tasting various desserts and laughing over various college memories.

It surprised you how much Hyunjin embraced you when everyone else from school moved onto different things. In a city this big, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to disregard you completely. You stay up at night wondering why he didn’t.

“So, how was the fitting?”

Hyunjin looks genuinely interested as you recount the details of your day. At a certain point he even reaches for a fork, indulging in the tiramisu with you. With his cheeks full to the brim, he nods, smiles and inserts commentary wherever necessary. Hyunjin has always been the best listener.

“Why do you plan weddings if it stresses you out so much?”

You pout at Hyunjin’s questions. “Why do you run a bakery if it stresses you out so much?”

“Because I get to eat delicious treats at the end of the day.”

You smirk. “So do I.”

“Touché,” Hyunjin smiles.

The two of you are quiet for a moment, indulging in the last few bites of tiramisu. It makes you smile, the way Hyunjin is still in love with all of his desserts after having to make them all day, every day. After every bite he groans dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at the cake to say “damn you for being so good.”

When the tiramisu is finished, and all that’s left is the sound of forks scraping empty plates, Hyunjin sighs.

“Are you going to plan your own?”

“My own wedding?” When Hyunjin nods in response, you chuckle sadly. “At this point, it looks like I’ll never even have a wedding, let alone have the chance to plan it.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie. I’m sure you have suitors lining up to take your hand in marriage.”

You scoff, picking up the plate that once held your tiramisu. You deposit it in the sink full of soapy water behind the counter, along with the fork. Hyunjin grabs your arm as you get closer, forcing you to face his looming form.

“I’m being serious, you know.”

You shrug in response. “Maybe that’s the problem. My love life is such a joke that you being serious about it seems like an insult.”

“It wasn’t anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why—“

You’re quick to cut the man off. “It’s getting late, Hyunjin. I’ll see you, okay?”

You don’t wait for Hyunjin to respond, leaving the man nodding dumbly behind the counter. At the first whip of the harsh wind against your face, you groan. Hyunjin was supposed to be your ride home.

. . .

The thing about the city is that celebrity weddings are frequent. Celebrity weddings, known for their flashy, expensive decorations, and over-the-top attire single handedly wipe out your energy for the entire season. But they pay well.

The money may or may not be the reason you sit in front of the Minatozaki Sana in your office, her hand being held by her fiancé. He’s a gorgeous man, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. That much is expected as the fiancé of the top model in the country.

“So do you guys have a date in mind?” You ask the couple, a warm smile glossing over your face.

“Well,” Sana glances at her fiancé before returning your gaze. “We were hoping for November 18th.”

“Got it! So a year and a month isn’t too bad. It’s a little tight for planning, but—“

The fiancé chuckles. “Oh no, I think you’ve misunderstood. We meant November 18th, 2020. We want to get married next month.”

You can’t help the way your jaw drops. A month for a normal wedding would be hell on earth. A month for a celebrity wedding is like jumping head first into Dante’s Inferno. Your distress must be palpable, seeing as Sana’s brows furrow almost instantly.

“That’s...doable right?” She asks with wide eyes.

“Umm,” you rack your brain for words. “It’s going to be tight. Like really tight. But yes, it’s doable.”

Sana instantly lights up, clasping her fiancé’s hands in hers. “Oh wonderful! I’m so excited.”

You nod in agreement, plastering on the biggest smile you can manage.

“Oh! And one more thing!” Sana’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “I want a Hwang Cake!”

. . .

Three hours later, you’re seated across from the engaged couple as the two indulge in a plethora of different cakes and icings. Hyunjin had managed to whip them all up in such a short amount of time, not once complaining about the pinch you put him in. At some point, though, you’ll have to tell him about the month until the wedding. You’re sure you’re going to hear some complaints then.

Instead of Hyunjin being the face of the bakery today, it’s one of his employees, a short but bright boy by the name of Felix. He always wears glittery eyeshadow and a smile too big for his face, and it only adds to how endearing he is. You’d never met the human embodiment of cotton candy until Felix waltzed into the bakery on his first day of work.

With Felix manning the register, Hyunjin is nowhere to be found. The only appearance he made was to hand-deliver the test cakes to Sana and her fiancé. He greeted them with a bright smile and many thanks for choosing his bakery. He only gave you a curt nod before disappearing behind the threshold of the kitchen.

“The red velvet is to die for! Don’t you think, hun?”

Sana’s fiancé looks back at the woman as if she hung the stars, confessing his love for her and more with just one glance. Once again, you are reminded of what true love looks like. Once again, you feel jealousy brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“It is. I love it with the cream cheese icing.”

Sana smiles. “I know you do. Cream cheese has always been your favorite. If only you could see that buttercream is superior.”

For a second, the couple just gaze at each other, basking in the vitality of a fresh engagement. You can tell that even though their romance was very spur of the moment, they will clearly last for a long time.

Your chest hurts.

“I think we’ll go with the red velvet and cream cheese icing.”

You’re quick to put on a smile. “Perfect! I’ll go let Hyunjin know, and then later we can make an appointment to figure out the design and aesthetics of the cake.”

“Sounds good.”

As you stand and approach the register, you can hear the couple begin to giggle to themselves, as if choosing a wedding cake flavor is the epitome of cloud nine. You suppose it might be. You wouldn’t know

Felix greets you with a smile when you arrive at the register, the corners of his eyes scrunching cutely. “How did it go?”

You can’t help but return the smile. “Good! They decided pretty quickly. Where’s Hyunjin, so I can let him know?”

“In the kitchen,” Felix points behind his shoulder with a thumb. “You can just head back there.”

“Thanks, Felix.”

You expect the hardcore rap music that’s playing through the speakers in the kitchen. It’s muted enough so that the rest of the bakery can’t hear it, but loud enough that Hyunjin can get lost in it. It’s endearing, the way he mumbles the words under his breath while he pipes bright orange frosting onto a black fondant cake. It’s always around this time that he has to perfect his Halloween treats.

You wait until he’s done piping his row before calling his attention softly. “Hyunjin? They decided.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look up. He just moves on to piping the next row while he says, “and what did they decide?”

“Red velvet with the cream cheese icing.”

“Okay. We’ll make the appointment for later in the week.”

Hyunjin’s tone carries an air of finality to it. It’s formal, cold, and all too detached. Although the two of you have never been that close, this distance is still new from you. Hyunjin has never stood in front of you and felt miles away.

“Okay.” And when he doesn’t respond, “I’ll be back later, okay? After closing.”

Hyunjin stills for a moment before continuing his piping job, the movement almost imperceptible. “Tiramisu or cannoli?”

A sticky sweet smile blooms on your face. “Cannoli.”

. . �� .

The shell of the cannoli crunches deliciously, breaking the silence between you and Hyunjin. It’s once again after closing, but gone is the aura of awkwardness the two of you had left behind the previous night. Hyunjin glances at you, a small smirk gracing his face.

“Is it good?”

You roll your eyes. “You know it’s good.”

“Maybe I do.” Hyunjin shrugs cutely, his white apron shifting in the process.

He looks more up-kept than usual. His long hair is tied half up by a navy blue ribbon that matches the oversized sweater he wears. He’s wearing his jewelry, all of his piercings filled with earrings, various chunky rings adorning his fingers. But when you look down, you notice he’s still wearing his trademark neon green crocs.

“Nice shoes.”

Hyunjin looks down before realizing what you’re referring to. “Oh shut up. You know they’re the comfiest for baking.”

“Maybe I do.”

You savor the taste of the whipped cream and ricotta as it hits your tongue. Hyunjin looks content to watch you enjoy the dessert, folding his arms over his chest as he eyes you. He’s not the slightest bit insecure about his work, knowing that no matter what he makes, you’ll love.

It reminds you all too much of the first time you met Hyunjin, packed together inside a way-too-crowded frat party. Changbin, a mutual friend had grabbed you by the hand and pulled you through the crowd, insisting that there was someone you had to meet. You spotted Hyunjin long before you could make your way over.

Hyunjin had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze had been disinterested, but confident, knowing that his presence alone was a gift in and of itself. At the time, he didn’t know how right he was.

“You know, I didn’t mean to insult you yesterday.”

The man’s comment has you finally looking up from your cannoli, the last bite standing frozen between your fingers. After swallowing down a mouthful of filling, you clear your throat, slowly lowering the pastry down to the plate.

“It’s okay. I think I just overreacted a bit.”

Hyunjin nods, arms still crossed tightly over his chest. Light glints off of one of his silver rings. “Why is it such a sore topic? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Honestly?” You chuckle bitterly to yourself. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I just expected something by now. But here I am, 25 years old, having a stable career, and having not had a relationship over half a decade. I just feel like I’m behind, you know?”

Surprisingly, Hyunjin nods. “I do. I mean, I’ve never had a relationship.”

This is news. Hwang Hyunjin, the star culinary student slash campus heartthrob has never had a relationship. Never? Even the thought seems ridiculous.

The confusion must be evident on your face, because Hyunjin chuckles. “I know, I know. It’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Not silly! Just...surprising…”

“Well, I guess so.”

You’re still attempting to process your thoughts, unable to stop a slew of questions from leaving your mouth. “Why not, though? Have you never considered it? Have you never had your eye on someone?”

At this, Hyunjin’s eyes grow sad. The confident light in them disappears like a wisp of cotton candy in the wind. His eyes swim with a salty-sweetness.

“I’ve actually always had my eye on someone. Since college, actually.”

Instantly, it clicks. “Oh! They must have moved away, right? Everyone moved away after college except us, and I know how sucky that must be for you. Gosh, I didn’t even consider that.”

Hyunjin traps a bubblegum bottom lip between his teeth, seemingly mulling something over in his head. His arm tenses, only once, before releasing. Hyunjin uncrosses his arms, choosing to lean forward onto the countertop.

“I don’t think they left.”

Your eyes light up at the same time your heart falls. It’s so easy to fake not being hurt by the information, just like it’s easy to fake not wanting Hyunjin. Just like it’s easy to say that sticking around after hours is for work and not personal agendas. Just like it’s easy to be his pseudo-best friend.

“Then why don’t you go for it?”

Hyunjin chuckles sadly. “I’m not even on their radar. Not like that.”

For the first time tonight, you laugh. You laugh genuinely and boldly. You laugh loudly, until tears are pooling in the corners of your eyes. Hyunjin just looks at you as if you are crazy, overcome with a laughing fit in the middle of his closed bakery. But you can’t help it; it’s funny.

“You’re literally Hwang Hyunjin. There’s no one who’s radar you aren’t on! And I mean no one.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Then why don’t they ever go for it or flirt with me back? I keep waiting on them to indulge me, but they never do.”

“I think…” You take a deep breath in order to swallow back tears. “I think that maybe they dont know that you’re interested. You have to be bold and make the first move! I promise you no one would ever turn you down.”

Hyunjin sighs. “And you know this for sure?”

The smile that you plaster on is watery and obviously fake. However, it’s the best you can do in the dark chocolate ambience of the bakery. It echoes everything inside you at the moment—bittersweet.

“Maybe I do.”

. . .

You don’t see Hyunjin again until a few days later. Your schedule is packed with last minute rearrangements and irregular breaks as you make room for Sana’s wedding plans. It’s hectic, stressful, and overall just a handful.

Your hands hurt from typing out various versions of wedding invitations. Every venue in the city hates you for repeatedly calling and begging for availability on November 18th. A few of your clients are pissed for having their appointments rescheduled, and an even smaller few are understanding.

The worst part of it all is that when Sana and her fiancé waltz into your office on a random Monday, they have the audacity to look cheerful. Neither of them look the least bit stressed, and all the more in love, which angers you slightly. You have to remind yourself that this is why you do this. You have voluntarily become a stress ball for engaged couples. You’re starting to regret that decision.

Sana blinks her pretty eyes at you sweetly, greeting you with a honey-dipped smile. “How have things been going?”

You plaster on an equally sweet smile, composed of high fructose corn syrup instead of genuine sugar. “It’s been going well. Your cake appointment is scheduled for Thursday. All that’s left is for you to pick an invitation format, your dress, and the venue.”

“That sounds great! That’s nothing.” The fiancé exclaims.

You grit your teeth. “Yep, it should be smooth sailing from here.”

The couple leaves with various printed versions of wedding invitations that you paid extra to express print. The minute the door closes behind the two, you sag into your chair. Running your hands over your face, you let out a loud groan. The best part about having an individual office is that no one is around to hear your mental breakdowns.

You spend a moment indulging in the secret stash of chocolates you keep in the top drawer of your desk, letting the rich bitterness melt on your tongue. The taste is dangerous, and you remind yourself to hit the gym extra hard this week.

After a moment, your phone chimes with a message. It’s a simple text from Hyunjin, asking you if you’re planning to visit the bakery later. When you reply in the affirmative, he responds with a simple question.

Cheesecake or Torrone?

You smile and reply with the former.

. . .

The bakery is eerily silent when you arrive. Although it’s normally quiet at this hour, you can usually hear the soft hum of Hyunjin’s music, or the sounds of dishes and pans being cleaned. But this time, there’s nothing.

“Hyunjin?” You call out, slightly confused at the ambience.

It’s silent for a moment, and then a voice sounds out. “In the kitchen!”

You follow the familiar path back to the kitchen, surprised at the dimness of the lights and the lack of sound. When you enter the kitchen, though, it makes both more and less sense at the same time. Hyunjin has various candles littered around the countertops, illuminating the kitchen in a soft orange glow.

Hyunjin himself stands in the corner of the kitchen, changed out of his work attire. He’s wearing a neat button up shirt, untucked over black jeans. The look is completed with his black dress shoes and various jewelry. At his lack of bright green crocs, you’re taken aback.

At the center of the kitchen, poised atop what is usually used as a workbench for kneading bread, is a perfect cheesecake resting on a cake stand. The cake’s tan surface is tainted with tracks of a red reduction that has been placed gently on the center of the cheesecake. At second glance, you determine it to be raspberry. Your favorite.

“What is all this?”

A small smile graces Hyunjin’s face. “Well you told me to ‘be bold and make the first move.’ I don’t know what could be a bolder move than candles and raspberry cheesecake.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind at the revelation. First move? Being bold? It’s you? Through your jumble of thoughts and emotions, you manage out a small, “so it is raspberry?”

“I’m standing here confessing, and you’re asking about the cheesecake?” Hyunjin laughs. “Yes, it’s raspberry. I knew that was your favorite so…”

“So it's me? I don’t understand.”

Hyunjin finally moves from his position in the corner, crossing the large kitchen easily. “Well, I hoped we could talk about it over cake.” The man motions towards the stools around the workbench.

You just nod, taking a seat on one of the stools. You struggle to keep up with the situation, still wrapping your head around it. Hyunjin makes his way over, a smile still poised on his face. You bite your lip as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. You find yourself biting harder as you watch the flex of his forearms when he cuts the cake. The piece he deposits in front of you is picturesque, something straight out of a food and wine magazine.

When Hyunjin sits across from you, you take in the way the candlelight hits him, perfectly illuminating his features. His lips are plush and pink, blonde hair falling down onto his shoulders. There’s something glimmering in his eyes, a conflicted wetness that borders between hopeful and disappointed.

“So?” You start.

Hyunjin just shakes his head. “Take a bite first.”

“Hyunjin, I know what your cheesecake tastes like.”

“I don’t care. I’m not talking until you take a bite.”

Stubbornly, you pick up your fork and shovel a bite into your mouth. You’re about to immediately retaliate and open your mouth again, but the pleasant assault of flavor on your taste buds leaves you immobilized. Your eyes widen in shock, causing Hyunjin to chuckle cutely.

“It’s good, right? I added an extra hint of cinnamon spice in order to give the crust that extra umph.”

You practically moan around your bite of food. “Hwang Hyunjin I could marry you right--”

Hyunjin laughs again, this time appreciating the way you cut yourself off before he had to. He shifts in his seat, taking a bite of his own cheesecake before pushing a strand of hair out of his face. He savors his bite, chewing slowly and swallowing completely before opening his mouth again.

“I know this may be sudden,” he begins. “And I know we’ve never been that close. But I like you, Y/N. I have since college. And I don’t want to be too presumptuous, but I have a feeling that you may like me too.”

You nod slowly, trying to ignore the heat that rises to the apples of your cheeks. “Maybe I do.”

Once again, Hyunjin laughs. “Well I guess a ‘maybe’ is as good as I’m going to get from you.”

“No, I mean,” you clear your throat. “I like you, too. Not maybe. I do.”

Hyunjin’s smile is bright, soft around the edges as the shadows of the candle flames dance around his face. He’s gorgeous, all rounded cheeks and bleach blonde hair, squinty eyes and the faintest of dimples.

“I’m glad.”

You sigh. “This whole time I wondered why we were always on the border of friendship. We were close, but not that close. It felt weird to be your friend but also felt weird to not be. I guess that should have been a sign, huh?”

“I’ve always been bad at reading signals.”

“Me too.”

The smile you two share is warm and sweet, filled with the kind of rich sweetness that only comes with something fresh and purified. It’s not the synthetic sugar that makes candy, nor the citrusy sweetness of fruit. The sugar you share is rich, deep, with a slight tang. It’s reminiscent of the crust of the cheesecake, a mellow combination of brown sugar and cinnamon spice.

. . .

Sana’s wedding is just as grand as she wanted it to be. The venue is decked out in flashes of burgundy silk and red roses, complimenting the warm brown of Sana’s hair. Her dress is adorned with Swarovski crystals and delicate stitching, allowing her to sparkle all throughout the ceremony. Eventually vows are read, and the couple is officiated, and you hold Hyunjin’s hand when he sheds a few tears.

The reception is equally as flashy, various celebrity couples trying to outdo each other with their outfits and lavish gifts for the newlywed couple. They take up all of the space in the room and on the dance floor, their fame-inflated egos making the venue feel much smaller than it actually is.

The couple cuts into the cake with cheers in the background. Hyunjin cringes as they smash pieces of cake in each others’ faces, complaining about the waste of frosting and “immaculately made cake.” It takes two kisses and holding his hand for 5 minutes straight to placate him.

After cheers and various upbeat songs, the DJ finally slows down the pace. Various couples get up and slow dance together, swaying to the melody of the soft ballads. Even though its far from the vibes of Hyunjin’s favorite rap songs, he offers a hand out, and leads you happily to the dance floor.

The two of you find a small, unoccupied space on the dance floor, instantly falling into each other. You wrap your arms tightly around Hyunjin’s shoulders, revelling in the feeling of his warm hands around your waist. The two of you sway together, holding each other too close. You can feel the steady thump of Hyunjin’s heart under your head, each beat lining up with the slow pumps of yours.

The spectacularly sweet scent that always clings to Hyunjin as a result of his time in the bakery is ever-present, and you find yourself inhaling it reverently. You allow your eyes to close, getting lost in the song. And if you think hard enough, you can picture it being your own wedding.

You can picture you and Hyunjin at the altar, a few years in the future. You would hold each other’s hands tightly, fighting hard to hold back tears. Hyunjin would of course let a few fall, and you would laugh. And when the minister asks if you take Hwang Hyunjin to be your lawfully wedded husband, you would smile and respond:

“Maybe I do.”

#hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids #skz #escritos

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 1

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater... Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Literally all of them. 18+ only and please read with caution if you’re triggered by violence of any nature.

A/N: Well. Here we go.

I won’t lie. Writing this was cathartic and I hope that it may be the same reading it. Some serious ANTIFA fuck this up vibes.

Love y’all.

TAGS ARE OPEN

You weren’t sure how long you’d stared at your hands.

They seemed strange things, somehow beyond your comprehension. Attempts to flex the fingers on them had resulted in only an unsettling twitch, you knew that wasn’t the right response, and they were somehow both burning and cold in equal measure.

In fact, your whole body felt like a contradiction. Something known, yet foreign. Too much feeling, too little. Too hot, too cold. Too still, yet constantly something was moving.

Had you always been able to feel the flow of blood through your veins? Did each hair follicle always hum as the air moved around you? Who… who were you?

All the memories of the past 20 years hit you with the force of a train.

Frantically you begin to pace in the small white room, your heartbeat increasing with each lap, your breathing turning into a rapid pant. Your mind steadily piecing things together, for better or worse, pulling who you were back into sharp focus. With that clarity comes something else.

Taking a deep breath your pacing stops.

There wasn’t a word for what you felt. This emotion went farther than rage, conviction, or vengeance. You think you’ve felt it before, in fleeting moments, but now it’s amplified - along with everything else it seemed - now-

A creaking under your hands draws your attention, pulling you away from that line of thought. With confusion, you gape at the metal bed frame beneath your hands. You’d taken hold of it when you’d stopped pacing and now the metal was crumpled and twisted.

It worked, you realize. It actually, bloody, worked. A small chuckle trips over your lips - you’d genuinely thought you’d end up like Pierce’s daughter, dead.

A few weeks ago was the first time you’d seen Eric in almost a year.

He’d been different in a way you couldn’t name since that night with The Soldier. You knew it wasn’t that he actually remembered what happened - if he had you’d no doubt he’d have come close to killing you - but perhaps an impression of something stuck. Regardless, when the time came for you to go to uni a few months later he’d set you up with your own flat and sent you on your way, saying that you needed ‘time to explore yourself.’

It was the one kindness he’d ever done you.

In the last three years, you’d crafted a new version of yourself.

She was normal, relatively speaking. Studied business, partied in SoHo with friends, had a string of short - albeit far from vanilla - affairs with several people, fairly typical stuff.

The only time you saw Eric was for required formal events, someone ascending the ranks within Hydra or the random social event. It totaled to perhaps six or seven in three years. Which was why you were shocked, and a bit unsettled, to see him at your graduation.

You’d been worried his presence would keep you from enjoying the moment with your friends, that he’d pull you into some droll dinner to pretend he was a caring and proud father. Instead, he’d simply given you a cold congratulations and instructed you to meet him at his office the following Monday.

It still put a damper on your entire celebration - all you could think about was what the hell he wanted from you. Not even the distraction of a beautiful woman clad in leather had managed to remove your worry.

There had been a million things you’d thought this meeting would be about. You’d run countless scenarios in your head. None came close to what your father shared with you from across his polished desk.

“We feel it’s time for you to join The Council.” He said as though he was commenting on the weather.

“I-I’m honored.” you stammer a bit grimacing internally. He raises a doubting brow at you before striding over to the stocked bar cart to begin pouring a drink.

“You’ll be taking the third seat.” You almost choke on your tea. “Is that a problem?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Not at all,” you say, willing your voice steady. “What position will Jennifer Pierce be taking in that case?” Alexander Pierce headed the US arm of Hydra and to your knowledge, the third seat had been intended for his daughter.

“Jennifer Pierce is dead.”

“Ah.”

“Of course-” he says, turning back to you and taking a sip of scotch before continuing- “there can be no ascension of this kind without a trial to test your worth.” You knew as much, Hydra always demanded a pound of flesh - at minimum.

“She failed hers.” Jennifer was many years your senior, had done years of fieldwork and been a trusted confidant of her own father if, she failed whatever trial this seat demanded… “You will not.”

“Can you hear us?” A male voice asks over hidden speakers bringing you back to the present.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us your full name?”

“Catherine Eileen Clayton.”

“What is your date of birth, Catherine?” Ah, cognitive tests.

“The third of January 1983,” you sigh. “I’m twenty years old, a double Capricorn, and very in control of my faculties. Can we move on?”

A buzz sounds by the door. The noise grates against your newly sensitive eardrums, causing you to grimace. When it opens Eric stands in the corridor, a proud, if not smug, smile on his face.

“I knew you were born for this,” he extends a hand. You eye it before looking up to meet his gaze. Rather than take it you remain unmoving, waiting for him to tell you what came next. For a fleeting second his eyes narrow before sweeping his arm to beckon you from the room.

“There is one final step before you’ll be ready to ascend to your seat on The Council,” he begins to stride down the hall, expecting you to follow.

“And that is?” He stops dead in his tracks. Your heart leaps into your throat as you recognize the set of his shoulders, instinctively you brace for a blow. Instead, he turns slowly to you, his expression unreadable as he observes how you haven’t moved.

“You can rot in that room or follow me obediently to find out.” A too familiar chill crawls up your spine and settles in your chest. Without another word, you follow him.

As you make your way through the labyrinthine corridors of Hydra’s London base you remember being dropped down here at 10, and having to find your way out - none of the adults you encountered would even acknowledge you existed. You remember training in one of these many blank rooms - both physical and mental - though, torture may be a better word.

The chasm that opens in your mind almost feels like home, one you haven’t been to in a little while. Quickly you turn your thoughts to how your blood seems to hum through your veins, how loud your steps are, the low tension in your muscles - anything to pull you away from that beckoning void.

Eric stops in front of a nondescript door, pressing his thumb into the handle. An unseen mechanism whirs to life followed by a distinct click. Before he opens the door he turns his eyes on you, studying.

“You’ve done well thus far,” he turns the handle, looking forward. “Don’t disappoint me now, Catherine.” You don’t miss the order in his tone. A voice whispers, Yes Papa, but you refuse to let your tongue form those words.

With bated breath, you follow him. It’s much like a room you remember from long ago, a cell where he showed you exactly the kinds of monsters that Hydra could craft. Behind you the door closes, the locks sliding back into place.

A cell lies on the other side of the room. Through the bars, you see a woman, nude, her back to you. Deep red hair tumbling in thick waves, her ragged breath scraping over your ears.

No, you beg silently, not her. Please not her.

Once you and Eric enter the cell, the woman turns red-rimmed eyes to you both. Relief thunders through you as you release the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. This wasn’t Natalia, they hadn’t brought her here as a sacrifice to whatever future lay before you. Though, now the question rattled in your brain, impossible to ignore.

“What is this?” You ask, lazily gesturing toward the woman.

“What do you think?”

“Can we stop with the riddles? Just fuc-”

You were clearly out of practice. When his backhand cracks across your cheek it leaves you reeling, ears ringing, though you don’t fall. Once you blink your vision clear you look back to him, attempting to keep your face straight.

“I believe I asked you a question,” he sighs out.

You answer, “I assume she’s failed in some way, showed some unforgivable weakness.” You try to stop the words but they come anyway, “But you cannot expect me to kill her?”

“Oh? And why is that?” It’s your turn to sigh.

“Honestly, that is hardly a test. If it gets things moving forward I suppose I will,” the woman shifts her back against the wall at this. “I just don’t know what that will prove.” He smiles, slowly. Clearly you got something right.

“Perceptive. Killing her would be nothing for you, even before,” you swear the sick bastard looks proud. That void threatens once more, something whispering from the darkness. You push it away.

“However, you’re wrong about her crime. She’s not here for being weak or unworthy, rather, she has refused to fall in line. We have no need for an unbroken horse.” He pauses, striding to the other side of the cell.

With his back turned, you look into her eyes. They burn with a fire you recognize - for an instant, you’re 11 again, you can feel the weight of that gun in your hands, hear your Mother’s voice-

“But you won’t be putting her down.” The sound of another lock clicking draws your focus to where Eric stands, hands behind his back.

A panel slides open with a swish. Eric steps aside just enough and you see him, The Soldier.

He’d been gone when you’d woken in the late afternoon years ago, like some macabre guardian angel. Habitually, your fingers stroke the scar on your palm, remembering how gentle he’d been as he sutured the cut.

The woman begins to sob. A broken, “No,” slipping out here and there.

Eric turns back to you, a wicked smile coloring his features. “The Fist of Hydra,” he walks back to stand beside you, The Soldier doesn’t move.

“You remember him don’t you?” Your heart begins to beat a tattoo of alarm against your ribs. “I showed him to you when you were a child.”

“Yes,” you will your heart to quiet, feeling like it’s loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“It’s one thing to take a life and quite another to put the blood on the hands of someone else.” He looks down at you, “You’ll prove you can handle that, and The Soldier, by utilizing him to remove this stain from our ranks.”

He looks over his shoulder at the woman, “Be creative. He hasn’t been let loose in some time.” With that, he strolls casually to the far corner of the cell, leaning back against the wall as though he was about to watch some kids play football.

The Soldier steps forward and the panel behind him slides shut, disappearing as though it never was. You study him, searching those pale eyes for some spark of recognition. Whatever had been there before was long gone, all that stood before you was a weapon, a tool waiting to be put to use. It chilled you.

Behind you, the woman still weeps. It makes something bitter rise in you - pathetic, she was nothing like your mother. Even so, words you hadn’t allowed yourself to remember for so long rise in your mind.

“Always remember that you are more than this.”

“No.” One crisp, clear, syllable. It may as well have been a bomb.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll be better than all of them as long as you remember.” Your mother’s voice echoes in your mind.

Languidly you slide your eyes to Eric, “I said, no.”

Everything goes quiet as his anger builds, a fire slowly eating all the oxygen in the space. What was coming would likely consume you leaving nothing but a husk behind, you don’t care. It feels good.

Despite the waves of rage rolling off of him, his face remains impassive as he approaches you. A couple of feet away he stops, head tilting to the side as though he was seeing something puzzling.

“She’s done nothing worth a death sentence.” You state matter of factly.

“You’re questioning me?”

“No,” god that word felt so good, intoxicating. Maybe you were mad from the power it seemed to give you. It was the best explanation for your next words. “I’m telling you you’re wrong.”

You read once that wolves show their teeth before they attack. Devils, you know, do the same.

Eric’s smile is broad as he slips his suit jacket off his shoulders. Your eyes track him as he hangs it over the horizontal bar of the cell. Unhurriedly he unbuttons his cuffs, methodically rolling the sleeves up to the elbow. When he speaks again, he’s unbuttoning a single button to allow him room to tuck away his tie.

“Then how would you address the situation, Catherine?”

“I wouldn’t.” He steps toward you, on instinct you move back, not wanting to allow him a close range to strike.

“You’d allow disrespect to stand? Allow this stain to spread?” Another step forward, another retreat from you.

“No.”

“Then what? You’d do nothing to handle this weak-”

“You said yourself she isn’t weak. In fact, it seems to me, the problem is your own weakness if you can’t handle one-”

Stupid. That’s the only word echoing through your skull as it slams into the wall behind you with enough force to knock a lesser person unconscious.

Right now you’re not thinking about the bent metal of the bed frame in your recovery room. You’re not thinking of your sensitive ears or the weeks of preparation, or that you lived through the procedure when others have died.

No.

Right now you’re a little girl again, realizing your father is the Devil for the first time. Right now you’re the same powerless thing you’ve always been in his presence, the fear of a lifetime suffocating you.

“Would you like to finish that statement?” Eric growls. You shake your head, too afraid to speak. “I thought not.” His fingers dig into your neck.

“You’ve grown far too bold. Forgotten where you belong.” He takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering as though the smell of your terror was intoxicating. “Perhaps you need a reminder.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” god you hate yourself for those words.

“No,” he reclaims the power you’d felt so briefly. His knee pries your thighs apart, “You will be.”

When his head dips down, the grotesque feel of his tongue against the skin of your neck almost makes you wretch. Before you close your eyes in an attempt to block out everything happening and all you know is to come, you catch The Soldier’s intent stare.

He looked as though he was straining on an invisible leash, his entire body coiled tension begging for release.

He’s waiting on something, you think as teeth sink into your shoulder. The pain brings clarity. He’s waiting on me.

All it takes is one nod to break the invisible tethers binding him. With terrifying speed, The Soldier strikes, pulling Eric from you, pinning his arms and legs, rendering him immobile. To his credit he didn’t struggle, knowing he couldn’t break such a hold.

“Release me, Soldat!” Eric barks in harsh Russian. The Soldier doesn’t even flinch, his eyes remain locked on you, awaiting an order. “Soldat!”

The fear which had paralyzed you seeps away as your senses begin to return and you stare at Eric. He looks angry but still calm, never willing to let his facade fall for long. Under the surface though, you can hear the racing of his heart, it seems to pick up at the same pace your own slows. The vein in his throat pulses, his breath is barely controlled, and you note the small beads of sweat beginning to form on his skin.

Weak, something hisses from that void. This time you don’t silence it - you agree, you welcome it, this darkness he so proudly fostered within you. Now you allow the void to rise. He made you this. Killer. Demon. Weapon. The void whispers. And it is not wrong. You were all these things and now-

You kneel before Eric, gripping his chin in your hand.

“I don’t think he listens to you anymore, Papa,” you say, the final word laced with mockery. You pat his cheek as you stand and pace away, purposely showing your back to him to be sure he knew you were no longer afraid. That you’d never be afraid of him again.

“I do think you had a point earlier though. About putting blood on someone else’s hands being different.” You turn back to him, wanting to look into his eyes as you say, “It would be a shame to waste such a prime opportunity to learn. Don’t you think?” His eyes widen in understanding that now, the void he created would consume him.

“Soldier,” you look to him, those cold blue eyes unwavering. “Break him, but do not let him die.”

You had worried for a moment that you needed to be more specific in your commands. After all, you wanted your father to suffer at least a taste of the horrors he’d done to others throughout his life. It only took a few moments for you to see that you worried in vain. Be it training or retribution, The Soldier methodically broke Eric down in ways that would cause the most pain without the release of death.

For what may have been hours you remain entranced by the scene before you. Every cry of pain was a symphony. The blood on the cold concrete a masterpiece.

This was for your mother. For every person, he’d hurt. For the child, he’d broken and forged into something irredeemable.

This was justice. Or at the very least, the justice you understood, the justice he deserved.

“That’s enough,” you sigh contently. Without hesitation The Soldier stops, stepping away from Eric.

Your father’s face is almost unrecognizable. Blood, tears, snot, and vomit all paint his features into something different, something grotesque. The outside finally reflecting the sickening soul beneath. Slowly you take in the rest of his broken body, stopping at the wet stain on his trousers.

“Piss? Really, Eric, you’re embarrassing yourself.” You press your boot to his throat as he’d done to you when you were a child.

“You once told me, that dangerous miscalculations only served to land one under the boot of those worthy of bravery. Do you remember?” He makes no move of acknowledgment, only stares up at you with one defiant eye - the other swollen shut.

“Oh you must,” you press harder and he gurgles. “It was just before you made me put a bullet in my mother’s head.”

“Tell me, Papa,” you spit the word. “Am I brave enough now?”

You lift him from the floor as though he’s nothing but a rag doll and slam him into the wall where he’d pinned you earlier. Exhilaration didn’t come close to encapsulating this feeling.

“I believe I asked you a question,” you say in an echo of his own cool tone.

“You… little… devil,” he manages to say with a mouth missing several teeth. A laugh, bright and ringing, pours from you.

“I am the devil you made. Aren’t you proud?”

With one hand on Eric’s throat, and the other on his chest, you begin to push your fingers between his ribs, pressure increasing bit by bit.

The tattered fabric of his shirt and his flesh begins to give way beneath your steel fingers. A whimper rises from him that slowly forms into a cry of agony. All you can do is smile as you feel the wet heat around your hand.

A little further and you feel the beat, the pulse of life that had animated this man for all his days.

“Goodbye, Papa,” you whisper as you squeeze and feel that pulse cease.

The silence that follows is absolute.

Everything in you, and around you, quiet.

Eventually, you let him drop to the floor in an undignified heap, stepping back. Only then does the void recede enough for you to feel anything more than triumph. Even then, you feel no regret, only the heavy knowledge of the price your actions would demand.

A trembling breath escapes you as soft shifting sound draws your focus from what you’d done and back to The Soldier. He stands straight, quietly observing you. When you meet his eyes you’d swear there was satisfaction there.

Fuck it. You’d likely die for this and even with him by your side you were not going to get out of this building unless they let you out.

“Care for a drink?” You ask, lips quirking in a smile. He says nothing, just cocks his head a bit to the side. You shrug, “Suit yourself. I’m getting one.” Or several.

To your surprise, the door to the cell opens. You stroll out hearing him just behind you. Good.

“Hey!” A woman calls out. “What about me?” Honestly, you’d forgotten about her entirely.

“What about you?” Is all you toss over your shoulder as the cell slams shut behind you.

There was nothing you could do for her now, hell there wasn’t anything you could truly do for yourself. It would be a miracle if you made it back to Eric’s office without a bullet in your head. The Soldier may even be the one to put it there, he may be biding his time - though something in you doubted this.

You’d spared the woman all you could, the rest would be up to her.

The private elevator slides open, revealing Eric’s office, not a guard, soldier, or assassin in sight - well, save for the one you rode up with. You’re surprised but not relieved. They’d come, and soon.

You raise your hands to rub your face only to be hit with the copper tang of blood - your right arm covered almost to the elbow. Suddenly you’re too hot, burning, your chest tight.

Outside the floor to ceiling window, London glitters like something in a fairytale. You rush to it, pressing your face to the cool glass, forcing your mind to focus on the city around you. Even through the thick glass, you can hear the rush of the wind, the slightest hum of traffic below.

Breathe, Catherine, you try to coach yourself. Breathe. But you can’t.

The blood paired with the city sounds that should have been impossible for you to hear makes you realize something you’d been foolish to miss in the first place. They would not kill you. Not now.

Eric had once said that Hydra didn’t make a habit of wasting good parts, one look at The Soldier was a fair reminder of that. Before, you’d been valuable enough but ultimately replaceable - now you were an investment.

“Someone is coming.” The Soldier’s voice cuts through your panic like a knife. You turn to see him by the door, arms crossed. Whether he was keeping you in or others out you couldn’t know.

Taking a shaky breath you nod, “Thought they’d be faster about it if I’m being honest.” As the doorknob turns his hand moves for the knife in his belt. Interesting.

“No,” you shake your head. He stands at attention instead, looking more like a blood-spattered statue than a man. You lean against the desk as the door swings open to reveal -

“Secretary Pierce?” You don’t try to hide the surprise in your voice, he wasn’t exactly who you’d expect to come for you.

“Miss Clayton,” he smiles brightly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. It’s been too long,” he holds out a hand.

“Ah,” you hold up your red right palm. “Haven’t had a chance to freshen up. Please, make yourself comfortable,” you gesture to the bar cart. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Freshen up? You lean against the bathroom door judging yourself. Freshen up. As though you’d been out for a light jog rather than literally shoving your hand through your own father’s chest. Freshen up. Christ.

You catch your reflection in the mirror and freeze.

Blood not only covered your arm but had soaked into your shirt, staining your chest, leaving splatters up your neck and on your face. Despite the gore, you looked fresh, skin dewy and bright, your eyes sparkling. It painted an unsettling image.

Even so… you smiled.

He was dead. That bastard you’d once called Papa. Dead. By your hand.

No matter what followed, no matter what they did to you, your Mother had her justice today. They couldn’t take that away.

You wash your hands as best you can and wipe some of the blood off your face. Getting rid of the rest would be impossible right now and there was a part of you that didn’t want it gone. Let them see it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say exiting the bathroom.

“No apologies needed. Honestly, I wanted to give you time to process before speaking with you, but the others thought it best we move quickly.”

“I see,” you turn to the bar cart to make a drink.

“So?” You sigh as you take a seat in the wingback across from where Pierce had settled himself. He sips his drink before speaking.

“Of course we want to give you time to transition. It will be an abrupt change to your lifestyle, especially for someone so young - but we feel confident that you’ll manage spectacularly. You’ve always-”

“Excuse me, Secretary-”

“Alex, please.”

“Alex,” it felt strange to call this man who you’d known your whole life by his first name. “I’m not sure I follow. I just committed treason and-”

“I’d view it more like taking out the trash.” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Alex looks like he wants to spit, “Your father was... dedicated, to the cause. However, there are some sins that simply can’t be overlooked.” His intense eyes meet yours.

“We didn’t know for certain until today how far his depravity went. I don’t ask you to forgive us for that, but as a father, I would never have let that…” He shakes his head, taking a deep drink.

“I’m sorry,” he looks to you confused. “About your daughter. About Jennifer.”

His face softens, “Thank you.” He sneers, “Your father-”

“Eric,” you correct him.

“Eric,” he nods, seeming to understand. “He said-”

“Let me guess, ‘Blood will out.’”

“Yes, as though it was a personal failing - her death.” You look away, disgusted. “But you are not him.” Your gaze shoots back to him.

“Miss-”

“Catherine,” you say smiling.

“Catherine. You are what we’ve waited so long for. A child of Hydra, fit to lead us into the new age.” Your eyes narrow. “You’ll be taking your - Eric’s seat.”

You can’t help but be shocked. Taking what should have been Jennifer’s seat had been enough of an upset, to take Eric’s… It would mean-

“It will be an honor to have you serve with me in the first seat.” The first seat, the head of The Council that governed Hydra, was always held as a joint position. “And it will be an even greater honor when you ascend even higher.”

“Higher?” There was no higher seat.

“In time.” Alex leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking up at you. “While Hydra has many heads it has always been in need of a strong body, one that will not easily bow to the weight of time or illness, one that has transcended so many of our meer human weaknesses. I believe that you were meant to be this body, Catherine.”

“I… I’m humbled,” you almost choke on the word. It was the right response though, judging by Alex’s smile.

“I will take that as you accepting,” he says it like you have a choice.

“Of course!” You force joy into your tone.

“Fantastic!” He stands, raising his glass. You join him. “To a bright future. Hail Hydra!”

“Hail Hydra,” you echo as your glasses clink together. The whiskey tastes like dust on your tongue.

“As I said, we want to give you some time to transition. However, we will need to move quickly to ensure things continue to run smoothly.”

“I completely understand. I shouldn’t need too much time.” You look around this office, a space you’d spent so much time, a space filled with so many terrible memories. “Mainly, I’ll need to… clean house.”

Alex gives a knowing nod, “Absolutely. You have full power to change and remove,” he holds your gaze for a moment, “whatever and whomever you see fit.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes settle on the soldier. That sense of conviction from earlier floods you again, the slightest rumblings of a very dangerous idea making their way around your mind.

“Also,” you stride to the bar cart and refill your drink, making a gesture to do the same for Alex. He accepts. “While I can no doubt protect myself, I will need some additional security to allow me to more fully focus on the needs of the organization. No doubt, there will be those who will see this ascension as overstepping on my part.”

“Unfortunately,” Alex concedes. “You can, of course, have any security detail Eric employed.” He catches your cocked brow, “Ah, yes. Well, you can have your choice of Hydra for your own detail.”

“I had a thought actually,” you take a sip before continuing. “I’d like The Soldier.” Alex looks from you to The Soldier, still standing in the same place he was when Alex had entered.

“The Soldier…” He says thoughtfully.

“Yes. I’d prefer to not have to doubt the integrity of my security detail, especially given the unique situation I’m finding myself in. Typically someone in this position would have had years to form their inner circle - I haven’t had such a luxury.”

“Of course,” you add, “he’d still be at the full disposal of Hydra should he be needed.”

Alex nods, “I see no problem with it. He’s housed under European jurisdiction as it is and you clearly have a steady command of him - no small feat I’ll have you know.”

“Lovely.”

“Any other immediate needs to make this an easier transition?” Alex asks sincerely.

“Just one,” you walk back to the chairs and sit. “The woman Eric was going to have killed. What was her crime?” Alex shifted, seeming a bit uncomfortable.

“She was a Brown Widow,” he began.

“A what?” You’d never heard of such a thing.

He purses his lips, “Of course, Eric wouldn’t tell you about the Brown Widows.” He sighs, “The Brown Widow program is a sister to the Black Widow program. Brown Widows are trained in much the same way, in fact, they begin in the Black Widow program before being hand-selected to be Brown Widows. They’re chosen for having a more… genteel temperament if you will. More suited to domesticity than your typical Black Widow graduate.”

A memory tingles in the back of your mind, just out of reach.

“Your mother was a Brown Widow.”

You wanted to marry a spider, your mother had spoken those words when she’d garroted Eric the night she died.

“Her death was not sanctioned, Catherine. I tried to push for an investigation-”

You shake your head, “It’s in the past.”

“She was a spectacular woman. Eric always had to have the best-”

“So the woman?” You don’t want to think about your mother anymore. Can’t bear the weight of knowing that she could have killed Eric at any time, could have run, but she didn’t… Because of you.

“Yes,” he clears his throat, “the woman from this evening, was a Brown Widow. She’d been assigned to a lower level associate. He was apparently… unpleasant.” You note that Alex won’t meet your eyes and suspect you know what kind of unpleasantness he means. “She may have removed a specific part of his anatomy in retaliation before fleeing.” You bite your lip to restrain a smile.

“Is she dead?”

“Not at all. We agreed with your decision. Some punishment should likely be metered but not what Eric had in mind.”

“I’d like to have her as my personal assistant.”

“Oh?”

“What better way to foster loyalty than saving someone’s life?”

Alex smiled, “Wise. I’ll have her sent up.”

“Thank you. I feel that puts me in a good position to get moving quickly.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alex says finishing his drink and standing. He sets his glass on the side table and extends his hand once more.

“This couldn’t have been a better outcome, in my opinion, Catherine. You’re going to do incredible things. This is only the beginning.”

You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I couldn’t agree more, Alex. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“We will connect soon.”

“I look forward to it,” you open the door to let him out.

As soon as he is on the elevator you call out to Eric’s former secretary. “Anita, can you join me?” You don’t wait for an answer, instead, you turn back into the office to refill your drink and wait.

She enters a minute later, nervous energy rolling off of her. Her eyes grow wider by the second as she takes in your blood-soaked form leaning casually against Eric’s desk.

“Slackjawed isn’t a good look for you, Anita.” She snaps her jaw shut.

“W-What can I do for you Miss Cathe-”

“Madam Clayton will do.” Her eyes somehow manage to get wider, making her look like one of those popeyed pugs she doted on. “Will this arrangement be a problem for you?” The vile woman had served your father longer than you’d been alive.

“No, Madam Clayton, of course not.”

“Good. I need a change of clothes. One for The Soldier as well, and clothing for the woman being sent up - she should be about a size eight.”

“Yes, Maam.” She turns, her wiry frame trembling.

“Oh. One more thing, Anita.” She freezes, no doubt expecting something awful. “I want every bit of information on The Soldier. I’ll need all of this within the hour.” Nervously she eyes the statue-like man, you can hear her heartbeat rise.

“But, Madame Catherine… I… I don’t.”

“Anita?”

“Y-yes?” You hold her bulging eyes, staring her down until you knew she was about to break.

“My father wouldn’t tolerate excuses. Neither will I. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” she squeaks. “Yes, Maam.” With one last glance at The Soldier, she scurries from the room.

Rounding the desk you finish the rest of the entirely, and annoyingly, ineffective whiskey before plopping down hard in the desk chair. Looking across the room you see that The Soldier had recrossed his arms, eyes studying you with unnerving intensity.

A lifetime of violence had taught you how to scent it. Right now, it was beginning to crackle in the air.

He moved so quickly you almost missed it. Almost.

Your hand moves under the desk, gripping the Glock you knew would be waiting. As he went to vault the desk you push the chair back, rolling you toward the window and aim right between his eyes. He freezes, crouched on the desk, murder in his eyes.

“I am not your enemy,” you say softly, remaining seated.

“Hail Hydra,” he sneers. His hatred feels like a slap.

You release the gun, letting it dangle on your finger, from the trigger before you stand slowly, hands up, and place it on the desk before him. Leaning in so close you can feel his breath you return his hard stare.

“Fuck. Hydra,” you growl.

Never had you been grateful that this room was off the grid, Pierce had confirmed that earlier. Had they eyes or ears here they’d have known the things Eric had done to you. Even so… you didn’t dare say anything more.

It must have been enough because his mood shifts back to a skeptical neutral. Slowly he backs up, standing on the other side of the desk. Neither of you speak, you just stare, assessing if you were friend or foe until a buzz sounds from the phone on the desk.

“Yes?” You ask pressing the intercom button.

“I h-have the clothing you requested. The woman should be up soon.”

“And the information on The Soldier?”

“I’m getting it to-together now.” That tremulous little stammer was beginning to grate your nerves.

“Bring the clothes.”

One bag contained three pairs of black boots, practical though none of you would leave here in them. The other revealed three sets of black hoodies, caps, tees, and bluejeans. They’d do.

“Here,” you hold out the pile of clothes to him. He eyes them. “Look, even if you weren’t covered in blood you can’t go out on the street looking like Edward fucking Scissorhands.” Did they have a point in dressing the man like he was on his way to a cheap dungeon?

Finally, he takes them.

“You can use the bathroom,” you turn to pull your own clothes out. “Oh, and be sure to check them for-” He nods, turning for the bathroom. Clothing could easily conceal trackers and bugs - it was why the boots would remain here unused.

You meticulously check the clothes provided for you and the woman, pleased to find nothing suspicious. In the small closet where Eric kept a few changes of clothes, you find the trainers you were hoping for. They’d be far too large for either you or the woman but at least you knew they’d be clean.

Just as you pull the plain black tee over your head The Soldier walks out. His own tee stretches tight across his chest, the metal arm somehow seeming more alarming when paired with the plain clothes. Still, no one could deny that the man was a specimen.

Drawing your eyes away you pluck the card of hair elastics from the bag, handing one to him. “If you wanted to pull your hair back.” He takes it, his eyes landing on your throat.

“You still have,” he gestures to his own neck.

“Oh, right. If they come with the woman would you mind letting them in?” He says nothing. With a sigh, you duck into the bathroom to remove the lingering traces of blood.

You hear the door to the office open followed by a muffled cry of alarm. When you pop your head out of the bathroom the woman stands, still nude, in fighting form. Much more firey than when she was in the cell.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” she growls in an American accent. The Soldier stands several feet away, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, hair up in a low ponytail.

“He isn’t going to harm you,” you say stepping out. Though, you didn’t entirely know if that was true. He’d been ready to eviscerate you not a half-hour ago. The woman throws you a wild glare.

“I’m Catherine Clayton,” you grab the hoodie intended for The Soldier from the pile and toss it to her. Christ, they couldn’t even be bothered to give the woman a towel to cover herself with. It’s just long enough to cover her.

“I know what you are,” she spits. What. Not who.

“I highly doubt that.” The woman didn’t know the half of it. “Drink?” You ask nodding to the bar cart.

“So now I’m invited to drinks?” You can’t help but smile.

“In defense of my rudeness earlier, I truly thought I’d be dead or worse by now. Seeing as that’s not the case,” you shrug.

“Whiskey,” the woman says, stepping closer but still keeping a wary eye on The Soldier.

You pour her a glass and look to The Soldier, “And you?” He simply glares and turns to resume a vigil by the door.

Surprisingly she sniffs the glass only once and downs it all in one go before you take a drink. You raise a brow and reach for the glass to refill it.

She shrugs, “If I’m going to go out there are worse ways than poisoned whiskey.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You gesture for her to have a seat. She eyes eye chair and simply leans against it, you don’t miss the slight spark of defiance in her chestnut eyes.

Rather than sit in a chair yourself you hop onto the desktop, facing her, and wait for her to ask the question.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to offer you a job.” She looks at you disbelieving.

“A job.” You nod. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen my resume lately, but I didn’t exactly leave my last position on amicable terms.”

“I’m well aware. In fact, it’s what made you a prime candidate for the position.” She studies you as you continue. “I’m not looking for someone loyal to the cause. I need someone loyal to me.” You can see the flames of curiosity begin to rise.

“And what does loyalty to you look like?” She asks before taking a sip of her whiskey.

“Details will come in time. But, from what I hear of you, I feel our intentions may align nicely.”

Finally, she pushes away from the chair and steps closer, “Fuck it. I’m in.” You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Your skepticism must show.

“Look, I’d rather answer to a woman than another mouth breathing wanna be Mussolini. And,” her stare intensifies, “anyone with the spine to put down that monster like you did today is pretty good in my book.”

She extends her right hand. Smiling you hop off the desk and take it.

“I’m Mara.”

“Pleasure.”

“So,” you release your shake and she finishes her drink, “what do ya need from me boss?”

“On paper, you’ll be my personal assistant.”

“And off the books?”

“We’ll get to that.” You nod to the clothes, “For now go ahead and get changed. That hoodie is his.” Tension visibly rolls over her.

Without another word, she grabs the clothes and disappears into the bathroom. A moment later the intercom buzzes. You press the button but say nothing.

“Ma-Madam Clayton, I have the f-files on The Soldier you requested.”

“Good. Before you bring them, how much cash do we have on hand?”

“Oh, I can provide you with the ca-”

“I asked a clear question, Anita.” You’d all need a place to stay until you could get your private finances sorted. With Eric gone it should be easier to do so, especially since you’d spent the last three years building a stockpile even Hydra couldn’t trace. Still, for the next few nights you all needed a safe - or at least safe enough - place and using a card would let Hydra know exactly where you were.

“Yes, so-sorry Madam. We have over one hundred thousand-”

“Bring me forty of it along with the files.” You shut the intercom off and wait for the tentative knock.

It comes as Mara steps out of the bathroom. She eyes The Soldier as he opens the door and warily drapes his hoodie over the wingback before standing beside you.

Anita, carrying two banker boxes stacked beneath her chin stumbles in. The Soldier catches her by the shoulder before she topples, causing her to freeze until she catches sight of Mara. Her expression shifts from shock to indignation.

She pulls away from The Soldier’s grip, blustering to the small table sitting between the wingback chairs. Straightening her dowdy blouse she plucks a thick envelope from the top.

“The files and money, Madam Catherine.” She shoots Mara a filthy glare. Mara responds with a fox-like grin that further flusters the older woman.

“Madam,” she clips out in a nasal tone as you pull the money out.

“That will be all, Anita,” you don’t even look up at her as you ensure the bills are all there and authentic.

“Madam,” she says again. Slowly you raise your eyes to meet her pathetic attempt at a confident glare. “This-this, woman,” she spits. “She’s to be disposed of! Your father wanted-” The rest of her words are lost in a garbled scream, your grip on her throat trapping the sound.

For a split second, you’re a bit disoriented by the speed at which you moved, so much so that you almost squeeze too tight. With effort, you relax your grip. This was not her time to die.

“Anita,” you purr, “who’s blood do you suppose that was earlier?”

“Mr-Mr. Clayton,” she manages to eke out.

“That’s right!” You say in a tone one may take with a child. “And knowing that, do you suppose I give one holy fuck about anything that beast wanted?” You stare into her bulging eyes, watch her pasty skin burn red with fear and shame - both tasted so sweet. How many times had she turned a blind eye…

She shakes her head.

“Good,” you toss her to the ground. She rolls onto all fours, gasping for air as she crawls away to put distance between you.

“Oh, and Anita,” her whole body goes rigid. “If you ever bring him up again, I’ll do things to you that would make the Devil himself cringe. Do we have an understanding?”

She nods.

“Excellent. That is all, Anita.” She manages to rise to her feet, though her body remained deeply bowed as she scuttled out the door.

You could feel the eyes of the others on you.

“Does anyone here have a problem with how that was handled?” You ask. The Soldier simply looks at you with narrow eyes.

“Not me.” Mara hops onto the desk. One out of two was good enough.

“Here,” you tuck a wad of bills into your pocket and hand her the envelope. “That’s thirty thousand pounds. It should be more than enough to get us ensconced in a good hotel. I’d prefer a penthouse, two bedrooms, with clear sightlines to the roofs of the surrounding buildings. But mainly something as private as possible.” She nods. “Book a room for yourself as well.”

You cross to one of the bookshelves, giving the bottom a swift kick. The old mechanism groaned as it slid open to reveal a small closet filled with an arsenal.

“Help yourselves.”

“Nice,” Mara comments with sparkling eyes. The Soldier doesn’t make a move.

“There’s another elevator in there,” you tell her. “It will take you to the street.”

“Where should we rendezvous?”

“French House,” it would be easy enough for you and The Soldier to disappear into the ever-crowded pub.

“Got it,” she slips a gun into her waistband. “Shoes?”

“Oh!” You kick off your blood-spattered black trainers. “Take these. I found another clean pair.”

“See you soon!” Mara tosses over her shoulder as the elevator closes.

Within two hours you’re walking into the Dome penthouse over The Hotel Cafe Royal. The terrace overlooked the London skyline and provided an easy escape should it be necessary.

“I have to admit, Mara. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” she kicks off your old trainers, slipping into a new pair. “Money talks, so it wasn’t exactly difficult.” You look out one of the curved windows to the terrace.

“What now?” She asks from behind you.

“Now,” you sigh, “rest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Order food to your room, have a soak, get drunk. Whatever you need.” You don’t mistake the relief that floods her face. “I’ll ring you tomorrow,” you hold up the burner phone that matched her own.

“Ok,” she sighs.

“Thank you, Mara.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me this far.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she says with a wink. The Soldier reenters the living room and she studies him. “Be careful.”

You nod, “Goodnight.” With that, she leaves.

“I’m taking a bath,” you say to him. “I assume you chose your room?” His brows knit, a bit confused.

“There are two additional bedrooms, what did you think I was going to have you do? Stand at attention all night?” His cold glare is enough of an answer. “Pick a room. Order food. Do whatever you want.” You turn on your heel and stalk toward the bathroom.

You sink under the scalding water, hoping it will help clear your mind, allow the fragments of a plan that had been ricocheting around in your skull become something solid and tangible. Instead... it reminds you of the hot slick feeling of Eric’s blood.

Gasping for air, you fling yourself from the tub, sending the small table of neatly stacked towels flying into the wall. With no small effort, you force your eyes open, half expecting to see your whole body coated in the thick red substance.

There’s nothing. Of course, there was nothing. Nothing besides The Soldier, standing in the entrance, concern coloring his features.

“I’m fine,” you huff, cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “A little privacy?” He seems to flush a bit himself and heads wordlessly from the room.

A shower was clearly the best option.

You wrap yourself in a plush robe before stepping from the bathroom, expecting to see the soldier in the living room. But he wasn’t there.

No matter. You head onto the terrace, taking in the spectacular view and relishing the cold night air on your damp skin.

Now clarity comes.

You hear the rustle of someone behind you, the slightest hum of gears indicating that it was The Soldier.

“I’m going to burn it all down.” The words feel electric on your tongue. “All of Hydra.”

Your mother was wrong. You were not more than this, more than them.

She was also wrong about evil. Sometimes the only thing strong enough to defeat it was an equal…

Your father had made you such an equal. Honed you into a weapon, something as dark and deadly as Hydra itself. Being bred in the belly of that beast you knew its anatomy, its every weak spot, every flaw.

They wanted to make you the body. Instead, you’d be a cancer, consuming the beast from the inside out.

You turn to him, “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

His intense eyes seem to sparkle and a slight smile curls his lips.

“Not at all.”

Relief surges through your body. You knew what you wanted to accomplish was an olympian task and without the strength and fear The Soldier afforded you - well it would have become a near-impossible one.

A knock draws both your attention.

“I ordered food,” he says beginning to turn away. “For both of us.”

The gesture catches you so off guard that it renders you immobile for a moment. When you finally make it inside he’s moving the boxes filled with information on him to the ground to clear the table for food.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I ordered several things.” The cart was stacked to bursting and the smells rising from it made your mouth water. But there on the bottom, a familiar package catches your eye.

Chocolate digestive biscuits. The same kind you shared with him on that night so long ago. Silently you bend to retrieve them, looking from the biscuits to him a couple of times before speaking.

“You do remember.” He nods. Confusion roils, “Then why did you charge me earlier if-”

“People change.” He pulls the cover off of a trey revealing a cheeseburger and fries and moves it to the table. You think he’ll say more but, instead, he starts eating. The growling of your stomach convinces you to not press the subject and instead locate the curry you can scent hiding under one of those covered trays.

Honestly, you’d never felt this hungry. You tear through the red curry and move on to another tray, this one housing a second burger and fries. It’s not until you’re done with that and are nibbling on a poor excuse for pizza that you actually slow.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

He smiles a bit, taking a slice of the pizza, “I think it’s the serum. I’m always hungry.”

You study him for a moment, “Any other insights on that front?”

He shrugs, “Things can be overwhelming,” he clears his throat, “sensations. Even your own body can seem too loud. You feel… more. Everything’s dialed up so you may be stronger, harder to kill, but it doesn’t mean shit hurts less.” That was actually very good information. “I’m sure there’s plenty of information in those boxes.” You don’t miss the bitter edge in his voice.

Silence hangs thick for a bit until he asks, “Did you choose this?”

“Choose what?” You meet his intense gaze.

“The serum. Did you let them do this to you?”

“Do you think my bastard father would have let me choose something like this?” You scoff. Anger flares in your chest, “No.” You push away from the table and begin to pace.

“I was simply informed that whatever life I thought I could build for myself was over. That I had to, yet again, prove myself worthy of something I never wanted and never asked for. That I had better not, disappoint.” You feel your body start to shake, “Because even my death, death at their hands, would have been a disgrace.”

“I got milk too,” he says behind you.

“What?” The statement seemed absurd until you turned to see him pouring two glasses, the biscuits on the table. Somehow the sight tamps down the flame of your rage.

“Oh,” you collapse on the couch, hiding your face in your hands. Maybe emotions, like sensations, were dialed up because you couldn’t seem to get a hold of yours.

“I’m sorry,” his voice comes from closer than you expect. Looking up you see him kneeling before you, worry etched across his face, a lock of hair falling from his ponytail.

“I didn’t… I should have…” He seems to struggle to find the words suddenly. “I don’t have space to speak freely… ever. And I-”

“You’re free. Or as free as I can make you.” You couldn’t truly grant him freedom that you yourself didn’t possess, but you hoped it was something. The emotion that shows in his eyes is beyond words but it makes your chest constrict all the same.

“Thank you,” his voice cracks a bit at the end and he quickly stands.

For the next hour, you both burn through the biscuits in comfortable silence. Once they’re gone you slump back into the deep cushions of the couch, exhaustion crashing over you.

“I could sleep for three days.” You wished. Sleep and you had a tense relationship at best.

“You should rest.” He says.

Sighing you nod and stand, turning toward the master suite attached to the living room.

“Actually,” he begins. You look back.

“Yes?”

“You should probably take one of the back rooms. Less direct access from the terrace.” He had a point, there were no actual doors to the master bed or bathroom, just an open space cut up with walls that didn’t quite reach the high ceiling and the terrace wrapped around almost the entire suite.

“I’ll take whichever. Lead the way.” You hadn’t really inspected the other rooms.

He guides you to the one furthest from the entry assuring you that he’ll hear anyone who comes.

“You’ll be safe,” he says, reminding you of the vigil he kept for you years ago - protecting you from the monster in your own home. You nod, in acceptance and open the door.

“One thing,” you turn to him. “What you did back there, to Eric. Was that because I-“

“I did it for both of us.” You don’t think you imagine the slight spark of satisfaction in his expression.

“Goodnight, Catherine.”

“Goodnight.” You realize suddenly that you don’t know his name, he never offered it, and knowing what little you did about him you wondered if he even knew…

That would be the first thing you’d find in those files tomorrow. You couldn’t give him true freedom, not yet, but you could damn well give him his name back.

---

TAGS: @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @this-kitten-is-smitten @nighttwingg @handplucked @jewelofwinter @whiskeywinter89 @damnaged-princess @the7intheimpala @saaamsayshi @7minutes-tomidnight @amorluzymelodia @auroraluna777 @leniaana @awkwardlyhot @ilovespideyyy @jaxthebookworm @docharleythegeekqueen @olympos-92

NOTE: Why does The Soldier remember her? Given what we know about him I feel like that may be one of the biggest (most frustrating) questions at the end of this so I just want to share that you’ll get the answer in the next chapter.

#the winter solider x reader #bucky x reader #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #the winter soldier

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glenncoco4 · 3 years

Text

What Happens Next?

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter. Thank you for sticking with me. Hope you like it and also, I love Mama B as much as the next person but this is just where my head went with the story.

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

July 2014

She’s balancing between two armrests with Finn in one arm and Koa in the other. They’re screaming in terror and she’s doing everything she can to protect her babies but she’s not sure she has the strength to stay in this position forever.

Looking up, she sees him walk into the room, brow furrowed at what’s going on. “Um, baby, whatcha doing?”

She looks down, chocolate orbs locking two sets of hazel eyes. They together turn towards the blonde with wide eyes. “The floor is lava!”

Koa stretches out her little hands towards the blonde lawyer. “Daddy, hurry, before the lava monster gets you!”

Marty’s eyes go wide as his little girl screams for his safety, but it’s too late. “Ahhhh, help!” Slowly he starts ‘falling’ down as if he’s being engulfed by the lava. “Kensi, I love youuuu…..”

She laughs as her husband’s last words hit her ears. “Marty! Baby!”

Slowly he rises back up, roaring as if he’s now the lava monster come to life.

Sitting the kids down on the couch, Kensi stands in front of them to protect them from who was once her husband. “Finn, Koa, I love you both so much, always remember that.” Placing a kiss to the top of each of their heads, she turns back around, takes a deep breath and lunges for the ‘lava monster.’

Marty falls to the ground with a loud thud, before he knows it, her lips are on his. “Come back to me, baby.”

His eyes flutter as her lips continue their attack. Boy if he was in an actual altered state this would do the trick to bring him out. “I should turn into a lava monster more often.”

A blush rises to her cheeks along with a shy smile. She stands up, reaching her hand out to help him up.

When the couple stands, their ears are met with the high pitched squeals that wake them up every morning more often than not. “Mommy, you did it! You saved daddy!”

Marty wraps his arm around her waist, placing a kiss to her temple. “As always.”

Just then, they’re interrupted by the ringing of the house phone.

“I’ll get it.” She places another kiss to his lips before walking towards the kitchen, smiling as she hears the distinct yelps of the kids as they jump on their daddy.

Picking up the phone, she greets the person on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

As she walks back into the living room, her eyes find his cerulean blues. “Yes, he does. May I ask who’s calling?”

He watches as her features immediately shift to that of shock. “Who is it?”

“Roberta. She’s getting out of rehab and needs a place to stay.”

He takes the phone from her, confused and socked all the same time. “Yes, this is Martin Deeks.”

She sits and watches as the crease in between his brows get narrower and narrower. “Can’t she find someone else?” He runs his fingers through his golden locks as the person says something. “Okay, fine, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Sensing that they’re gonna need to be alone for this talk, Kensi turns towards Finn and Koa who are now playing a game of tag. “Hey, guys, why don’t you take Monty out back and play with him.”

“Yeah!” They both yell as they run toward the back of the house, furry companion in tow.

Once the door shuts, the brunette takes a seat next to her husband on the couch, his face buried in his hands. She rubs her hand up and down his back, trying to comfort him. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He turns his head, unable to hide the tears in his eyes.

“Oh, baby.” The sadness in his eyes breaks her heart, she leans back into the cushion, pulling him with her.

His head finds her chest, his arm finding its place around her stomach as he tries to dampen down the anxiety that is slowly making its way back to him after so long. “I just-all this time and now she wants to see me only because she needs something.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to just leave her there to rot. I want to walk up to her and ask her why, why did she leave and never look back. Why did she turn her back on me when all I was trying to do was protect her?”

“So ask her.”

He pulls back, weariness in his soulful blue eyes.

“Baby, this is your chance to finally get the closure you need.”

Releasing a sigh, he nods his head. “You’re right.”

A serious look crosses her face as she intertwines their fingers, her thumb rubbing back and forth across his. “And no matter what happens, I’ll be right beside you, I’ll even kick her ass if I have to.”

“You’d do that for me?”

She presses her lips to his with a smile, an openness in her eyes that only he gets to see. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you."

XXXX

She threads her fingers through his as they make their way towards the entrance of the Rehabilitation Center, hoping to give him the strength he needs to get through this.

Surprisingly enough the woman is already outside, sitting on the bench, cigarette in hand. “Martin?”

“Hey.” He flashes the blonde a barely there smile.

“It’s been so long.”

“I’ll say.” He feels the reassuring squeeze of his wife’s hand, a calm washing over him. “Roberta, this is my wife Kensi.”

Not sure whether she should offer her hand to the older woman or not the agent decides on a smile instead. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Damn, Martin, she’s way out of your league.” The older woman huffs a laugh as she flicks the cigarette butt onto the pavement and extinguishes it with the heel of her shoe.

He shares a look with his wife, knowing this was too good to be true. “Listen, before we go any further I need to say something.”

Roberta lets out a heavy sigh, shaking her head. “I knew this was coming. Look can’t we just forget about it and move on.”

At her words, Kensi can’t help but step in. Her husband is the greatest person she’s ever known, his heart is so full of love and compassion. He does’t deserve this. “Move on, are you serious right now?”

“Listen, honey, this does’t concern you.”

“Honey?” She begins to step forward only to be stopped by Marty’s grip.

“Baby, I got it.” He looks from the woman that healed his heart to the woman that broke it. “First of all, don’t you dare speak to my wife like that ever again.” Letting out a laugh when something finally becomes clear to him. “You know, I thought maybe we’d come here, have a nice talk and could rebuild our relationship, but you’re not worth it. I’ve made something of myself. I have a beautiful family, a great job where I get to help make this world a better place and it’s all in spite of you. So goodbye, Roberta, I hope you can find yourself a life.”

He turns around, pulling Kensi along with him. Though it may not have been the closure he had been expecting, he feels the little boy that was abandoned finally set free.

XXXX

The waves crash against the shore bringing the cool ocean breeze along with it and his wife curling further into his body as they watch the sun dip towards the horizon. He places a kiss to the top of her head, getting a wiff of the lavender from her shampoo. “I needed this today.”

Tilting her head back, her eyes meet his, a smile crossing her face as his lips descend upon hers. “13 years is a long time, you sure you’re not getting tired of me?”

“Never enough time with you.”

Their eyes stay locked, both dancing with so many emotions. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“You know back in college I used to dream about her finding me one day. She would just show up out of the blue, tell me that she was sorry for leaving and how proud she was of me…maybe she’d show up to graduation or at my doorstep one day. But she never came and I felt so alone…so useless, until one night everything was suddenly different.”

“What changed?”

He looks out towards the Pacific thinking about the first time they were here. A smile spreads to his face before he turns back to her, his palm finding her cheek as his thumb moves back and forth across her olive toned skin. “I went to a party with some buddies of mine, locked eyes with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and in that moment I knew I had a purpose, that I mattered to someone.”

She tilts her head at his words. “You know maybe we should’ve brought some wine with all this cheese you’re serving.”

The playful spark in her eyes is one of things he loves most about her. His lips find hers in a passionate kiss, sending the pair into an emotional frenzy.

A few minutes later air becomes scarce forcing them to pull back. Their eyes dance with fire, knowing it’s only a preview of what’s to come later tonight. Placing one more kiss to his lips, Kensi then rests her head back against his chest as the sun continues to turn the sky different shades. “Marty?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“We love you…Finn, Koa and I will always love you. You’re what makes our world go round and nothing’s gonna change that.”

The emotion in her words hits him full force. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that right now.” His lips find her head once again, finding solstice in her embrace. “I love you.”

Their spot.

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #AU #Kensi Deeks #Marty Deeks #Finn Deeks #Koa Deeks #The Deeks'#Roberta Deeks #NCIS: LA #NCIS: LA Fanfic

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

Reasons Wretched and Divine

(Hybrid! Namjoon x Reader) (Eventual Polyamory)

Summary: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon.

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of police brutality, yearning, implied coercive sex (ie- rape, but nothing is explicitly written), Premeditated murder, Namjoon is mad protective, mentions of scars. W/c: 4.0k Song rec: Cherry wine by Hozier A/N: The pre-part of this story is super dark, but keep in mind, it does get a lot better really quick after this chapter, eventually and definitely more soft! don’t know how many parts/how long it will be either so it might end suddenly! Also: this series does not depict the police or the military in a positive light.

- Hybrids have been replacing K-9 units in the police force for the better part of the last 50 years. Generally, they have the same capabilities as old-fashioned police dogs but hybrids can communicate better than animals and are therefore more useful. Namjoon is apart of the general unit, used for patrolling most of the time, and for his specialtys- bomb-sniffing and human remain identification- when it’s needed.

- Most police hybrids are retired after 10 or 20 years but are given the option to leave every 5. Though few police hybrids ever go back into the general population of hybrids or adopted by familys. Instead, most are sent to rehabilitation facilities or long term care facilities.

- Namjoon has only been working for 7 years when he is forcibly retired, or fired for lack of a better word. The official paperwork states that it was because of a ‘failure to follow orders in a potentially life threating situation’ but that’s just unture. It was over so quick, his commanding officer ordering him to beat up a drug dealer that Namjoon had positively id’d, the man who was already in handcuffs. The dealer had refused to tell them who the higher-ups wherein a drug-dealing ring and had mouthed off.

- But he hadn’t done anything wrong- anything illegal, wasn’t struggling or trying to get free- and Namjoon had refused with clenched fists, confused as to why his commanding officer was ordering him to ‘make him talk’.

- The next thing Namjoon knew he was the one being put into handcuffs. But what was more moral, Namjoon’s refusal? Or to beat a cuffed man for backtalk? or did the law, what Namjoon’s life was build around, have nothing to do with morality?

- Namjoon was lucky really, after so many years in the force, to be deemed still adoptable and not a danger to society, Other hybrids weren’t as lucky. He knows his special treatment has something to do with his old partner who had been promoted to police chief a few years ago, who had a soft spot for Namjoon and didn’t want to see Namjoon go to one of the long term care facilities Upstate or even put down like the few hybrids that go feral sometimes are.

- The man was never really Namjoon’s father, or a parent by any standard of the word. Like other police hybrids, he’d been trained to be in the force from the time he was too young to really remember any parental figures. But there had been some good moments, some pleasant memories made with his old partner.

- When 16-year-old Namjoon had graduated from the hybrid training academy and had suddenly been thrown into the real world. A box of donuts shared in the front seat of a police car, the older man reaching down to tighten the straps on Namjoon’s too large bulletproof vest. A single pet, rough hands combing through his brown hair when he’d done a good job- like that time he’d ID a bomber from just the residue on his hands.

- They haven’t seen each other in years at this point, but he does meet with Namjoon right before his auction, ask him how he’s doing- if there’s anything he needs. And a goodbye where he tells Namjoon- that if there’s every anything he needs in his new life he can call.

- His old partner is the closest thing to a parental figure that Namjoon’s ever had and Maybe at another time, he would feel bad or sorry for himself for being denied something that most others have. But Namjoon knew he was lucky to have this chance, even if he felt more like a piece of cattle than a person as he was auctioned off with old police cars and ambulances at one of the quarterly auctions the city holds for all municipal property that is no longer up to government standards.

- And apparently, having a strong sense of justice regardless of orders and thinking for himself makes Namjoon below those standards too.

- Namjoon is a Doberman pinscher mix hybrid, is all nasty and scarred across his face and a particularly nasty one on his lower lip from a car bomb explosion a few years ago. He’s surprised he’s bid on at all with how shabby and aggressive he looks, but he goes to the man in the back of the room who hides his face with a baseball cap and pays a full 7,000 dollars for Namjoon and he counts himself lucky.

- On the drive to his new home, the man outlines why he’s purchased Namjoon. The man is a rich ex-colonel with a new wife, even newer property that needs attending too, the farm too large for him to look after on his own. He’s quick to assert that Namjoon will not be a house pet- which is fine.

- And after so many years being on the front lines of the worst of the police force, He’s really touchy. He will growl if anyone he doesn’t trust comes too near. Namjoon knows he wouldn’t be a good one anyway but at least he won’t be so idle in his new life.

- You live in a nice and orderly farmhouse, the surrounding land barren mostly, accepts for the grass the endless stretches of pristine lawn. It’s a 2 hour drive outside of the city that Namjoon grew up in, and an hour away from the coast.

- The house is ancient, almost too large to be called a farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and more than a few creaky floorboards but the updated and impeccably maintained insides fortel money like Namjoon’s only seen during drug busts. The land sprawling but somehow fallow seeming with refurbished barns turned garages and workshops rimming the edge of the property. The cedar shingles of the barns ocher fading grey and sticking out against the green.

- The property is Rimmed by a few dozen acres of untamed and uncleared forest. The tall oak tree and The small garden next to your house the only thing at all colorful. But the garden almost seems stifled Not a leaf out of place, or a plant that seems anything less than perfect and contained separate from the others.

- The first thing that stings his nose when he walks in and puts his bag down in the entryway is the stinging stench of bleach and something else that he can’t identify. It was like that with most hybrids, after a little while when they got accustomed to the scent of their owners- they would be able to sense their emotions if they were sick. In a few weeks, he’ll probably be able to identify the peculiar scent better, but for now, it’s source remains a misery to him.

- The house seems idyllic to Namjoon, almost too perfect and quiet, pretty area rugs and dark hardwood floors, white walls with photos in black picture frames. His owner gives him a second to set his stuff down before he joins the two of you for dinner. His bedroom is down the hall from the master bedroom on the second floor and it might not be anything special, but the light beige walls are calming. The window has a nice view of of the same hill they drove up.

- His new room is so different from his small bunk at the police station where he used to live, not an inch of grey concrete insight. The rot iron bed frame and linen curtains achingly homey. Namjoon is so happy he scents to linen curtains before he goes downstairs. He dosesn’t even really know why he does it, just that his instincts are making him want the whole room to smell like him.

• On the ground floor, there is not a hair or corner out of place in the kitchen. It’s nothing that you wouldn’t expect from a military man, and neither are you, beautiful and soft and quiet more demure than anything else. You’ve made a full course meal to welcome Namjoon to your home, the evidence of your hard work in the few baby hairs that have come untucked from your smooth bun, your hair tightly pinned behind your head.

- You turn from where you work over a casserole to the sound of Namjoon’s footsteps, your husband nursing a beer in the corner observing you and Namjoon with a keen eye. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” you say to Namjoon, not offering your hand in introduction yet or meeting his eyes. Your hands covered in flower that you dust against your plane canvas apron with yellow flowers along the hem.

- You match the house- you’re perfectly delicate and domestic too, your leggings and tunic top pristine and white. Your makeup minimal but done well. He barely remembers his politeness, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home Miss Y/n.” your soft and shy nod in response, almost makes his tail wag. and he begins to hope that maybe, this new life won’t be so bad. At least compared to the last when his life was in danger nearly every day.

- “Would you mind taking these dishes to the dining room?” Namjoon nods, takes the salad, while he’s gone he misses that you turn to look to your husband for approval, and Namjoon misses his nod and the tick of his hands against the beer glass that makes you flinch.

- Maybe if Namjoon had been on the track for the detective branch he would have realized what was wrong, but at first, Namjoon doesn’t notice anything strange about his new owners. Maybe it was a little weird how your husband seemed to order him around, but to be fair Namjoon had known a bunch of ex-military men- and he wasn’t expecting anything less than a stalwart will.

- Namjoon is used to taking orders- he’s surprised at how little his life really changes when it comes to what he used to deal with at the police station and here.

- During the first few days, your husband has him working to help upkeep the farm, one of the barns rust red and lifting heavy things, and in general, helping with the many chores that need to be done around the farm. It’s more of a passion project really since your husband is retired from the military and only occasionally goes into town to help with the VA.

- Namjoon’s thankful that he hadn’t really been adopted to be a house pet since affections been foreign to him for so long. Namjoon’s not sure he’d know how to be a regular hybrid if he tried.

- And of course, Namjoon is a little on edge constantly. The first time you try to reach out and pet him is a few days after he gets there, your husband isn’t home and you’d asked for Namjoon’s help getting the heavy crockpot down from the upper shelf. He senses the heat from your hand near his arm and he snaps, growling low and menacing.

- You back away slowly, keeping your hands where he can see them, apologizing and looking like you’re near tears. dropping your shoulders and holding your hands out in front of your face like you think Namjoon is going to hit you.

- But you also look so so sad, Namjoon realizes with a shock, and you smell terrified. You don’t try again to befriend him again, to give him any sort of affection, Keeping your distance after the growl. Something aching in your expression that puzzles him, something desolate, lonely and wanting whenever you look at him.

- But what could a woman like you, who didn’t work and lived in what was basically a small mansion have to be sad about? What could someone who had everything want?

- As Namjoon comes to know, you have quite a bit to be sad about.

- What’s more is that later, Namjoon is worried- worried you’re going to tell your husband what Namjoon did- growling at his owner’s wife would surely warrant being sent to the pound or being abandoned. But you say nothing, eating in silence only pausing with your meal to ask your husband what kind of work needs to be done at the VA this week.

- “Trying to get me out of the house y/n?” he asks, gaze darkening. the smile you send his way is strained, bottom lip trembling, making Namjoon’s ears flick at how dissonant it all feels. “not at all dear, just wanted to know if I should make lunch for you tomorrow or if you’ll be getting something from the diner in town”

- You’d think after so many years dealing with criminals he would have noticed sooner. He’s ashamed of it, but at first, he doesn’t catch how your husband grips your wrist hard enough to bruise when the peas have gotten cold while you tended to the salmon one night at dinner. He’s too busy scarfing down the rich food, so much tastier than the simple meals he’d grown up accustomed too.

- He draws his first conclusions when he sees the bruises. Your husband chiding when Namjoon asks about some nasty ones on your palms (your husband had pushed you when you where in the driveway earlier after you’d almost opened the door into one of his other expensive cars) “She’s always just so clumsy.” your husband justifies.

- When Namjoon makes a comment on a particularly bad one your arm, (you’d moved away from him in your bedroom and your husband had dragged you close) And then another appears in the shape of fingerprints on both of your wrists (another bedroom casualty). And then on a day when your husband leaves early for the VA and Namjoon wakes up and comes to see why you haven’t come downstairs yet he sees your black eye before you can dab makeup around it or turn your face down to hide it.

- You and Namjoon aren’t friends, you don’t even talk to each other much really after the growl beyond you asking him occasionally to lift something you can’t or reach something from a tall shelf- but he can’t ignore what he sees, can’t deny that he knows and wants to help. When he sees your black eye, he growls and asks you his first real question, “that’s from him, isn’t it?”

- Namjoon had been trained for years in the law, and he knows domestic abuse when he sees it. Knows what comes from it from years of studying law books. how the victims often feel trapped, often grow depended and can’t escape. The acrid smell he noticed when he came to say making sense- it’s just fear. painting the walls and the floorboards of your house, every inch of it.

- When you see him staring in the mirror, you nodd and continue to blend the makeup around your eye, without saying a word to Namjoon.

- The day that Namjoon hears you scream, his heart drops into his stomach and he runs to you. He finds your husband holding you up by your hair screaming about how he’d found an app downloaded on your phone that shouldn’t have been.

- “You fucking unfaithful slut! What are you trying going to do find another man to take in your worthless ass on Instagram? I put up with so much from you! Your fucking sloppiness- mucking up my house with all your shit- I don’t even know why I try to help you anymore when it’s obvious don’t fucking know how to be fucking faithfull- you never had someone to teach you how to love and now i’m the one who has to teach you this bullshit” your husband sees namjoon at the door, “Why don’t you ask him Y/n. Namjoon tell me, can you teach an old bitch new tricks?”

- Namjoon is quick to put himself in between the two of you, catching your husband’s wrist before he hits you again (one of your cheeks is already red) but it’s the wrong move. Namjoon is taller than your husband, but he does probably have a little more muscle on him than Namjoon does.

- Your husband is even nastier and brutal than he usually is. And Namjoon knows he can’t hit back. When Namjoon falls to his floor, keeping his body in between yours and your husbands shielding you his head is spinning and his lip is aching and split, your husband growls back that if he does fight back again- Namjoon will have earned himself a one-way ticket to hell.

- After all who wouldn’t believe that a retired police hybrid would break one day and snap back to his most basic instincts? The way your husband spun the story, Namjoon believes that he really would.

- Late at night sometimes he takes out one of his guns and polishes it in front of Namjoon looking at him with a glint of mad anger in his eyes. Namjoon knows if he tries to stop him, and tries to tell someone about what your husband does, he will get hurt and you will too.

- And then he’d be leaving you to the mercy of your husband, and that just won’t do. You where just someone who needed help like the countless people he’s saved over the years, and you’d be alone to be in pain just like you had in the beginning.

- Such shame fills him for not noticing sooner, even as you dab at some blood on Namjoon’s cheek with a wet cloth after the first time he intervenes. until that point, you haven’t said much to him or tried to touch him beyond that first day when he growled at you. He catches your wrist gently another bruise already forming there, and you hiss lowly at him and rip it from his grasp.

- Casting an anxious look in the direction of where your husband disappeared, you can still hear the thrum of the shower though and know your words will be disguised by the hum of the water. “You can’t Namjoon- you can’t touch me, that will only make him angrier- please, please don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

- But Namjoon is terrible at following orders. He feels rage well up inside of him because you’re just trying to help him, even though you’re in need of help yourself. You’re an innocent like the ones he used to protect and there is no one here to do that for you.

- Your husband is a criminal and Namjoon has always had a strong sense of justice. So Namjoon will do his best to protect you- and divert your husband’s attention whenever possible, and help you as he can.

- So Namjoon can do nothing but watch, try to mitigate and try to help. there are days when Namjoon says that he was the one who knocked a picture frame off the wall when Namjoon makes a mistake to distract from one that you make, creating distractions.

- After that, things change, Namjoon is just another person that your husband can exert his need for control over. Smacks Namjoons hand with the end of a dowl when he drops a box of nails, purposefully slamming the door shut on Namjoon’s tail. Namjoon can take it, he’s no stranger to pain or brutal overworking. But still- Namjoon tries to keep him out of the house as much as possible, keeps him away from you when he can.

- It’s hard, there are many more nights where he fails rather than succeeds. But on the nights where he manages to keep you safe until your husband falls asleep, make a sour kind of accomplishment take root in his chest. He stares up at the ceiling in his room, lying on top of the covers in his bed, turning over the day’s events, when he hears a noise, your quiet footsteps in the hallway.

- Namjoon moves slowly so as to not cause a creek, but he opens the door to find you there waiting outside, in the gray light of the moon streaming through the window at the end of the hallway.

- You are drowned in shades of black and white, like some old photograph as you look up at Namjoon, reaching forward again to touch him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt any tender touch unmarred by pain or fear. The words of your husband weigh on your heart like a shackle. “You don’t know how to love.” when you look at Namjoon you think that maybe- maybe if things where different- you could learn. You’ve never known much about hybrids other than they where made to be loved.

- As you reach your hand forward slowly Namjoon doesn’t growl like the first time. The first time your hand touches his cheek, it feels like something good falls into place. He lets your hand rest there and leans into the touch, just as hungry for something good and soft as you are. It’s the first time he’s been touched with so much softness, and already it feels so good that it makes emotions he’s never had well up in his throat and choke off any noise he might make.

- He makes the choice to pull you closer to him. You are so so small that he can barely lean his elbows on your shoulders even as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head in his chest. Namjoon’s tail starts to wag and hits up against the doorframe, you both freeze, and he catches it before it makes any more noise. Both of you listen with bated breath. Down the hall, your husband gives a particularly loud snore but stays asleep.

- It’s only that, only a hug before You part from him holding his gaze before you slink back to your room careful to avoid the floorboards that creak. Knowing he’ll wake up if your warmth in his bed is gone for long or if there are any particularly harsh noises.

- It starts to become an everyday sort of thing, every night after your husband has gone to bed you meet Namjoon in the hallway. Sometimes you stay longer in his arms, sometimes you need too, and sometimes you shake and quiver like a leaf in a storm and Namjoon can do nothing but hold you and try to keep you steady.

- Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes you come into the hallway moving slower and shadowed, your hips stiff and his smell all over you. And Namjoon will nuzzle into the hickeys on your neck left by him and growl lowly at them. And you’ll be still in his arms quieting him by running your fingers over the back of his neck and through his hair if you’re brave enough.

- Namjoon wonders how something so sweet got trapped in a place so bad, how you ended up with a man like him. On one of the rare days your husband has work down in the VA, he asks you. You’ve started to talk more, but only when your husband is out of the house. Sometimes you stand close by the counter and enjoy a simple thing like a cup of coffee togeater.

- You have rare good days, where there isn’t much to do besides sit on the couch or play a game of cards in the kitchen. Or other times, more tender things, though It feels so vulnerable and intimate to hug you in your kitchen, in broad daylight no less and not be enswathed in the safe cocoon of darkness. Namjoon is careful to watch the window over your shoulder waiting for the moment when your husband comes home and you have to separate.

- But he hugs you in your kitchen, light streaming through. Running his hands over your shoulders and feeling them deflate more every moment. He asks you why you loved him at one point enough to marry him. “He wasn’t bad at first- the opposite, he made me feel special and like I belonged somewhere, but then after we got married he started to change and-“ your voice breaks off. Namjoon brushes away your tears with his thumbs.

- The day your husband adds to the scars on Namjoon’s face is the first day your lips touch his skin.

- You have some Vaseline and some skin-safe glue to patch up the gash in his cheekbone just under his lower eye (the mark of a thrown glass after Namjoon had knocked over a lamp in the living room) it could probably use stitches, but it’s the best that he can do. You have a cut on your finger too from picking up that glass, and Namjoon kisses it first, lips pressed to them gently before you wrap them with bandaids.

- Tomorrow, you’ll patch it up a little better, but for now, you meet in the hallway and your lips brush over the base of it, not close enough to irritate it. and namjoon makes a noise in the back of his throat in suprise. Even though the action is tender. He can see your hurt by him, you shake with silent sobs by this, by everything that’s happened, and it doesn’t feel like he can bear it anymore.

- He’d never thought of himself as a killer, but now he thinks he understands why someone would. To keep you safe, Namjoon would kill your husband. Namjoon will he realizes- to free you of this pain. Namjoon has never hated another living thing more than he hates your husband. And namjoon has come to the conclusion that the world would be a better place if he where dead- call it a crisis of faith in the law but sometimes- the law just can’t get things done. so namjoon will take it into his own hands.

- That night, Namjoon dreams that you falling asleep on his chest, small and happy, smiling in your sleep, he dreams of waking up with you in his arms just once. And in that dream world Namjoon gets to run his fingers through your hair and watch over you to make sure you’re safe. And when he wakes, he finds you with a fresh black eye and knows that one day, one day soon he’s going to get you out of here, even if it means Namjoon doesn’t.

• Namjoon keeps his anger and his evil intentions a secret; even from himself at times. He thinks about the small river by your house, drowning your husband and holding him under the water. Or the lift in the fancy barn that was used for your husband’s expensive car collection, the button that releases the hydraulics so close and itching to be pressed anytime he goes under them.

- Namjoon wonders how he’s going to do it, with Namjoon’s hands around his throat or a well-placed shovel to the back of his head or even, or if he can find the passcode- one of the guns in the gun safe. Quick and easy, buried in the backyard or dissolved in acid.

- Namjoon has been in on enough homicide cases, he knows how hard it is to get away with murder, but he loves you enough to try- even if he knows it’s futile. It will take a fair bit of planning, and Namjoon starts the painstaking process.

- But then one morning, when your husband leaves early without any explanation, Namjoon walks into your bathroom to find you hurling your guts out into the toilet, and a pregnancy test sitting on the counter and feels horror spark in his stomach.

- You’re pregnant, and that changes everything.

PART 2

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bnha-dumpster · 3 years

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あの夜みたいに Info + Prologue

Tohma has always found Shindo to be a pain. Shindo has always found Tohma to be amusing. The night before graduation, they crash into each other and begin the spiraling of their twisted feelings. It’s the start of a festering, rotting love.

Pairing: Shindo Yo x Watari Tohma Fic content warnings: Ableism, bullying, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, toxic relationships, verbal abuse, gaslighting

A/N: this will be written in second person as to make things a bit easier for me.

Character Intros

Tohma: he’s Quirkless and wheelchair-bound for the most part. He suffers from tremors that affect both his arms and legs. Tohma attended Ketsubutsu as a support course student and was in the same grade as Shindo. He’s usually quiet and prefers to keep to himself. Easy to agitate but tends to only show extremes of his emotions. (Another note: I’ve been researching SMA these past few weeks in relation to muscular atrophy- which I suffer from due to my inability to be active- and might introduce a diagnosis of it through this fic.) He is 20 years old.

Mikito + Hime: two of Tohma’s sisters. They’re twins and three years older than him. Since they’re in the fashion industry, they use Tohma as a design model and often have him wear/try on their clothes. They are 23 years old.

Risu: Tohma’s younger sister of two years. A recent graduate of Ketsubutsu who is currently working under the hero Mirko as a sidekick. She has a squirrel mutation Quirk. Risu is 18 years old.

Bibi: Tohma’s senpai and the reason he attended Ketsubutsu in the first place. She works out of a hero agency in Okayama and tries to visit as much as she can. Socially inept but cares deeply for those around her. She is 25 years old.

Prologue

The third years at Ketsubutsu are unable to sleep, trying to calm their nerves for tomorrow. The anxiety and excitement of graduation is weighing on everyone’s shoulders. Some lay in bed restless, some third years from the hero course can be heard sparring- everyone is doing something. You are no exception.

You sit alone in the workshop, focused on the project in front of you. It’s an accessory for your wheelchair, something you’ve been fiddling with since being accepted to Ketsubutsu. The custom motor for your wheelchair was originally just to tinker with in between projects. Now though, you’ve been working on it seriously for your current one. With the strength in your arms dwindling despite your best efforts, having help with moving around is a good idea. You’ve looked at electric wheelchairs before, but they’re all too bulky and heavy for you. The small motor in front of you is now your best idea.

Besides the sound of metal and your humming, the workshop is quiet. Being the only one in it right now is a plus. The other support course students must be off somewhere talking about tomorrow. You’re not surprised that you weren’t invited. You never wanted to make friends in highschool, more focused on getting a career off the ground. As an individual of the Quirkless population in Japan, you’re subject to pity and not having equal opportunities. It doesn’t bother you too much. You just hate being looked down on. If you can work your ass off and become known for your support tools, then your Quirklessness will be overlooked… hopefully.

“So this is where you were! Should’ve figured. You’re always buried in your work.”

The voice makes you tense. It’s the last person you want to see.

“Fuck off, Shindo.” Your voice is low and frustrated. You don’t bother to look away from your project; the soon-to-be hero doesn’t deserve anything from you.

“So mean. This is probably the last time I’ll get to see you after graduation.” Shindo grabs the wheelchair and spins it around to face him with a practiced motion. He’s probably the only person who can make you hate your physical issues with such a passion. When you’re in your wheelchair, he can cage you in with ease. There’s no escape when he’s standing over you, caging you in place with his body.

“Yeah. I’ll finally be free of you.” The sincerity in your voice manages to make him flinch. That’s a small victory for you. “Now fuck off and let me work in peace.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll hurt my feelings, Tohma.” As the tone in his voice shifts and you can hear the rumble when he speaks, you’re forced into a memory of your first year.

“Can’t I visit you?”

“No, not in the workshop.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t want your gross smile distracting me.”

“So, if I’m like this,” Shindo’s voice lowers slightly and without warning, You’re shoved back against the wall of the workshop. A grin, a real grin, is plastered on his face. “You want this me, right?”

You turn your face away quickly. With how close Shindo is, your heart is racing and you don’t know what to do. The real Shindo is overwhelming and he’s barely done anything.

“Shindo-” Your words are caught in his throat when fingers grab your jaw and yank you back to face him. “You- this is-”

“Do you like the real me, Tohma?”

A wave of anxiety rushes over you and it shows. Shindo loves the way the true him changes how you react to him. Your defensive nature melts away and he feels like he could eat you up. He has once but that didn’t do what he thought it would. He expected you to fall for him but it only made you detest him even more.

“You’re cute. You always have been.”

He leans in and your nerves get the best of you. You lift your leg straight up and it hits Shindo’s crotch with a thump. Hero training doesn’t magically harden your balls and he curls in on himself as he growls. Your legs might be out of commission right now but you still slide out of your wheelchair. Awkwardly grasping the counters in the workshop, you begin to stumble your way out of the room. It’s more like you’re dragging yourself since your legs are shaking too much to allow you to stand. You get a few feet away before Shindo recovers.

“You brat!”

His voice rings out and a hand grabs your hair, yanking you back towards him. Your grip on the smooth counters aren’t enough and you end up falling on your ass. Shindo pulls you towards him and smashes the side of your head into the table you were working at.

“I’m trying to be nice but you just have to fuck everything up, huh?” It feels like he might actually pull your hair out. “You should be grateful that I pay any attention to you. You’re just a Quirkless idiot bound to a wheelchair. You’ll never find love, never find a place to belong. But I’ve been giving you a chance to be by my side!”

Words fly out of his mouth and there’s a moment of confusion. It’s quickly overcome by the feeling of fury.

“Who said I wanted to be by your side? I’m fine on my own, I don’t need anyone except myself and my family! Why would I want to be by your side anyways? You’re just a two-faced piece of shit who’s parading around as a hero!”

Shindo leans in towards you after you yell at him, face coming far too close to yours. You use one of your hands to try and push his face away. A thumb presses against his eye before he uses his other hand to keep you from touching him. Once again, you’re stuck under his control. But this time it’s more aggressive, full of emotions that should never be expressed. You swear you can see sorrow in his eyes.

“Tohma-“ He stops himself, voice cracking slightly. “You’ll never amount to anything, I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make you wish that you were with me.”

He lets go of you and leaves the workshop without looking back. You sit on the ground, head spinning from the whiplash of the situation. As you crawl back into your wheelchair, you look out the window.

Ah, it’s almost morning.

#fic: on that night #shindo yo x oc #shindo yo x watari tohma

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brokenjardaantech · 4 years

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captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

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To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.

#allen art week #allen appreciation #dbh allen #detroit: become human #dbh captain allen #allenartweek #allenappreciation #groom lake aftermath

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enbycalicocat · 3 years

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Day 5: 31st of January, 2021

A few days ago, my psychologist posed a question that turned my life upside down. And when I said upside down, I really meant it. Sleep had eluded me for the last week. My head was full of only that one question, the words resounding over and over again, like bells tolling.

"Are you going to keep your name? Or do you want to change it?"

Never in my life had I thought about changing my name. Not once. So, my psychologist's words took me by complete surprise.

"Change my name? Why? For what?"

"What do you mean why?" The woman had asked me, as surprised as me. Suddenly, she seemed to understand something and she became uncomfortable. "Well, Lindsey, many people in your situation, most of them in fact, change their names."

'People in your situation.'

Just like her, I understood all at once.

And it was true, a lot of transgender people decided to change their names when they started to transition. But I hadn't thought about that. In fact, I didn't want another name. I was very sure.

"Lindsey," the woman in front of me said, "Your life, your feelings, your thoughts, do not need to be like everyone else's. You are your own person, and there's nothing wrong with that. Do not think you have to change your name. Just consider it as a type of healthy self-examination. Something to get to know yourself better and nothing else."

I didn't think there was anything healthy in the way I had been thinking about her question, though.

"Lin!" James' voice rang loudly, almost right next to my ear.

My body jerked involuntarily and I turned to look at him with wide eyes. My boyfriend's face crumpled like paper and my heart gave a painful pang.

Girl, could I have made it any more obvious that I hadn't been paying attention to him for the last god-knew-how-many hours?

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, my face crumpling right along with his. "Honey, I'm so sorry. Really. There's no excuse. I should be listening to you. I'm the worst."

James sighed wearily and shook his head.

"Lin, baby, just tell me what's going on with you. Please. You're killing me here."

Looking away guiltily told James exactly what I'd been thinking about, no need for words.

"The name thing? Still? Lin, why is this eating you up so much!"

"Because I don't know what to do." The whine in my voice was childish and silly but I didn't care. I was sick and tired of thinking about the name thing too!

"Okay. You know what. Let's go over this. Together. Let's debate and discuss and talk and put it out in the freaking air because I don't want it to rot in your head and rot your brain along the way."

A small smile made the corners of my lips lift a bit but then it was gone. He was trying to lighten up the atmosphere. It didn't work at all, though. Still, I gave him A+ for effort.

"Let's see. Do you want to change your name?"

"I don't know." The whine was back and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

"Alright..." James said as he thought. "Do you like your name?"

"I love it. You know this. I have always adored it to bits and pieces."

"Yeah, baby, I know, but I wanted you to say it again." James gave me an encouraging smile, as if we were making progress. I couldn't see any though. "Why do you think other trans people change their names?"

That question took me by surprise as I wasn't expecting it. We were talking about me, why did he suddenly want to discuss other people? However, instead of saying anything, I considered what he'd said. If James was bringing it up, there was a reason

"Well..." I mused. "Maybe because of their past? Because they want to separate their lives? I mean, if they had a very hard time while living under their old name, even more if it didn't align with the gender they identify with, they would change it when they transitioned. That was their old life. This was their new life. Each marked with a name. And that's not even considering the possibility that their parents, the ones that chose their original name, might not support them or they don't accept them. So, that name carries a lot of memories and emotions, and if they're not the type of emotions they want in this new beginning, it makes sense to shed it."

"Those are very good points." James mused, watching me with shiny, happy eyes. It made my heart skip a beat. Why was he looking at me like that? "Do you feel like that? Do you feel like your name is carrying a lot of emotions you don't want to take onto this next chapter of your life?"

Through my mind flashed many different images and scenes.

The first time I finally found the courage to go out in a dress, with make-up, and a wig. That time I presented myself as Lindsey. It was also the first time I ever dated, kissed and had sex with someone as me. The me that's a girl.

Moving out of my parents house to a new city. I had lived in the dorms and entered into university, as a girl. The administration knew of me and my case, and were not against keeping my indentified gender from my parents. I had gone to class, made friends, talked to teachers, handed in projects and essays, all as Lindsey.

That photography class in which I met James. With me as Lindsey we'd fallen in love, graduated, found steady jobs, bought a house together and adopted a little kitten.

Lastly, that Thanksgiving, when I told my parents that I didn't identify as a boy, and then presented them my girl 'side'. They had been silent the whole while. And when they saw me dressed with a wig, girl clothes, and heels and the way I walked, my mother started crying. At the time I thought I would be rejected, insulted, humiliated, that my parents wouldn't love me anymore. But then my mother asked me why I had taken so long to tell them. My father looked me in the eyes with unspilled tears and asked if I didn't trust them. Turns out that when they saw me, the way I carried myself, and my change in behavior, it had become glaringly obvious to them that I'd been a girl for many years already, and hadn't said anything. They never noticed a single thing, never suspected, never knew, until that day. In the conversations that day, although there were a lot of changes and things they had to adapt to, there had been no mention of names, I had stayed as Lindsey.

"My name," I began after a long time of silence, "carries a lot of good memories. A lot of love and support and care and courage. I want those emotions in my new life."

James gave me a fond smile this time and I felt my chest get warm. Why was he looking at me like that? I hadn't done anything for him to look that proud.

"That's really good to know." James' voice was so soft right then. And I knew, that he was really happy with me right now. "Now, let's use our imagination. You ready?"

"Yeah," I said with a smile because his happiness was really contagious.

"So, suppose you have to change your name. Like, there's no choice. You're forced to pick a new name with which to live from now on. What would you pick?"

When I heard that question, I began to sense where this whole conversation was going. But it was all still very blurry. So, I decided to keep on playing along with my boyfriend.

"If I were forced to pick a name," I began, thinking out loud, "I would like something that's androgynous, a name that isn't necessarily identified with one or another particular gender. Like Taylor. But Taylor is a friend from work, and also we share some common friends, and it would be really confusing to have two Taylors suddenly, one a transgender man and the other a transgender woman. So, I wouldn't pick that one.

"Also, I want something that sounds elegant. Maybe Robin? But Robin is Batman's sidekick, and even though you're gorgeous, you're no Batman, honey. And I would only ever be your sidekick. Any other case I would damn well be the hero and protagonist."

James laughed and watched me, his eyes still shiny, his smile still so soft, so tender. I arrogantly thought that he was falling in love with me, all over again.

"So, something elegant," I went on, because looking at James was getting me side tracked and this was a very important topic. I wanted to sleep peacefully again, thank you very much! "Maybe Sam? No. I don't like it that much. Let me keep on thinking. You know what we really need right now? We should grab a phone and look up a list of gender neutral names!"

"That would be cheating." James was laughing all over again, his heart not just on his sleeve, but on his face, on a silver platter lying right in front of him, offered for me to take and cherish and love. It was a good thing I did all that already. "You have to think of a name on your own."

"You, mister, are absolutely no fun at all! I'm sure when the FBI has to reassign their victims to a new state and life and job, and those people have to choose a new name, they go to..."

A name rang in my head. All of a sudden. Like lightning.

"Tallas!" I cried excitedly. "That's the name I would choose! I read a book with a character named like that once. It was so good! And I adored the name ever since I saw it. The way it's written seemed beautiful to me, and the pronunciation as well. Ah, but it's not as good as Lindsey, though. But it would do. I wouldn't feel discontent at all if I had to change my name for Tallas."

James laughed out loud. A big belly laugh. He had tears in his eyes and everything. I just sort of chuckled because his laugh was very contagious, but I was very confused.

"What? What did I say?"

"Baby." James took a deep breath and tried his hardest to reign in his laughter. "Will any name be as good as Lindsey for you?"

Ah, that was easy to answer. No need to think.

"No. I love my name. No name will ever compare, and I will probably never like it as much. In fact, I would be kind of sad to let it go if I were forced to change names."

"Then you have your answer." James gave me that absolutely smitten and whipped look again and finally kissed me.

I was dumbfounded at first, but then I retraced the whole conversation, everything I'd said, and the answer was obvious to me too. My lips split into a radiant smile and I threw myself into James' arms, as happy chuckles and giggles burbled out of me. He was right, I had my answer.

Prompt: 5. If you could pick another name, what would it be and why?

Previous Day Next Day

#writing #30 day writing challenge #drabble #very short story #fiction #trans character #lgbtq+#this is actually a sequel of an already existing short story #maybe I'll post it some day?#it's a story published under that person I was in the past #so we'll see

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thatmultifandomhoe · 5 years

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Strawberry Cream and BBQ: Move in Day

Word Count: 4,288k

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

A Strawberry Cream and BBQ Drabble

Overview: It’s been five years since you and Hoseok were reunited. And things are not like how they used to be.

Genre: Hybrid AU - Fluff - A teeny tiny bit a smut - Rating is somewhere in the middle of PG-13 and NC-17.

Warning: Fluff. Absolute, tooth rotting fluff. Also some minor smut, light fingering, implied Daddy kink, Hoseok bites the reader cause he’s a horndog.

Master List

Click here to read Strawberry Cream and BBQ from the 1st part!

A/N: Surprise! I couldn’t help myself, and so here’s a glimpse into the life that Hoseok and Strawberry have built together!

You hummed while stacking another box in the living room, giving the room one last scan before turning to the two babies that sat in the play pen. “You know,” you playfully spoke to them. “I think that’s everything. Now Daddy gets to carry them all.”

They smiled as they spoke gibberish up at you. At only a year old, it was the best they could do for the moment. While they played with their toys, you slowly turned around. Your son and daughter weren’t going to have any memories of this apartment, but as you walked through the small rooms one last time, you softly smiled.

It had been five years since Sue moved to Hong Kong. According to Hoseok, she was doing well and worked for a high-end fashion company. You tried a few times to keep in contact with her, but each phone call felt forced and uncomfortable and as time went by, the conversations dwindled down to none. Hoseok found it to be a little easier, he’d tell her about the Dance Studio and your children and a few other miscellaneous things, even going so far as to send her pictures of the kids around Christmas time. But it was nothing like it used to be, and you had long ago made peace with that.

In those five years, you graduated from college with your degree and to your utmost surprise, your boss had handed over the keys and became the owner of the bookstore. It had been completely out of the blue, but apparently, he wanted a change of plans – and scenery since he packed up his belongings and moved to the west coast.

Hoseok also had a change in career plans too. Unknown to everyone except for the owner of the of the Dance Studio, there had been a talent scout in the audience that night at the May show. He showed up a few days afterwards when Hoseok was working and offered him a spot in their dance company. He’d be on a team with other highly elite dancers and would be touring the world with them.

The offer was a dream that every dancer wished they could get, and he got it. The scout gave him a week to think it over and inform him of his decision. You had been ecstatic for him, literally jumping around the apartment in excitement, that it took you a moment to realize that he wasn’t jumping around. Instead, he had looked glum.

“Strawberry,” Hoseok gently explained. “The company is in South Korea. Including all the practice days and the actual tour, I’ll be gone for maybe a year, if not longer.”

The reality of how long he’d be gone hadn’t kicked in until then, but as you sat back down on the couch, you thought of how great of an opportunity this was for him. This was a once in a lifetime chance, and you knew how much he loved to dance. Like the night of the show, he was meant to be on stage performing.

“I want you to do this Hobi,” you said, slipping your hand in his. “You’re a dancer, you were meant to do this. We’ll figure this out. I’ll take time to fly out before the tour, and then we’ll be able to decide what’s best during it. But if you give up on this chance, you’re going to regret it baby, even if you won’t admit it now, I know you will. Maybe not today, but you will one day.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, slipping his arms around you as he pulled you down on the couch. “I just got you back,” he whimpered.

“I know, but it doesn’t start right away, does it?”

Hoseok shook his head. “If I take it, I have to leave at the end of June.”

You mulled over the numbers, but ultimately, nodded. You were going to miss him greatly, but this was worth it all and then some. “Take it,” you repeated. “This is everything you’ve ever dreamed of Hoseok.”

He stared into your eyes, a smile slowly appearing. Instead of responding, he hugged you tight and bent his head to nuzzle your neck, sweetly kissing your mate mark as his tail wagged against the cushion.

Hoseok had been right. He was gone for a little over a year. But between all the phone calls, face time videos, and those few visits you were able to make, that year went by faster than you imagined. Not only had he gotten to perform like he’s always dream of, but the pay he received was more than what either of you thought.

His bank account wasn’t going to be low for a very, very long time.

“Is Mommy playing hide and seek?”

Hearing his voice, you smiled as you left the old bedroom, your heart warming up when you saw him bouncing your son Mick on his hip. The baby was giggling as his father tickled his sides at the same time, his little baby tail wagging rapidly.

“Oh, there’s Mommy!” Hoseok gleefully announced, pointing at you as you joined Hoseok’s free side.

“Is Daddy being silly?” You asked, kissing the top of Mick’s head and then Hoseok’s cheek.

Wrapping his arm around you briefly, Hoseok smiled at you before stealing another kiss from you. “Me? Silly? No idea what you’re talking about.”

Being mindful of Mick, you lightly pushed Hoseok’s chest, his laughter filling the room. As he played with you son, you went to the play pen where your daughter Jamie was sitting, her arms instantly raising for you to pick her up.

“I think Daddy’s telling a big lie,” you teased as Jamie wrapped her arms around her neck, coming to lay her head on your shoulder. “He’s always silly. A very silly man.”

The twins had been another surprise. A big one, but a very pleasant and worth every single moment surprise. The two of you were always careful and you took the pill every day, all except for one month. It had been a careless mistake, but you had forgotten about the little pills. You had been running the bookstore on your own for three years at this point and you were busy between scheduling author events, creating new displays for the store and window displays, participating in town events, and book orders, that it slipped your mind to take the small little pills. Besides, you and Hoseok weren’t having sex every single day.

But then, his heat came earlier than it should have and during those three days where you two lived in that bedroom, neither one of you remembered that you hadn’t been taking your birth control, and Hoseok didn’t use condoms since you were on the pill. Which meant, your body was extremely fertile and ready to make a baby.

Hoseok found out that you were pregnant the morning after his heat ended.

That morning had started like any other day. It was Saturday and you both had the day off from work – he still continued to work at the Dance Studio despite the sudden fame he acquired with the dance company – and after his heat, the two of you were taking full advantage of sleeping in.

You had woken up flat on your back and confused because Hoseok was snug in between your legs but with his cheek pressed against your stomach. It took you a few seconds to understand what you were seeing. The position was a familiar one – one he had been in multiple times in the last three days – but not with him crying as he smiled.

“Hoseok,” you groggily asked, propping yourself onto your elbows. “What’s wrong babe?”

He lightly laughed as he shifted so he was hovering over you, sweetly kissing your lips despite your whine about having morning breath. “Everything is perfect Strawberry. I know you just woke up, but did you forget to tell me something? Something that may involve your birth control?”

You frowned. He knew that your mind didn’t work first thing in the morning, especially before your coffee. But if he was asking you questions before coffee, then it had to be important. “Um...they’re in the medicine cabinet.” You murmured, rubbing your eyes when you paused. “I…I think I missed a few days…but your heat…”

The realization of what this meant made you gasp, suddenly feeling wide awake. “Oh God, your heat. Am I…are you even able to tell?”

He slowly nodded, his smile taking over his face. “Your scent’s different,” he softly explained. Seeing and feeling your emotions rocking back and forth, he kissed the tip of your nose and then your cheek to help you relax. “You still smell like strawberry cream, but there’s something else. It reminds me of those flowers that Jimin’s mate likes. You know the small white ones.”

“Baby’s breath?” You supplied.

“Yeah, baby’s breath. I know that’s such a strange smell to associate with being pregnant but…you’ve never smelt like that before. And knowing that you weren’t on the birth control during my heat, it makes sense.”

Leaning back, the smile on his face disappeared when he saw that you were still nervous. “Baby, I know we haven’t talked about when we’re going to start a family, but if you’re not ready yet, we don’t have to do this. It’s still extremely early.”

Taking a shaky breath, you lowered yourself back down on the bed and covered your face with your hands. This wasn’t the reaction Hoseok was expecting, it was the opposite really. Even though he wanted you to want this as well, his ears lowered as his tail stopped wagging.

Your mind was racing. How could you have been so foolish? Those pills were necessary with Hoseok being a hybrid. Now you were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

For some reason, whether it was Hoseok smoothing back your hair and caressing your sides, or the thought of being pregnant, your mind stopped racing, allowing you to think. The idea of starting a family had been talked about, especially after you graduated from college. Waiting until after you were out of school was something the two of you had immediately agreed upon.

It had been five years since you learned that he was your mate. Five years of loving, and learning about each other on a deeper level.

Removing your hands, you gazed up at Hoseok. The spot between his eyebrows was crinkled with worry as he waited for you to say something.

“I’m really pregnant?” You whispered again. It was almost like you couldn’t believe that it was true.

Hoseok swallowed the lump in his throat. Just hearing you say the word ‘pregnant,’ had his heart racing in an unexpected way. “Yes baby,” he answered. “You’re pregnant. If you want, I can pick up some pregnancy tests at the store. Buy a bunch so that you can know for sure.”

You could easily picture him buying one of every pregnancy test in the store, and it made you giggle.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, this time saying it for yourself and not asking him.

He frowned, not understanding why you were repeating yourself. Even as he honed in on your emotions, they were still scattered all around that he couldn’t figure out which you were feeling. He was focusing so hard on your emotions, that he almost missed the smile on your face and glassy eyes.

“Baby?” Hoseok hesitantly asked, brushing back a stray hair.

You simply shook your head, giggling as you grinned up at him, the tears sliding down your face. “We’re pregnant,” you said, looping your arms around his neck.

He gasped, hearing the way you happily said it this time. Tears welled up in his own eyes and he wrapped his arms around you as he settled back on the bed and pulled you against him. He kissed you everywhere he could, the bedroom filling with the sounds of your combined laughter and tears.

“Are these the last of the boxes?” Hoseok asked.

Blinking, you frowned in confusion, still lost in your memories. “What?”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow at you but chuckled. He had a feeling that you were taking a trip down memory lane, so he didn’t repeat himself. “I’m going to bring these down to the truck, then we can pack the pups up and bring them to the car. Then we can go home. That sound good?”

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling. There were only two boxes left and while he did that, you could pack up the few toys that you left out for Jamie and Mick to play with.

“You know,” Hoseok murmured, stepping in front of you as he held his son. “We’ll make new memories in the new house too.”

Feeling caught in the act, you leaned forward so you head was against his chest. He maneuvered one arm around you and rested his chin on the top of your head, momentarily leaning back so he could kiss your temple before getting comfortable again.

“I know. There’s just so many that we’ve made here. It’s going to be different in the new house.”

Jamie moved in your arms, forcing the two of you to lean back to see that she wanted to get down. Once you set her down, Mick immediately wanted to be with his sister.

With his hands now free, Hoseok pulled you in for a hug, gently swaying you back and forth. “And we’ll always have them,” Hoseok reassured. “They’re our memories for a reason. And we’re going to make more than enough to last a lifetime in our new house. Where we’ll have plenty of room for the kids to play and grow up in.”

You hummed in agreement, knowing that he was right. You were being sentimental but you couldn’t help it. “Alright.” You relented. “Go bring these boxes down and I’ll pick up the toys. By the time you’re back we’ll be ready to go.”

He smiled and with one last kiss to the lips, grabbed the last two boxes and made his way down the stairs with them. With a sigh, you joined your children on your knees, reaching over to give a loving scratch to their German Shepard ears. They released pleased giggles which made you laugh, continuing for a little longer before stopping.

“Don’t worry, Mommy will make sure to do it again when we get home,” you promised.

In no time at all, their toys and the play pen were all packed up and you were just waiting on Hoseok once more. He brought their toys and the pen down to the car along with their diaper bags, that way you each only had a baby to carry.

This time carrying Mick, Hoseok carried Jamie down to the car, the sun shinning brightly as you locked them into their car seats.

“Alright,” Hoseok said, coming around to the driver’s side window. He leaned in so his head was inside for the moment and sent a smile to the kids in the back seat before focusing on you again. “I’ll park in the driveway, that way it’ll make it easier to carry everything in.”

“You got it babe.” Leaning up, you smiled in the kiss, and watched to make sure that Hoseok pulled out of the driveway with the Uhall first, following right behind him.

The drive from the apartment to your new house was only ten minutes away, but when you pulled up to the house, it felt like you were in the country. The neighborhood wasn’t packed like some of the houses you looked at were, but there could have been another house comfortably built in between your house and your neighbors because there was enough space.

The white picket fence came up to your hip – personally the perfect height in your opinion – and there was a wraparound porch on the two-story tan house. You weren’t sure what the square feet was for it, but there were five bedrooms, an attached bathroom with the master bedroom, then a full bath on the second floor and a half bath on the first floor. It was huge compared to the apartment and what you were used to, but the second you and Hoseok walked in to see it, you knew this was the home that you wanted to raise your children in and live with Hoseok.

So Hoseok made an offer, and thankfully, the owners accepted.

Parking in the street, you got out and started unbuckling Jamie. She and Mick were already dozing off in their car seats.

“If you can set the play pen up in their room, they can nap while we start unloading,” You suggested when Hoseok started unbuckling a sleepy Mick.

“Yeah,” he agreed, carefully bringing Mick on his hip. “These two are so easy to get to nap.”

“You say that now, but just wait. When they turn two, we’re in trouble.”

Hoseok chuckled, slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder, waiting for you to join him to walk up the driveway with you. He had already unlocked the front door and so he just walked in. There were boxes and furniture scattered about from previous trips he made, having recruited the guys to help when it came to moving the larger pieces of furniture.

Once the play pen was up and laid a blanket underneath the kids to sleep on top of, the two of you made quick work to bring in as many boxes as possible before they woke up. There were a couple hours guaranteed as they napped, but neither of you wanted to risk them both waking up early and still have to unload the truck.

Luck had been on your side, because you finished bringing in all the boxes and any remaining pieces of furniture by dinner time, and Mick and Jamie were still sleeping. Hoseok had even called Namjoon and together, they returned the Uhall back to the store it was being rented from.

When Hoseok came back, he found you in the kitchen unpacking a box of plates and stacking them in one of the cabinets, a baby monitor sitting on the counter with a red light on. There weren’t many moments when it was just the two of you alone anymore, so he came up from behind and hugged you, resting his palms on your hips and nipping at your mate mark.

Your body automatically jerked as you giggled, leaning your head to the side and back to look up at him. For five years he’s nipped at your mate mark, and not once has it gotten old. “What are you doing?” You teased, allowing your body to relax in his embrace and forget about unpacking.

His lips curled into a smile against your skin, his hands sliding across your waist and stomach, fingers grazing the bottom of your bra. “New house,” he murmured, his kisses slowing in pace as he trailed them up your neck and pressed his body against yours.

A soft moan slipped through your mouth, your responsibilities disappearing as your own desire started to match his.

“New memories,” he added, sliding his hands underneath the old t-shirt you wore. His touch lighting a fire on your skin. “I can already think of a few memories we can make in our room tonight.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, tilting your head to the side as he nibbled at your jaw.

The morning that you found out you were pregnant with Mick and Jamie, you and Hoseok had spent the day in bed to not only enjoy the day off along with the good news, but to discuss how many kids the two of you wanted. You remembered that day when he explained that it was possible have multiple kids in one pregnancy, which had been the case with the twins.

While both of you wouldn’t mind a large family, in the end, it was decided that it would be best to play it by how old the kids were. Hoseok had been adamant in making sure that he didn’t want you to overdo anything, especially by having his kids.

Within the Hybrid community, there were still owners who treated Hybrids poorly, and then there was the illegal Underground. It was the black market of Hybrids, and just like there were people who ran puppy mills for pets, there were people who ran Hybrid Mills, forcing the women to have babies and purebred hybrids for the highest bidder like they were some machine.

You had only heard rumors of it, but Hoseok once knew a girl who was a result of an illegal Hybrid Mill. They had both been too young to understand what it was, but now that he was older and he remembered what she had described, he knew what she had lived in.

Jamie and Mick were already a year old, and while you knew that people normally waited until their kids were at least a few years older…the idea of having another baby warmed you from the inside out. Being a mother came automatically for your, and while there were points you had complained during your pregnancy, it was all worth it when you got to hold your little babies.

“Hoseok,” you sighed, feeling his fingers undo the button of your shorts and zipper before sliding them under your panties and over your core, earning a moan from you. He softly growled when he felt how wet you already were for him. At the rate he was going, there were going to be some memories made right here in the kitchen.

Lifting his head, Hoseok said a soft yes before focusing on the other side of your neck. Since there were no marks on this side, he couldn’t help himself from lightly biting the skin.

Wetting your lips, your eyes briefly closed, feeling Hoseok’s chest rumble before hearing it as he smelled your lust and desire. “What if…we have another baby?”

Hoseok had been getting ready to slip his fingers in-between your folds when you suddenly asked, his heart beginning to race. Not in fear of having another baby while Mick and Jamie were only one, but in happiness. He didn’t want to push you, but he had always wanted to have his kids close together in age.

He leaned back just enough remove his hands out of your pants to turn you in in his arms, his eyes revealing his happiness. “Are you sure?” He asked, wanting to make sure that you were certain.

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back for another kiss. “Of course, I’m sure.”

Thumping was heard in the room and for a split second, you thought it was one of the kids coming down the stairs, but then you remembered that they couldn’t walk on their own yet. With a glance down, you laughed when you saw that it was Hoseok’s tail hitting his thigh.

“I love you,” Hoseok said, promptly kissing you in-between everything he had to say. “I love our family, our kids. And I love making babies with you.”

You giggled again. As the two of you kissed, each one was more passionate than the last, leaving you wanting more. Even though you’ve been together for five years, and had a son and daughter, each kiss and touch were always like the very first.

His hands were palming your ass over your shorts, the counter digging into your back as Hoseok firmly grinded his hips into your, eliciting a moan to rip through your lips. You were lost in his touch, your hands roaming over his back…when a cry came over the baby monitor.

The two of you froze as if you were caught in the act by your parents and about to get punished because you snuck your boyfriend. But then you remembered. Hoseok was your mate, this was yours and his house, and the two of you were the parents here.

It took a second, but you were able to decipher who the crying was coming from. “It’s Mick,” you said, removing your hands from Hoseok while he straightened up. “I’ll go take care of him and Jamie while you go shower.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but you pointed at the front of his pants. “I don’t think you need to scare the children so young.”

Hoseok glanced down, but casually shrugged as he grinned at you. “Fine. But don’t think this over.” Even though he knew you wanted to go tend to the babies, he wrapped his arms around your waist and suddenly pulled you against him. He heard the way your breath hitched, feeling his erection against your core again. Your cheeks were flushed, riling him up all over again. Leaning down, he kissed your ear lobe, gently tugging on it with his teeth before whispering in your ear.

“Don’t think Daddy will forget about this baby.”

Your heart skipped a beat – there were many things that you and Hoseok discovered after his first heat – but when he leaned back to look at you, you couldn’t help but lovingly smile up at him despite the sexual tension filling the room. His eyes softened when he noticed the way you were looking at him, and so when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rough or fueled with lust, but with absolute pure love.

That was the thing. These past five years were filled with so many life changes, that you were excited for what the future had in-store. Because no matter what, as long as Hoseok and your babies were by your side, there was always going to be love.

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 years

Text

Hawkins’ Charm (Part 7/?)

Synopsys: They had gotten out of Hawkins. After all the shit that had happened, all the heartache and pain, Billy and the Reader had gotten away from that hellhole, building their life in California as he had dreamed. But when Max’s graduation rolls around and they go to celebrate, it’s as if the Upside Down was just waiting for all of them to return. And it has a bone to pick.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x f!Reader; platonic!Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of fluff

Warnings: blood, mentions of injuries and death, fighting, swearing, mentions of sexy times, but not smut

Word count: 3337

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE BILLY’S ACTIONS AND THE THINGS HE’S DONE! THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU, WHEN REALLY LOOKING AT IT! SPOILERS FOR S3! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

It was like the air had suddenly been sucked out from the world, leaving him a heaving, dizzy mess in the void. His dad. His old man. The person that was supposed to love him unconditionally but had been abusing him since he was a little kid was the one the Mind Flayer was using as a host. “I’m gonna kill him,” Billy seethed. “Did he touch you?” he doublechecked every inch of Y/N’s body. “I’m gonna fucking murder him.” “Billy, he didn’t do anything,” she put a hand on his cheek, and he practically melted, taking in a shuddering breath and nodding. “I didn’t even see him. I’m alright.” “Was he,” he gestured vaguely around, “you know, possessed when we went to his?” Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know, but he was by the time that whole thing at Tina’s happened. But Billy… he knows… about Clara. I tried to keep them out of my head but,” her chin wobbled, and Billy had to keep his composure. “He’s so strong,” Y/N whispered. “Like, not to say what happened to you wasn’t horrible and painful and bad, but he’s,” she shook her head. “He’s so fucking strong. I don’t know how we’re gonna stop him. If we can stop him.” They thought the Mind Flayer might have evolved, they knew it could, but with the way El had struggled against the small piece inside of Y/N, she couldn’t even imagine what battling against the full force of that thing would be like.

“We gotta close the Gate,” Hopper said. “It’s our only option.” A murmur of agreement spread through the people in the cabin, Billy’s attention still on Y/N as she flinched when she reached for the glass of water Robin had offered. She practically gulped the whole thing in a second. Only then did Billy realize how thirsty he was too, but he could wait. “Is my mom,” Max’s lip quivered, making Y/N look at her, and Billy reached for his sister's hand squeezing it in comfort, something that just five or even three years ago he would’ve never voluntarily done. “Is my mom one of them?” When Y/N shook her head no, Max almost sagged to the floor in relief. “I didn’t feel her. He has a lot of others under his control – Tina, Tommy, Vicky, pretty much everyone else that didn’t leave the party that night… they drugged the punch and knocked everyone out, and then Neil helped them bring the rest to Benny’s where… ya know… they got possessed and shit…” Y/N groaned trying to stand up, but when her knees buckled, she opted for staying on the bed. “How does your back feel?” Robin asked, making everyone remember that before being possessed by a Mind Flayer, she’d been dragged away by a monster with knives for fingers. “Like a Demogorgon wanted to make a skinsuit out of me,” Y/N shrugged and hissed at the pain. Without it possessing her, she was back to herself, and it meant she was back to feeling things and not just ignoring the unpleasant itch in her back. Billy was instantly in action mode. “Okay, we need to clean those. Don’t want you getting an infection.” Joyce was immediately on her feet. There was an old bottle of vodka, she’d found in Hopper’s room from that day when she’d ditched their ‘date but not date’ to instead go to Mike’s science teacher, and she went to grab it. “Vodka doesn’t have an expiration date,” she muttered to herself taking a clean cloth as well. “Here,” Joyce gave both of those things to Billy, and Y/N sighed. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” he warned soaking the rag with the alcohol and reached for one of the leather restraint that had been wrapped around her wrists. “Yeah, I’m kinda expecting it to,” she grumbled and bit down on the belt. With one final nod, Y/N readied herself, and he pressed the cloth against her wounds. Searing hot pain erupted throughout her body, and for a second Y/N’s vision went completely white. She grabbed onto the sheets and fisted them between her fingers, holding back the scream. Honestly, she’d rather be possessed by the Mind Flayer than feel every single time the alcohol ate at her wounds. And oh god, when Billy had to peel away the scabbed over parts… Y/N thought she’d pass out. Hoped she’d pass out. Childbirth had been easy compared to the torturously slow movements as each crusted bit was ripped from the gashes leaving them open to the air. She spit the belt out to the floor and growled, “Hurry the fuck up!” “Sorry, sweetheart,” Billy murmured seeing Y/N’s face scrunch up as he dragged the cloth across the third out of five slashes. “But I gotta be thorough.” It dragged on for five more agonizing minutes before Billy and Joyce deemed Y/N’s skin would not rot and fall off her back. For the time being at least. She’d definitely need to see the doctor first thing in the morning. “I think these might need stitching,” Billy trailed a careful palm along the two of the deepest gashes. “Yeah, nope,” Y/N shook her head heaving and shuddering, and Joyce applied a compress to her back. It had some sort of a cold salve on it, and it instantly relieved her blazing skin. She’d been the only one smart enough to remember about El talking about Y/N’s wounds, so while everyone had gathered tons of tinfoil, Joyce had bought a first aid kit and some other things that she considered might be necessary. “Thank you for cleaning them up, but I ain’t letting you anywhere near me with a needle and thread,” Y/N smirked. “Wha- hey!” he exclaimed. Usually, he’d slap her arm playfully, but this time he opted out on it. “Do I need to remind you when you tried, keyword tried, to sow up Clara’s dress?” she gave him a pointed gaze and shook her head, smiling as Joyce muttered a ‘men’ underneath her breath. Steve who had joined their little group once the gross stuff was out of the way, crossed his arms and snorted. “What happened?” “I ended up having to throw it out,” Y/N gestured at Billy. “Because cross stitch is so hard.” “It wasn’t that bad,” Billy protested but accepted his defat and helped to wrap the layer of gauze around Y/N’s back. Immediately it got soaked and turned a scarlet color, but it was better than leaving the scabs on with millions of possible infections underneath them. And the red was a much pleasant color than the pitch black. “She’s just being dramatic.” “Frist of all,” Y/N hissed and pointed a finger at him. “I’m allowed to be dramatic. At least right now. Second of all, you managed to sow the dress to your jeans, and then, when I told you to just cut the thread off and pull it out, you cut a hole into the dress.” “It was a stylistic choice.” “Yeah for what, her third arm?” It seemed insane to be bickering about what were now minuscule things. A ruined dress. Billy’s inability to sow. Him being in absolute denial about it. Insane, but nice, given how the actual things they needed to worry about were the possible invasion of their world by an interdimensional alien, a Russian army opening up the Gateway between the two universes and her father-in-law being the main henchman. “How do we explain this to Clara?” Billy nudged his chin towards Y/N's back, and her eyes widened. “Fuck,” she swore under her breath. “I hadn’t thought about that…” There was no way she could just brush it off, and their little Terminator had to know everything. It had been an interesting enough conversation when she’d asked about her dad’s scars, but now when her mom would arrive home with a destroyed back was not something, they thought they’d have to deal with. “You might also wanna figure out what to say to mom,” Alex said as he stood to the side, arms matter-of-factly crossed over his chest. “What? Why?” Alex’s eyes widened. “Graduation’s in like a few hours, and you're gonna show up like that?” That’s when the rest of the kids also remembered Friday was just three hours away, and graduation only fifteen. “Oh, shit,” Max muttered sharing a look with Mike, Dustin, Will and Lucas. El hadn’t gone to a public school, having been taught by Hopper and then Joyce at home. “Well, we can’t go,” Mike said. “This is bigger than some fucking graduation.” “Hey, watch your mouth!” Hopper said pointing at the teen. He was still in the mindset of ‘keep the door open three inches’, no matter if four years had passed. “I think going might be our best bet,” Y/N butted in. “Or at least, you have to go.” “Not to be rude, ‘cause I know you went through some pretty dramatic shit,” Lucas said, “but Mind Flayer versus getting a piece of paper,” he made a gesture as if he was weighing the options with his hands. “The Mind Flayer wins.” Y/N shook her head and stood up, leaning heavily against Billy. “He still needs to keep up the appearances. I mean when Billy was possessed, he went to his job at the pool, so I can guarantee he’ll be at the school. And that’s when we can strike.” The thought of attacking the Mind Flayer and bringing the fight to him, instead of how it usually had been with it striking first, made everyone perk up and start talking, but Billy didn’t join in, even though he might have the most cause to. Instead, he tugged on Y/N’s palm making her attention flit just to him and look at his furrowed brows. It seemed as if the formulation of the words on his tongue were the hardest ever, but in the end, he got them out. “What did you mean by ‘the three of us…?’ When you said you wouldn’t let me taint the three… of you…” “I don’t know…” she shook her head. “I have no clue where that came from.” “Do you,” Billy swallowed harshly and wrung his hands together, “do you think you might be pregnant again?” That thought had crossed her mind, but Y/N didn’t think it to be plausible. Every time they’d had sex they’d been very careful, as they weren’t planning on having another kid. Sure, Clara hadn’t been planned either and turned out to be the best gift ever, but they were doing really well at that moment, so another gremlin would be quite jarring. “I don’t think so… I had my period right before leaving.” “Yeah, but we did have a lot,” he emphasized the word and smirked, “of fun at the motel in the morning. And when we got to yours in the shower… and before going to Tin-“ “Okay, you don’t need to recount every time,” Y/N chuckled feeling heat crawl up her body. “I remember, I was there.” “You better, otherwise, I’d need to remind you.” She tilted her head to the side. “I wouldn’t complain about that. Like at all.” A beat passed before she spoke again. “If it was though…” Y/N bit down on her lip. “Would you want it? Another kid? Would you want one?” Billy snorted cupping her cheeks and giving her a sweet kiss. “If you’d ask me to run through Hell barefoot, I’d fucking skip through it with a smile on my face.” “So, would that be a yes?” “You’re such a dork,” he shook his head, the affectionate grin never leaving. “Yeah, but I’m your dork.” He scoffed. “You better fucking be.” “We’ll figure it out…” Y/N nodded her head as if affirming herself they would. “If we get out of this alive.” “When,” he growled back. “When we get out of this alive. Don’t you dare talk that way.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just being realistic.” “Well stop it then.” He grumbled like a toddler being told he couldn’t have any more candy. “Be optimistic.” Y/N scoffed. “Yeah, because you’re not only Keg King, but the King of Optimism as well.” He watched her bring Nancy’s given shirt over her head and helped the woman let it slip over her body. Billy loved that body with every inch of his being. He loved each and every birthmark, scar and dip, and now it had been completely rearranged by some monster. There was nothing in the world that would make him think of Y/N as anything as beautiful, but a small part in his head screamed at how much he hated the rips that would scar over at some point. They had been his fault. His ugly marks on her gorgeous body. “Where’s uh where’s your ring?” Y/N asked, clearing her throat and bringing him out of the pondering. This was so not the conversation she thought she’d ever have. It was like they’d had a silent agreement to never take the golden circlets off, so seeing his finger bare, with a pale line around it, made her stomach churn. “When you were missing, I asked El to help find you. She needed something that had a connection to you…” he shrugged flexing his fist. “This was the only thing I could think of.” “And why haven’t you put it back on?” It seemed like the question completely shifted the mood, and Billy let out a sad chuckle. “ ’Cause I don’t think I should.” Y/N’s eyes widened. “What?” She could feel tears burn at the edges of her eyes, but Y/N was not going to let them fall. Instead, she cleared her throat and repeated the question in a much softer tone. “That day when we got married, I promised to protect you. I might have not said it out loud, but I promised it to myself.” Unlike her, Billy allowed himself to fully feel the emotions, a drop rolling down his cheek. “And I failed. How can I put it back on, how can I promise that to you, when I broke it in the first place? I know it wasn’t you saying all those things, that it was the Mind Flayer using my fears against me, but it had a point. I don’t deserve you. Or Clara. For years this whole life has felt like a dream, like a fluke that I’d gotten so lucky. And now I know it is, ‘cause there’s no way I could ever deserve you or your forgiveness.” Y/N thought she’d be sad and hurt by his words, but instead, she was just pissed. “Forgiveness for what?” “For this whole thing,” he gestured at her torn-up body. “Had it not been for me, you wouldn’t have been possessed by that fucker. Had it not been for me, we wouldn’t have gone to Tina’s. I wouldn’t have gotten drunk and pissy, and you wouldn’t have had to wander off into those fucking woods… this whole shit’s my fault…” Her lips were pursed into a very thin line before, Y/N nodded. “Okay, so answer me this – did you know the Gate was open?” “N-no,” Billy stuttered out not sure where the conversation was going. “Did you know the Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer were back?” Once again, he replied with a soft ‘no’. “Did you have any clue any of this would happen?” her voice was getting louder with each word. Billy hid his face in his palms but shook his head no. “Then why are you punishing yourself?” “Because who else am I supposed to punish?!” he exploded jumping up. “You?! I was the one who put you in danger, I am the one with the shit father who’s even shittier now! All of your biggest problems in life have been because of me, and now whenever we’ll go to the beach, whenever you’ll take a shower, I’ll have to see those fucking marks on your back that you wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for me!” Y/N was practically shaking as she stood face her husband, despite the tendrils of pain rippling down her back. “I did not sit by your hospital bed for two whole days while you were unconscious, I didn’t spend my last summer here with you in the ICU for you to say this bullshit to me,” she seethed and moved closer. “Now, you’ll listen to me Billy Hargrove, we’ve been through so much shit, it’s insane. I could write a novel about it and still, there wouldn’t be enough pages to tell the full story.” Her gaze was piercing, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Y/N’s. No matter how much Billy wanted to, it was impossible as every word found its mark, yet he still listened to her, still nodded along and let the tears slip down his cheeks, his wife’s soft thumbs brushing them away. “I did not go through childbirth, through doubting myself if I’m a good person, let alone a mother; I did not go through this shit, only for you to tell me that you don’t wanna wear that ring anymore, cause guess what? I’ve fucked up too. That day at the pool when we got into that huge argument and the whole Mind Flayer shit happened to you? I blame myself for that.” Billy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “But – but it’s not. You had nothing to do with it… it just happened, it was bad luck.” “Exactly,” a painful smile of relief made her lips pull up hoping he'd get where she was going with it. “I know it wasn’t my fault, I can’t control the Mind Flayer, but I still blame myself. Maybe if I’d been more understanding, maybe if I’d tried to work it out, it wouldn’t have happened... you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” His hands shook as he settled them on Y/N’s waist, pressing his forehead tightly to hers. He’d never even considered that she blamed herself for that summer’s events. He never even entertained that idea, ‘cause it was simply untrue, so he didn’t spend time on it. “You blame yourself for this, and I blame myself for what happened to you... even though it was neither of our faults... So,” Y/N let out a shaky breath, “put that fucking ring back on your finger, or I swear, I’ll serve you some divorce papers.” Billy chuckled, pulling back from the embrace to fish out the ring from his pocket, but not before pulling Y/N in for a passionate kiss. Fuck, did it feel good to kiss her again. “Yes, mam.” Beautifully, as if it was made to sit at the base of his left ring finger, the piece of jewellery slid on and stayed there. As it would forever. “I love you,” he whispered pecking her lips. “I love you too, dumbass.” “Whatever you say Mrs Dumbass,” he bit on his bottom lip and glanced down at her. “You’re an amazing person, by the way. And an even better mother.” Y/N mouthed a ‘thank you’ against his lips before caressing them again. “You two okay there?” Joyce asked peaking inside the bedroom as they stepped back from one another. Only then did they realize when the argument had started everyone else had left the room to give them privacy to work things out. Billy nodded, smiling over at Y/N. “Yeah, we’re alright. But I think we’ll be even better when we decide what to do with the whole Upside-Down thing.” “I think I have an idea,” Y/N sighed and, leaning heavily on Billy’s shoulder they entered the living room where everyone else was. Max raised a concerned eyebrow, thumb between her teeth, and when their eyes met, she gave the redhead a small but assuring smile, making her heart lift from her feet back to her chest, knowing that everything was okay between the two. Hopper opened his arms and then put them on his hips. “We’re all ears.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Hawkins’ Charm tag list: @genius2050 @aiifandomsunite @ashleymarieriffle @littlefool-smalljester @infinitelycharmed23 @llcalumllhoodll @benevolentgemini @rxmanovbby @euphoniumpets @krazykatykat456 @believerofall @ccidk @babechief @meganmj @blackhood5sos @fml9603 @noodlenerd101 @universefinds @kuroidesuchloe @im-a-stranger-thing @grxxn-gardxns @springholland @beforethebraces @robinisourlesbianmom @queeneliza108 @neenaw-neenaw @lexisntthatweird @choicesismylife @mckenzie2020 @kcd15 @snuggleducky @reckless-sofia @didyouseetheflair @silver-winter-wolf @jay-ta-blog @hopeless-lovex0 @anyasthoughts @robinismyqueen @yeah-butyourenot-dacremontgomery @mcrganstarks @psychoticobsession @cutehipstergirl25 @sbfandom @mickmoon @jackyfrost01 @txhmine @dark-princess99 @morgangrice18 @changingmylifestyle367 @sweetdayme4427 @alowexpectation @sexyvixen7 @golddvstwoman @evelynfreakinaddams @sunfucked @sataninsatin @queenbbarnes @venomavocado @rangotangomango @psychosupernatural @sereiins @frickin-bats @bandsruinedmylife @thee-brunette-princess @queenskyster @aspiring-fangirls-world @gracethegeek9902 @katiexdacre @dreamwavej @escaping-reality21 @void-fire-rose @slvtherinseeker @paranoiadestroyah @arromite @jojo-buttercup @danarysstormborn @graveyard--baby--666

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

A/N: heya! Sorry for the delay on this part, but I had such a full weekend that I just didn’t have the time to write or post, but I hope you enjoy this part. The next one might be the last or close to that, but I have a few other Billy imagines in mind, so if you wanna be tagged in any of the future fics drop a message (whether Hawkins’ Charm tag list, Forever tag list (means you’ll be tagged in EVERYTHING or just Billy’s :) )

ALSO! HOLY SHIT WE HIT 6K!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! THANK YOU!!! I CANNOT BELIEVE THERE ARE SO MANY OF YOU THAT LIKE WHAT I CREATE AND IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME THAT YOU’RE STICKING AROUND :****

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. what did ya think? :)

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 4 years

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Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 1

My oh my it has been a while, everyone! You have my deepest apologies for the lack of content you've seen from me lately, but I've been busy with finals, graduation, and so much else! Finally, though, things are settling down and it's time to get right back to it!

This is my latest story that was written through my commission work and I had absolutely no doubt that you all would love to see it! It's already fully complete and I'll be uploading a chapter a day until it's all finished! It's quite a bit of an AU, but I'm sure you all will enjoy!

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Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself.

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

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Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

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Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

Read and follow the story on AO3!

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<<Next Chapter>>

Chapter One

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When imagining the different ways in which his dreams could have been crushed and ground down into a fine dust that would never again be thought of, Aizawa Shouta had not bothered to contemplate that his world would end due to robots, yet U.A. had, very firmly, set him straight.

Shouta mused to himself, as he trudged into his empty home and kicked his shoes off, that he had been prepared for how difficult the written exam would be. U.A. was one of the top hero schools in the country for a reason, after all, and it was logical to assume their entrance exams would be just as rigorous.

He had also been prepared for the scorn that he would face once his quirk was revealed. An Erasure quirk was rare enough in their world of quirks, but one that could specifically ‘steal’ someone’s quirk when merely looking at them? Shouta had been accused of being a villain-in-the-making more than once, something he took a few bitter seconds to fester over as he trudged to his room, bag thrown somewhere into a corner to rot.

Shouta truly thought that had been prepared for a lot, including a rigorous physical exam that would test the potential students to their limits, but robots? Erasure could be a powerful quirk if used correctly, but it didn’t do shit against something like robots. There had been a chance, at least, if he had been matched against other students. Then, at least, he could have evened the playing field and won just through taking his opponent off guard.

There weren’t any ways to take a robot off guard, as Shouta’s bruised, battered, and exhausted body could fully attest to. It was fine, though. It was fine, because his written exam score would, if nothing else, ensure him a place in U.A.’s general studies program. He would still be getting into U.A. even if it wasn’t as a hero.

Getting into their General Studies department was an achievement all on its own, Shouta knew, but that seemed to do little to stop the frustrated tears that were burning his already dry and aching eyes, forcing him to painfully scrub them away as he stumbled into his room and prepared himself to collapse on his bed and sleep his grief and anger away.

At least, Shouta had been about to collapse and sleep his grief and anger away until he noticed the sword that had already taken his place with a scroll attached to the hilt.

The sword was nice enough, Shouta supposed, with a golden sheath that reminded him of days in the sun and a cord that tied the hilt and sheath together that was as red as Shouta’s own eyes when he used his quirk. The hilt, honestly, was both the oddest and nicest part, being made from what looked like jade that was carved with neatly etched swirls that seemed to follow an unnoticeable pattern.

It was a nice enough sword that Shouta was immediately backing out of his room and looking around the hallways suspiciously, straining his hearing to see if either his parents were about to ‘surprise’ him or if some thief had broken in and put the sword there as an unspoken threat to not interfere with his business.

When nothing happened except Shouta’s pain making itself known the longer he stood still, he relaxed and stepped into his room, attention turning to the scroll that looked like a real scroll as opposed to something that could be bought in one of the train station novelty shops.

A quick inspection revealed that there was nothing that made it seem as if it were a trap, Shouta carefully wiggling it free from where it was under the sword before he was unrolling it just as carefully, scanning the words of the ‘letter’ before his breath came out of him in a rush at seeing his grandfather’s name elegantly scripted at the bottom.

“There are phones for a reason, Grandfather,” Shouta muttered to himself, taking the scroll to his desk and finally sitting down, taking a few moments to let his body rest before he was looking at the scroll properly. His grandfather was an eccentric man, but he had never been the type to write his letters as scrolls all while leaving swords on Shouta’s bed. Settling into his seat, Shouta let his eyes trail back to the top, heart sinking as he read the first few lines.

My dearest grandson,

If I’ve timed the arrival of this properly, then you’ve just arrived home from the entrance exam to the hero school you have your heart set on. You have also failed the physical portion of the test, as my quirk informed me that you would.

Shouta’s grandfather had a quirk that was deemed useless by hero standards, but incredible by the family standards. Bloodlines was a quirk that allowed his grandfather to see future moments that would happen to him or anyone within his bloodline - one of the reasons the Aizawa family was as successful as it was today, Shouta mused. Still, for his grandfather to have seen his failure and not told him… He wasn’t expecting it to hurt that much.

He was half-tempted to put the letter aside, certain that it would be full of platitudes and promises of how his life would be successful even if his dreams of being a hero never worked out. Shouta was tempted, but he was also curious to know why his grandfather wrote to him on a scroll of all things; a scroll that had been attached to a sword.

I don’t need the use of my quirk, however, to know that you no doubt spent minutes debating just now whether you should continue reading this letter or not and suffer through my pointless reassurances, but let me reassure you just once that this letter is not to tell you that you’re better off not being a hero. It’s rather the opposite, in fact. It rather makes sense that of all of our descendants today, it would be you, the little boy who couldn’t stand illogical choices and harmful behavior, to be the one to decide that the world should be more fair than it is cruel.

The sword on your bed, Shouta? It is a gift to you just as it once was to me. In my great-grandfather’s words, and in his grandfather’s words, and so on back to the beginning, it is “a gift of sunshine” that will light your way. In my own words, however, it is a passing of wills, a hope for the future, and a promise.

A gift of sunshine? Shouta frowned as the words seemed to batter at something in his chest, aching fiercely as glanced to the bed where the sword still laid. It glinted in the soft afternoon sunlight and looked less like a dangerous weapon and more like something Shouta almost wanted to call soft.

This is a gift to you because I know that you will not lose your dream here, something that again I have no need of my quirk to tell me. You are too stubborn a fool to accept your loss as anything more or less than a setback, and so this gift will inspire you to not give up on your beautiful dream.

It is also a passing of wills, however, in the way that our family was not always successful with numbers, as in your father’s case. Once, long, long ago, before quirks were ever even dreamed of, our family descended from a samurai.

Shouta couldn’t help his startled snort of laughter that he was sure he would be scolded for if anyone had been in the room with him. His grandfather had always been an eccentric and serious man, but to write on a scroll so seriously that their family was descended from a samurai, well… There were very few families in Japan that didn’t claim such a thing.

Looking back down to find his place, and seeing the words ‘stop laughing,’ Shouta felt mildly chastised and mostly annoyed. Even when his grandfather lived hours away in the countryside, he could still never get away with anything.

Stop laughing, young man, I know what you’re thinking! I was rather amused myself when my great-grandfather told me all of this when I was around your age, but the stories are true - and so is our recordkeeping. Aizawa Adachi was born a farmer’s son before he went on to serve the lord of his land at the time, becoming a fearsome and undefeatable opponent.

He lived and fought with this sword, this sword that he had won through a duel gone wrong and stood by his side afterwards, during the time of the Meiji Restoration and through the end of the Edo period - the end of Feudal Lords, samurai, and the wicked things that crept through the night, or so everyone believed. Wicked things are always good at blending in, as we know even today.

That part, at least, Shouta could believe. There was a reason that heroes had appeared at the start of the age of quirks, and that was because villains had appeared, too. Quirks were beautiful, amazing, and powerful things that defined a person as much as anything else, but they could also be dangerous; they could be deadly.

That much was true, but Shouta still couldn’t figure out why his grandfather thought to put all of this in a scroll and send it along with a sword, especially when they called every few weeks and visited every few months. Hopefully his grandfather would get to the point soon, but Shouta was doubtful. If it was one thing his grandfather could do, it was talk.

Adachi refused to leave his ways of protecting others in the past and traveled the land as one of the ronin, a wandering swordsman who always used his sword to help people and keep them safe during the turmoil that followed the Revolution. He used the same sword that now lays upon your bed.

Because that certainly wasn’t creepy, Shouta snorted to himself, glancing over to his bed to see the beautiful sword that certainly didn’t look as if it were hundreds of years old.

In the old days the Aizawa family kept to Adachi’s oath, protecting Japan from threats both inside and out and keeping the people safe from what lurked in the dark. The times have changed, Shouta, but our wills have not, as proven with you and your desire to protect. You want to be a hero? The names change, but the heart never does.

Quirks may have come into this world, dear boy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the same world that it’s always been. I know you failed your exam, but I also know that this will be nothing more than a setback to make you work even more fiercely than before.

This sword is a hope for the future. I have seen what it will be through the times surrounding you, Shouta, and I wish I could say that you will be safe, but we both know that the path you have chosen will never be safe again.

You will bleed from the pain that is required for you to follow this path. You will break from the pressure of your dream that is placed upon your shoulders. You will fall apart piece by piece one day and, for a very long time after, you will feel as if you were not put back together right. I have seen all of this, Shouta, and you will know pain and suffering by becoming a hero.

The rest of the words faded away, Shouta jumping at realizing his hands had been shaking enough for the scroll to slip out of them and fall to his desk in a flutter of movement. As much as he wanted to pick the scroll up and keep reading the last few paragraphs, he couldn’t make his heart stop pounding as if it were ready to burst.

It wasn’t new information for Shouta. Everyone knew how serious it was to be a hero in these days, and everyone knew that it wasn’t an easy life. It was possible for most heroes to die while they were active, and pro heroes who lived to see retirement were rare and few. It wasn’t new information, but Shouta had never seen it stated so bluntly in something addressed to him.

To know that his grandfather had seen his future and saw the pain he would go through if he stayed on his path to become a hero, it… It was terrifying. He was fifteen and an entire possible future for him had been seen and recorded. That was as terrifying as something could get, and yet- Well. And yet.

And yet Shouta still wanted to help people with his power. And yet he still wanted to keep people safe the way there were heroes that made him feel safe. And yet, even with his future known, he didn’t want to change his path for anything because his grandfather’s visions meant he did it - they meant he had become a hero. And yet, after the realization that his future would be full of pain, Shouta picked the scroll back up and kept reading.

And yet you will be the most magnificent hero, my Shouta.

You’re so intent on becoming a hero that even if I told you in detail what I saw, you would not waver. So, since you’re so intent on becoming a hero, on becoming a warrior that will protect Japan and all her people, I knew it was time for this sword to be passed onto you.

This sword’s name is Hizashi and once you unravel the red cord that binds sword to sheath, you will be bound by our family’s oath to, one way or another, keep these people safe.

This sword is a gift. It is a passing of wills. It is a hope for the future. It is a promise.

So, if you truly want to be a hero, pick up this sword.

The letter ended there, his grandfather’s signature following in the space left behind with no further explanations.

Setting the scroll down carefully on his desk, Shouta pushed himself to his feet with a wince of pain before walking over to his bed, arms crossed as he stared down at the beautiful sword that sat there, looking more decorative than something that had actually been used in battle and had no doubt killed people.

Uncrossing his arms and leaning over, Shouta trailed his fingers across the sheath, feeling something that he could almost call familiarity before it faded away. “So, your name is Hizashi, huh?” Shouta’s eyes traced the bright golden colors of the sheath, a slip of sunlight falling into his room through the window and hitting a portion of the sheath just so to make it look like it had become sunlight itself. “The perception of sunlight… I suppose it fits for you, doesn’t it?” It was a good name for this sword.

“Apparently my grandfather thinks I actually know how to fight with swords and that, when I become a hero, I’ll use you. He’s never been wrong before, but, between you and me, he’s going mad in his old age.” Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, and still trailing his fingers over the sheath, Shouta sighed softly to himself as he realized that he was talking to a sword, instead of being sane and merely talking at a sword.

Glancing back down to the unmoving sword, Shouta shifted and made himself comfortable. “I suppose if you’re just going to sit there, then you can listen.” Gathering his thoughts and making sure to take a moment to be certain that no one was home that could overhear him, Shouta tapped his finger against the sheath of the sword as if trying to get the attention of someone.

“I failed my school entrance exam today, the one that would teach me how to be a pro hero, because the tests weren’t fair. They were geared towards physical quirks, and mine, Erasure, can only erase quirks. It can’t help me against robots.” Shouta was at too big a disadvantage physically when it was just him on his own. He knew a bit about fighting, but fighting robots with nothing except his hands? It wasn’t logical. His grandfather seemed to think the same.

“I suppose that could be one reason that you were given to me,” Shouta mumbled softly, feeling his other hand clench hard enough to have his nails digging into his palms. “I don’t have the type of quirk other heroes have. All I can do is level a playing field that I can’t even touch.” It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he wanted to do nothing except help, and he was instead given a quirk that was seen as a villain’s quirk.

Leaning forward, Shouta carefully pulled the sword into his lap, eyeing the red cord that kept the sword bound inside its sheath. There was a ‘spell tag’ there for decoration that was dramatic even by his grandfather’s standards. Still, Shouta couldn’t help but to feel something like anticipation.

“Grandfather said you were a promise,” Shouta said softly, feeling something in the air that made him choose his words carefully. “I need to be stronger than I am now. I need to be strong enough that I can protect others without losing myself.”

Shouta’s nails dug under the spell tag, removing it and shivering as he felt something like static burst across his fingertips. For the first time since he realized he had failed his entrance exam, Shouta felt something like hope. “I’m not giving up. I won’t.”

With those words clear in his head, Shouta tugged at the red cord until it came undone, falling limp around his hands and wrists as Shouta looked down at the unbound sword, declaration leaving him before he could think it through or take it back. A strong, clear, “I’m going to be a hero.”

There was a burst of something, Shouta feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs the same time pure energy slammed into him, hands tight around the sheath of the sword that almost looked as if it were glowing.

‘A hero, huh?’ A crystal clear voice spoke brightly from inside him, Shouta staring at the sword and feeling as if it were smiling, of all things. ‘That sounds like it could be fun!’

#boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #my writing #original #a gift of sunshine

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shekeepsthebees · 5 years

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This was supposed to be a post about Bible study this week, but I digressed into some other reflection

Oh, hey there. It’s been a hot minute since I used this. Without digressing too much, I’ll say that this platform was a pillar in my high school and early college lives. It also was a fantastic way for me to therapeutically explore who I was and re-learn myself when I was set free from an emotionally abusive relationship at the end of my sophomore year of college. Now, feeling the weight of grad school in full force, I find myself back here. Is it because this is easier for me to quickly articulate what I need? Perhaps. Is this post a one-off because I left my journal at school yesterday? Quite possibly.

So, since I’ve taken a hiatus, it should be noted that I graduated undergrad, moved home to work for a few months, and moved to another new city to begin graduate school in a 6 month period. I still use my profile picture here because I don’t think I’ll ever take another photo like that where I like how I look again. June was spent in a dormitory, July was spent in Italy (not romantic Italy, more like 10-hour days in a technical school working on a startup), and August meant moving in with a stranger, in a very strange city, and starting over. Just because I successfully navigated my social life in undergrad (with time) evidently did not mean I’d find equal success in graduate school. In undergrad, I was able to cling to the overwhelming majority of people on campus who claimed Christ.

Here, I’ve barely found a church. I say barely because I found one, but it is geographically distant from myself, and the only small group I can attend is comprised of women my mother’s age. As an old soul, I can find and appreciate all of the nutrient wisdom they have to offer, but consistent discipleship from people in different stages of life than my own does not create abundant opportunities for accountability. I am learning and leaning on these women as I get to know them--I cried this past week when sharing that, like an overtired toddler, I cried in my mom’s arms before getting food and just had a little melt down over the weekend--lots of tears shed, and it’s just the stress of not sleeping and having great expectations sitting on my shoulders.

I want to appreciate this season that I’m in, as it is one of intense intellectual and personal growth, but I yearn spiritually for stability. And I know that my spiritual life is the foundation upon which I’m supposed to build my life, yet here I am, letting it rot and trying to shift things around to accommodate that. In an egocentric city, entrenched in a program of Silicon Valley pride, I want to seek and exude humility and love. I want to reflect that my gain is not what I live for, but instead Christ’s glory.

O to grace how great a debtor Daily I’m constrained to be! Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, Bind my wandering heart to Thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love; Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above.

Rachel

#real blogging

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autofoebia · 5 years

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works in progress

1) (something like) an operation - memoir

2) bitterness and black mold - fiction

A dentist I’ve known my entire life leaned over me with a pair of pliers in hand and said, “Tell me if it hurts,” before shoving his hands into my mouth. I was too numb to even register the brush of latex against my teeth. I lay there, tiny mouth forced open by a cheek retractor, my fingers in a death grip on my mother’s wrist, and I remember wondering how I would tell him it hurt. How would I even be able to buck up against him with the nurse’s arm across my chest? A mouth full of fingers really knows how to keep one from screaming out in agony. Perhaps the dentist was aware of that and was merely required to calm my nerves. Maybe he was playing a cruel joke on me. I considered there, on the pale blue chair with my chin tipped up and my eyes screwed shut, if pain ceased to exist under the blanket of novocaine.

The tapping of metal against bone rattled my skull. I closed my eyes tight enough to see streaks of illusionary light behind my eyelids and squeezed my mother hard enough to earn a pinch on the back of my hand. This was entirely her decision. In the summer of 2016, they found two impacted wisdom teeth on my bottom jaw. Me, a freshly graduated teenager with my head buried in Pokemon Go, expected and secretly wished for an easy operation. I had never gone under, never really understood all the pretty prose about surgeries I’d read, and somewhere, deep down, I was curious to experience going down into darkness, or waking into light. Things I had never truly considered before, I wished to experience and understand it all.

Suffice to say, when the dentist recommended I simply come in on my off day and get the two teeth out via novocaine-numbed-just-barely-a-surgery-surgery.

He pulled on my gums, my head snapping after his strength. The nurse pulled me back down again and I squeezed my mother’s wrist again, leaving crescent marks in the thin skin. The dentist twisted his wrist. I could feel the coldness of the forceps against my cheek but I couldn’t feel what it was grabbing, and then I heard a crack in the back of my throat. The taste, dulled by my useless tongue, of my own shattered tooth permeated the chill of the numbing agent. I am shaken and, oddly, intrigued. The clinical air, just as clean as the counters to my right and the sink to my left, was shot through with the coppery reek of blood. My mother made a sickened noise behind my head,

“You got it?” She asked. I could tell she wanted to go wait in the other room. Something heavy dripped down my chin and I kept my eyes shut tight as if I were afraid of whatever it was. I couldn’t help but think it was my tongue, cut free from the back of my throat.

“Got it. I’ll do the next one too.” The dentist said. He pulled his hands back and shook out his wrists, and I opened my eyes in time to see the smearing of gore on his gloves, on his tools. He looked like Dr. Frankenstein himself, hidden behind a surgical mask and a hair net and a pair of thick-framed glasses, all smudged by the faintest mist of red. He loomed over me, the monster, ready to finish the job.

---

Mara came a week before the fall season started in a tiny lime-colored car. She pulled into the driveway, still overgrown with roots and brown needles and caked-down mud, stepped out of that little car, and stared up at the wilting walls of 356 Upper Mountain Road. That house, a two-floor Victorian which had laid dormant for the past thirty years, stared back with all the interest of a decayed corpse. Three weeks ago, Mara had seen it while driving to her classes at the local university. Then, a “For Rent” sign leaned against one of the pine trees on the front lawn. A week after that initial discovery, she contacted the owner. Another week and she was there, on the front lawn, surrounded by grass grown high enough to swallow her feet and trees so heavy with age they hung down to caress the top of her head with their needles. If she were a more optimistic person, she may have thought those small touches were enthusiastic hellos from that old house. Greetings, like that of a new roommate. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. I hope we can get along.’

One should consider the house when thinking of haunted houses. Ghosts are different always, with backstories of pain and rage and sadness and murder and love. Houses, though. The houses are usually concrete in their construction, in their own backstories. They are built on graveyards or cursed lands, constructed with awful angles and horrendous hidden rooms that welcome creeping darkness akin to a living, breathing beast. 356 was nothing like those haunted houses. 356 was built in the 70s, lived in by fairly happy families, and then left alone to rot until the landowner accepted the first call she received about a renter. No ghosts haunted 356. Not a soul had been in its gaping halls longer than an hour until Mara showed up with her tiny suitcase and her tiny colorful furniture. When she entered through the front door she felt no chill, no eyes on her back, heard no scratches from the basement or attic. When she investigated the old dusty rooms she found no footprints, no shadows in the covered mirrors as she uncovered them. There were no strange smells, no odd angles, nothing but empty, stagnant air and sunlight streaming through the windows. What haunts a house if nothing has died there, nothing has come and gone there for years? What haunts a house if not a ghost? Well, one should consider the house.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Mars,” Lydia, Mara’s younger sister, said as she helped her settle her mattress against the wall of the master bedroom. Her weary gaze took in the square, sturdy walls, covered in a blue wallpaper that may have depicted bundles of flowers once but was now too faded to even have a texture. She scrutinized the dust-gray shag carpet, which Mara had probably deep cleaned only a night or two ago, and the ceiling, which held a weepy fan and enough wrinkles in the white paint to warrant a plastic surgeon. The grand window to the left of them, which was in need of polishing, was perhaps the most beautiful thing about the room, with its curling ornamentation and balcony access. Mara, despite her sister’s obvious worries, still grinned as she stepped into the center of the wide, sunny floor, arms spread wide. She said,

“Don’t I? This place is great, Lydia, trust me, and mom said she’d cover rent until I graduate too.”

“Lucky break,” Lydia leaned against the wall, pulling two cigarettes from her back pocket. She offered the extra to Mara, who reached over and took it between two fingers.

“Didn’t you quit?” She asked as she lit up and threw her lighter back over to Lydia.

“Thought about it. Didn’t have the guts,” Lydia sighed out a cloud of spicy smoke, “I’ve decided I’m fine with my teeth falling out by the time I’m thirty. Besides, it makes me look sexy.”

“So you think, you baby,” Mara said, “When’re you and mom driving down?”

“Next Friday,” Lydia stared down at her fingernails and found infallible interest in her cuticles, “I’ll miss you, you know.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted an out of state school,” Mara said, “But I’ll miss you too, I guess.” She smirked and wandered over to the window, dragged her fingers through her hair, and watched as the sun began to sink behind the Jersey suburbs and trees far beyond her and her sister and her empty rented house. Lydia stared at her back. Anything the sisters wished to share, anything left unsaid, remained unsaid. The house felt it too and bided its time. A seed, it thought, has been planted.

Mara was a senior at Montclair University, just up the road from 356. Her commute, which had been a near half house drive from Lyndhurst, was now a mere five-minute scoot from her driveway to the overstuffed parking lot outside the business building. She spent most of her week cooped up in front of a computer, or in the back of her fashion and business courses, popping nicotine gum against the roof of her mouth and texting the ever populated group chat. Her conversations at school usually consisted of monotonous recollections of previous discussions, retellings of stories everyone had already heard before, and, currently, a room-by-room explanation of her new rented home. The audience of other fashion business majors, a gaggle of messy buns and Greek noses and perfectly manicured hands, listened with varying degrees of interest. At the mention of an overgrown but roomy backyard, one of the messy buns who Mara thought was named Cindy let out a happy gasp and said,

“You should throw a party.”

“What?” Mara responded, unable to fight off a smile of interest.

“A party, dude. Housewarming, you know,” Cindy said, “Drinks and gifts and shit. And if you’ve got as much room as you say you do you can probably host like, half the school.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Mara said.

#my writing #writeblr #memoir #horror #fiction #these are for class and i hate both of them

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rallis-fatalis · 5 years

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Friends in High Places

Rallis had hoped to make new friends once she set out on adventure. She had hoped to find kind friendly people that wouldn't see her as a monster, people she could smile and laugh and tell stories with. On her first stop during her exploring, she most certainly does find a new friend, one she's very happy to have made, but also one she could have never expected to make. Her first new friend is most certainly a special one!

"AND STAY OUT, FILTHY BEAST!"

Rallis yelped as another axe soared through the air, missing her head by a fraction of an inch. It landed in the dirt ahead of her with unnerving precision. She sprinted faster than ever through the graveyard and away from the crazy shopkeeper trying to behead her. She ran and ran, not really paying attention to where she was going. Once she felt far enough away to be safe, she leaned on her knees to catch her breath.

'This place is crazy! Everyone is so mean!'

Rallis straightened herself with a whine and looked around. There was nothing but swamp in every direction and the sound of the ocean to the south. She had no idea where she was.

'I'll take being lost over being hunted.'

And so she began to walk.

Rallis had finally been left to do whatever she pleased in life, having a 'graduation' of sorts at Varrock where she was deemed civil and experienced enough to explore the world on her own, without supervision of any kind. Reldo recommended pursuing the adventurer's life and enrolling in the Champions' Guild, and it did sound like a good idea, but one she didn't want to chase after just yet. She was finally free, no one babysitting her or breathing down her neck or telling her what to do. She wanted to explore as much as she could and enjoy her newfound freedom before coming back to join this Guild. The first place on her to-visit list was a small city called Lumbridge. She'd seen pictures of it and heard stories and it sounded like a cute, small, charming place with humble people and lots of animals. Instead it was a place full of aggressive goblins that attacked anyone who drew near, cults of people that wanted to skin her alive for no other reason than she looked different, and other such aggressive and rude townsfolk. Once a shop owner by the name of Bob decided to throw axes at her head and scream profanities at her, she thought perhaps Lumbridge wasn't the best place to explore. She hoped the rest of the world wasn't like that.

Rallis thought and walked through the Lumbridge swamp until it started to turn more grassy and dirty underfoot than swampy and mushy. She must have reached the swamp's end, she figured. It was certainly smaller and better smelling than the one in Morytania, that was for sure. As she made her way out of the muck, a hole in the ground caught her eye. It was carved with precision, not something that just happened to crumble away, and had an old rotting rope tied to a nearby rock that dangled into the darkness. The rope swayed invitingly, practically begging Rallis to crawl into the dark underground depths. A smile spread across the dragon's face as the prospect of adventure took hold of her. Without thinking of the possible dangers that could wait ahead, she swung down the hole into the dark subterranean depths.

The dragon hopped off the rope to the cold ground below. She brushed the rotting bits of woven jute off her hands and looked around. She didn't know what she was expecting but perhaps something more than plain gray rock. The place stank as well, like mildew and swamp gas. The rock formed a tunnel beside her, beckoning her to explore farther. Rallis did so eagerly, excitedly hopping into the darkness.

Rallis had never been more glad to have the ability to see in the dark. The caverns that stretched before her were completely dark. Unlike her home in Taverley Dungeon which had pools and streams of lava to light the way, this place had no such light source. It made everything before her seem all the more ominous, but also intriguing. The only way to properly investigate anything here was to get close to it, so she'd do just that!

She quietly made her way around the open area she found herself in. She sniffed the rocks that jutted from the floor and recoiled with an undignified snort at the gross mossy smell of the weird plants that grew on them. She stuck her face close to the bubbling pools of green muck and was surprised to find frog eggs growing in the waters. One parent frog even hopped on her head. She laughed and gave it a pat before placing it back into the water and leaving the nest alone. A low growl responded to her laughter, a noise that made a shiver run up Rallis' spine. It sounded like it came from all around her, from the rocks themselves, and the walls even shuddered with the sound.

'I don't like the sound of that...'

She quickly ran away from the cavern, fleeing farther into the underground.

The sound of bubbling water and croaking frogs faded away as Rallis moved on. The air grew unnervingly still and quiet, and for some reason she found herself unable to see a thing. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but her vision did not clear. Everything around her was pure black. She hissed and rummaged through her rune pouch, hoping to find some fire runes. As she stuck her hand inside the small pouch, something crawled up her hand and arm. More followed, now also crawling up her legs. She could feel whatever the small somethings were try to bite through her scales. They couldn't, but it didn't make the feeling any more comfortable. Whatever they were they were as shadowy black as the world around her.

"Whatever you are, get off me!" Rallis snapped and shook like a dog. Some of the small things flew off, but more seemed to take their place. She could feel them crawl up her neck, reaching for her face. "I SAID GET OFF ME!" She shook the things off her hand and grabbed as many runes as she could, no longer caring which she pulled out. "THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR NOT LISTENING!" The runes glowed in her hand. Rallis smiled, thinking she grabbed fire runes after all. Her smile quickly turned to a look of regret as the runes sparked in an array of colors, illuminating the chaos runes in hand, and exploded. The force threw her against a wall and the light made the things crawling on her flee. The unending shadows fled with the sudden light, retreating into a darker part of the caves. She shook her head and tried to catch a glimpse of her attackers in the fading light of the explosion.

"Bugs?! Really?! That's all you were? Now I feel silly." Some of the bugs lay crisped and burning away from the explosion. They were pure shiny black. They must have covered every inch of the stone walls, making it appear as an endless void. Rallis hissed at them. "What you get for trying to bite a dragon!"

A loud angry grumble shook the wall behind her, the same grumble as before but much louder. It sounded like it was right beside her. She could even feel something moving next to her, making the scales on the back of her neck crawl. Rallis slowly timidly turned around, and in the dying embers of the rune explosion, she could make out a long, clawed, green hand reaching for her through a crack in the wall. Rallis screamed as it swiped down to grab her head, dragon ducking away from the wall at the last moment. The hand tried to grab her by the snout and drag her closer. Before it could latch on, Rallis snapped her mouth shut on one of its warped fingers and ripped it off. A world shattering scream shook the caverns, rocks crumbling down from the ceiling. Rallis spit the beast's gross puss-like blood out of her mouth and ran away screaming as a new hand reached for her.

The caverns shook with the angered hungry roars of whatever monster was trying to grab hold of her. Greedy hands reached for her through every crack in the rocky walls. She could feel one rip some of her feathers off as it tried to drag her away by the tail. The longer she evaded the beast, the angrier it grew, roars echoing louder and causing rocks to fall all around her. Her heart raced as the hands grew even closer, one reaching for her head. One hand snapped closed and the walls shook with anger as it missed, though not intentionally. Rallis tripped on a pile of fallen stone as the hand was moments from snapping her neck. She rolled into a river of green bubbling swamp water, choking her as it dragged her under the surface. She hauled herself out and onto the other side stream, hacking and coughing up foul tasting liquid. The walls howled angrily, honing in on the sound of her coughing and pounded on the stone searching for openings. She wasn't about to wait for them to find one. A hole in the wall with the promising light of safety glimmered up ahead. She just hoped it led to a way out.

Rallis ran through the hole and felt the floor disappear beneath her feet. She screamed as she began to slip down a sheer cliff face, an endless abyss of darkness and death opening wide beneath her. She turned and sank her claws into a small handhold as she fell, her feet scraping the stone in hopes of finding a similar purchase. Her talons sank into the stone, 14 little claws and a few inches of rocky grooves being all that kept her from falling to her death. She froze, too scared to even quiver in fear. She caught a glimpse of the endless pit beneath her and quickly turned back to face the stone in front of her.

'Someone help me, please someone help me, I can't move, what do I do?!!?'

Tears trickled down her face as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to contain her panic. Her arms were getting tired and she couldn't move. She could feel the moment she let go with even one claw she would slip and fall.

"SOMETHING, ANYTHING, HELP ME!"

The light that had beckoned her inside grew brighter. Rallis opened her eyes to find something bright and blue floating next to her, some odd kind of animated light. It seemed curious as to what this strange beast was doing clinging onto the side of the wall.

"Light spirit, can you please help me?" she pleaded.

It seemed to consider the idea, slowly bobbing up in down in thought. Rallis could feel her claws slipping. "Please!"

It shuddered and grew smaller for a moment, then stretched easily twice its size. It wrapped around Rallis and she could feel herself grow weightless. She yelped in fear as she felt herself being pulled away from the wall, claws wildly scrambling for the stone, but she quickly realized she wasn't falling but rather floating. The light gently floated upward until it crested the cliff edge and deposited her on the safety of the firm flat ground.

Rallis sighed in relief and splayed herself on the floor, as if trying to hug the entire earth itself. "Thank you, light spirit. You're a lifesaver."

It flashed brightly and floated effortlessly across the abyss. Now that Rallis wasn't dangling over certain death, she took a good look around from her spot on the floor. The light she saw wasn't sunlight as she thought, it was a whole colony of light spirits. They shimmered a beautiful blue, lighting up the immense cavern she now found herself in. They looked like stars against the night sky. She could feel herself drawn to them, edging closer to the abyss they floated over, but she quickly snapped herself back to reality. She wasn't about to repeat her death defying stunt for another look at the animated magic.

Rallis sat up and looked for a way out. She didn't want to go back the way she came, worried the wall monsters were still lying in wait for her. The flat stone created a path that descended around the edge of the pit, so she supposed she would head that way.

After a few descents and a bit more walking, Rallis came upon a fainter glow of a different kind. It was much more subdued than the light spirits that floated around the cavern, and it illuminated some kind of large creature sleeping on the walkway. Rallis tensed, wary after the wall monsters.

"Normally when I receive visitors, they provide me with a ssstory, not a show. Your act was quite entertaining."

Rallis' ears shot up in surprise. The creature spoke! She relaxed and walked over. The creature appeared to be a massive green snake, coiled up in front of the entrance of a small cave. The snake stretched her head and towered over Rallis, long tail flicking about like an antsy guard.

"What brings a creature sssuch as yourself down here?" the snake asked.

"Exploring! I'm exploring the whole world! I found a hole that led underground and I wanted to investigate. But then things attacked me and I got chased in here. My name is Rallis, by the way! What's yours?"

"Another explorer... My name is Juna, one of Guthix's chosen guardians." She straightened proudly at her title. Rallis could see the symbol of Guthix painted on the snake's head.

"You like Guthix too? I was kinda raised by druids and they all liked him a lot. I think I like him too. He definitely seems better than Saradomin or Zamorak, that's for sure! If you're guarding Guthix, does that mean he's here?"

The informal way Rallis spoke about beings of such power made Juna feel almost offended in a way. She didn't quite have a word for it. It was like her visitor spoke of the gods as if they were ordinary people.

"I do not guard my god himssself. He has bid me to guard his tears, lessst the unworthy drink from them and use their power for evil purposes."

Rallis cocked her head, confused. She could see the pale glow from earlier stemmed from rivulets of shimmering water running down the walls of the cavern behind the snake. "Why would anyone want to drink someone's tears? That's weird."

For someone who claimed to follow Guthix, Juna was bewildered at the dragon's lack of knowledge and tone of borderline disrespect. "You would do well to watch your words! His tears bestow boons unlike any you have ssseen before. Power, knowledge, even life itself, he weeps so we may benefit."

Rallis perked up in interest. "What kind of knowledge?"

"Boundlesss knowledge. Anything he knows and more. The memory of the world is an open book for him and thus he knows all."

'So I could learn about where I came from?' Rallis thought. 'I'll lick some water off a wall for that!'

"I want some!" Rallis proclaimed excitedly. "I wanna learn stuff!"

Juna thought the request over. "If you desire the power of the tears, ssscale the climb in the distance and carve a bowl to hold them." She pointed to an incline hidden in the shadows. Rallis could make out the shapes of ore deposit mounds. "But I will warn you," Juna continued. "Should he or I feel your use of the tears' power threaten the balance of the world, there will be consequencesss. You will not leave here alive."

The cold honesty of her statement sent a shiver up Rallis' spine. There was no doubting the credibility of her threat, no, her promise. Although Juna looked to be just a large tired snake, Rallis was inclined to believe she could easily make good on her deadly promise. The dragon nodded in understanding and got to work. She'd take the risk. She didn't think she was bad after all, and she was sure they'd see that too.

Moments later, Rallis returned with a well-crafted stone bowl. She even took the time to carve little woad leaves and flowers on the sides. Juna coiled her massive tail out of the way to let Rallis pass. "When I deem you have gathered enough, you must leave. I expect you to listen."

The dragon nodded and hurried inside, eager to get started. The cavern of tears shimmered with an otherworldly magic. Blue and green streams of water trickled down the rocks and sparkled like rivers of light against a night sky. They almost didn't seem like water, and she was curious to see if they felt any different. She put a claw into one of the green rivulets and a great sadness came over her, tears forcing their way out of her eyes. She pulled her hand away and and rubbed her eyes. Perhaps she would have to stay away from the green tears.

Rallis gathered a bowl full of shimmering blue tears and Juna hissed for her to get out. She carefully tiptoed out so as not to lose a single drop. The snake glanced at her expectantly. Rallis stared down at the pool of blue in her hands. The longer she looked, the less it seemed like water. She was starting to question her decision to drink a mysterious magic liquid that dripped out of a swamp cave wall. But she wasn't about to back out now. She drank her bowl in one swig and stuck out her tongue. The taste was as unpleasant as she was expecting, but she'd eaten worse.

For a moment, nothing happened. She turned to Juna. "I thought this would make me learn stuff! I don't feel any--"

Suddenly, she began to waver. Her head grew dizzy and her limbs heavy. Rallis dropped her bowl and fell backward, flat on her back. Her eyelids felt so heavy, a level of exhaustion she had never felt before. Juna was telling her something, but her hearing was too stuffed to make out anything. The darkness of the cavern ceiling melded into darkness of sleep as her eyes fell shut.

_____________________________________________________

Rallis woke to inky blackness all around her. Nothing existed wherever she looked. Standing atop the same shadowy depths that stretched around her was disorienting and she begun to panic at the realization there wasn't a way out. She ran and ran into the darkness, but she couldn't even tell if she was moving. She could have been running in place and been none the wiser.

"What has you so scared, little one?"

A gentle quiet voice broke through the darkness. Rallis spun around but no one else was there.

"I suppose you can not hear me. You are just a dream after all."

The voice sounded like a he, so she would think of the voice as such. "I'm a dream? No, this is a dream! You're a dream!"

"You can hear me?" the voice said incredulously. "That... has never happened. How can you?"

Rallis shrugged "I dunno. My name is Rallis. Who are you?"

"My name is Guthix."

Rallis stepped back in shock. "Now I know I'm dreaming! There's no way I'm talking to a god!"

"Perhaps we are both dreaming," the voice said. "I can not awaken but I'm sure you may. Though I must wonder what brings you into my dream..."

"I don't know. Juna let me drink some tears and here I am. If you're really Guthix, maybe that's why I'm here? Because they're yours?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "Juna has let many taste my power over the countless years. This is the first time it has caused someone to walk into my dreams. I wonder what makes you so special. Though perhaps I know..." Rallis sat down. "What were you hoping gain with my power?" Guthix asked.

"I wanted to learn some things, like where I came from, who my parents were, things about my past. I don't know anything and I want to."

The darkness went silent for a moment. The voice returned with an unsatisfactory grumble. "I know many things, but I'm afraid your past is not one of those things."

Rallis eyed the darkness dubiously. The voice hesitated when he said that, but questioning him now could lead to trouble.

"Are you really Guthix? Juna said you know everything!"

"Juna can stretch the truth," he sighed. "Her devotion clouds her judgement and she thinks too highly of me. She believes I can do more than I actually can."

"What can you do then?"

"Banishing gods comes to mind."

Rallis' eyes sparkled. "You mean the God Wars, right?! Ooh ooh can you tell me about it! Reldo tried to tell me but he makes everything soooo boring!"

"It's not a tale I like to remember... It is one of great destruction and sadness..."

Rallis passed the time in the darkness exchanging tales with the voice of a god. He told her a bit about himself and things he had done or went through, though he would clam up easily and hesitated on many topics. Rallis in turn told him about adventures she had gone on so far and things she liked to do and about the adventure that led her to her current predicament. Although she couldn't see him, Rallis could tell he was leaning closer whenever she got to the good part of a story. His dreams must be lonely, she thought. She made sure to make her tales as entertaining as possible. As time went on, she felt herself thinking of the voice as a friend. She laughed imagining the looks on the Kaqemeex and Sanfew's faces if she told them she not only spoke with Guthix but also became friends with him.

As they spoke, Rallis slowly felt herself grow more and more tired. Guthix felt the same. "I feel our time together will end soon," he said. "But I must say this dream was a most pleasant one, Rallis."

"Same," Rallis said sleepily. She stifled a yawn. "Will I see, err, hear you again? I'd really like to."

"Perhaps. Only the future will know. I think I would like to see you again as well."

Rallis smiled and sunk to the floor. "I'll have more stories next time! Even better ones! Good night, Guthix."

"Sweet dreams, little one..."

___________________________________________________________

Rallis woke to darkness and for a moment she thought she might still be in the dream with Guthix. But as her eyes began to focus and made out the shapes of rocks and the faint glow of the light spirits drifting by, she remembered where she was. Juna glanced at her as she woke, unworried and unphased by her sudden sleep.

"I don't believe I have ssseen the tears do that before," she said.

"It was new for me too. But it was a good new!" She bounced up excitedly. "I made a new friend! I got to talk with Guthix!"

Juna narrowed her eyes at the dragon. What kind of insulting lie did this beast think she was saying?!

As she was about to retort, Rallis fell to her hands and knees with a horrible howl. She screeched and whined as she tried to claw at her back. It felt like her wings were on fire, something burning horribly between her wings deep into her skin. The pain forced her back to the ground, panting and crying. The burning sensation slowly began to fade as a pale green glow seeped out from between the scales on her back. Juna looked over the dragon with a curious hiss. The glow formed into the symbol of Guthix, the same that marked Juna's head, and made her visibly recoil with a shocked gasp. She found herself looking at Rallis in a new light.

"You did not lie... You too are..."

Rallis scraped at the stone beneath her in pain. "What...?"

The snake bowed her head. "It would ssseem Guthix favors you. He has marked you as one of his own, truly an honor." Juna glared at the dragon jealously as she slowly staggered back into a sitting position. 'What makesss someone like you, a complete uneducated stranger worthy of his grace and power? He honors you with his voice but not I, his servant of countless years?!' She did not want to question the decisions of her god, but she could not bring herself to understand why this random explorer would earn his trust so easily.

Rallis hissed as she flexed her wings. Her back still tingled with a burning sensation. "What was that? Something about Guthix?"

Juna nodded. "Those he holds in high regard are branded with his mark. Mine rests upon my head as you can sssee. You now bear one as well, though it ssseems to be magical not physical. It will not leave a mark, but you will always feel it. It will always be there."

"So that means he likes me?"

"If that is how you wish to interpret it. A part of him will always be with you."

Rallis chirped happily. She rather liked the idea of having a nice god looking after her. "Does this mean I'm allowed to come back some time for more tears?"

Juna grunted. "I sssupose."

Rallis grinned wide. "Well, this has been quite the adventure! I didn't expect all this when I hopped down here! I guess I'll leave you alone now. I've gotta continue my journey too. Thank you and take care, Juna! I'll see you again some time and I'll have cool stories instead of a silly show!"

The snake hissed goodbye and curled back up to sleep. Rallis cheerfully but carefully made her way back through the underground caverns and passed the creatures in the walls and nests of bugs. She climbed the rotting rope and bounced away from the hole with a smile. She looked back over her shoulder as she skipped along. It felt like someone was watching her. Or perhaps they always had been and she just now noticed. She hoped it was Guthix having another dream of her. She'd be sure to make it a nice one, and she looked forward to the day she could talk to him again and tell him even more stories about her latest adventures.

#oc tag #my writes #runescape #osrs

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