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pingguins · 2 years

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When Dreams Despair

||Ch. 1|| "Only you can see me,"

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Dream of the Endless x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Cursing, drowning (kind of)

Notes: I'm backkk!! With the longest chapter of any fic I've written!! I worked hard on this y'all, I even made a schedule for it. I hope you guys like it, I would love to hear your thoughts!!

Summary:

After spending decades dreaming of the same man, who knew that a babysitting job would be the one thing she needed to end it?

However, a select few have gotten their dreams back, some even receiving them in the waking world. An air of mystery lingers around Y/N, and a recurring nightmare spanning decades might have just uncovered it.

"Have you got any information about the Burgesses? Fawney Rig?"

Johanna Constantine sat behind her desk, drinking tea while pondering over another email. Y/N called hours earlier, asking if she could visit. There had been something different about Y/N that night, acting more timid and getting stuck in her own mind more often than not.

Over the phone, she simply asked Johanna if she would be open to having some tea and catching up.

Y/N sat on a nearby couch, hoping to find some answers about Roderick Burgess by asking Johanna. She knew of her occupation, and wanted her consultation.

"Y/N, I don't spend my time dwelling on stories about devils in basements. Roderick Burgess has been dead a long time; the rumours died with him," Johanna replied, not looking away from her laptop screen as she took a sip from her cup.

Y/N sighed. "But his long life remains in question."

"I'm not denying that he was into occult shit; but the Burgesses are old news. Whatever magic Fawney Rig held went away a long time ago."

“You seem so sure. Have you ever paid them a visit?”

Johanna’s eyes flicked towards Y/N’s, and she saw it again. The distant look in her eyes, constantly lost in thought since the moment she stepped foot into her home. She went back to her emails, deciding that if her friend needed help with anything, she would ask. Until then, she would be keeping an eye on her.

“No,” she answered. “I have other things to do—it pays well to keep your focus on the important clients.” She smirked, hoping to start their usual playful banters.

Y/N paid her no mind, busying herself by turning to look at the window beside her, observing the passersby and stray animals that wandered the streets.

* * *

The water rippled beneath her fingers, her reflection looking back at her as if it was a creature of its own. Her outstretched hand was mere inches away from it, the fog engulfing most of her surroundings. Other than herself, Y/N could not see anything else in the water, only the mist that danced in the air.

Longing for a semblance of their lost monarch, the water accepted her. Her reflection reached out, tightly gripping her wrist, and pulled. The cold engulfed her body in a matter of seconds, millions of dreams and nightmares swimming around her as she sank lower and lower.

The depths of something so inhuman, so inconceivably omniscient pained her, the pressure building around her body and inside of her lungs. She did not have enough time to take a deep breath before she was under the water, her chest burned, and her head felt heavy as the images she saw became too much.

And so she awoke, finding herself back inside of her bedroom unharmed.

There was a harsh throbbing in her head, making her squint her eyes shut from the pain.

Years of being plagued by dreams you could not understand, that humanity was not meant to explore, would expectedly cause such headaches.

It troubled her that as much she frequented that place in her sleep, there were still some places yet to be discovered. Places like those waters—desperate for something she could not give. She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples to try and tame the still-building pressure.

Nevertheless, she swung her legs off the bed. The shutters were left closed, keeping the light from entering the room. When one experiences such painful mornings, one tends to make adjustments around their sleeping quarters.

Under her bed, her hand clasped the wooden frame, careful of the soft white fabric that wrapped around it. It was her canvas, stored under her bed in case of mornings like these.

Y/N found that the best way to soothe an overwhelmed imagination was to paint what she saw—to get the images out of her mind and create something which she can touch and feel.

She was an artist—a storyteller of profound dreams and visions she knew not the value of.

Her easel and the rest of her materials were all set up, always ready in the corner of her room, waiting for her next tale.

She had dreamt of many stories and considered them a significant part of her sleep, though in the waking world, Y/N looked at them as an art she’d yet to master, looking no further for meaning or purpose that surpasses those of the mortal realm.

Whenever her dreams were brought and told to the many inhabitants of the waking world, she always relished in her decisions to remain truthful. She may not be the most honest person in the world, but her books and paintings accurately hold all the beauty and horrors that she witnessed in her sleep.

However, not all of her dreams make it to the human world.

There was one specific picture that she’d seen too many times to count. Canvas upon canvas were stacked and littered around her room just from the past month. The same dream over and over again, each one more vivid than the last.

She knew all the scenes well, her hand expertly guiding the brushes as she carefully worked on her latest piece.

Y/N basked in the nostalgia of the painting, having seen the same picture since she was a child. It had been too tragic, she refused to bring it to life.

This time, however, it called to her.

The sorrowful image, mostly of browns and blacks, held only one pale figure in the middle, seemingly glowing in the darkness he laid in. Aside from the man, unconscious and naked on the floor, the painting was barren.

Only he brought life to the painting; even though his story was one she shied away from throughout the years, thinking it too heavy on the soul to even think about, let alone tell. What happened? What had gone so wrong?

Y/N desperately wanted to know, but uncovering his narrative would take effort; maybe if she kept painting he would tell her. Maybe she’d hear him speak one night, if he even had a voice.

The story of Lord Morpheus, however, was not very different from hers. And it was not his story alone, but the tale of millions upon millions of dreamers.

Had Y/N known that, she would have been enthralled, yet heartbroken that a being such as him could look so small and evanescent on her painting.

The silence was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone, the high pitched tune extinguishing the haze over her eyes. She answered the call, carelessly placing down the brush onto the palette.

She had been stuck in another one of her trances, spacing out when utterly focused on her work. Though the painting was nowhere near finished, the painter had decided to turn her back to it, telling herself that it can wait.

"Hey, we're leaving in about 5 hours. You can come here any time before then. Amelia's excited to see you!"

The voice of her long-time friend, Maurice, was heard through the phone. And Y/N shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck to wake herself up.

"Got it! Tell little Amy I'll see her soon, be careful on your trip!" Y/N answered. A small, fond smile appeared on her face, voice sounding bubbly regardless of her drowsiness.

Amelia never seemed to run out of creativity, always telling her about the adventures she embarked on in her dreams. Her mother, Maurice, was one of the people whom Y/N worked with at the Inn.

Maurice liked to tease Y/N, always saying that in the almost two decades they’ve known each other, Y/N didn’t look a day over 25. All the while Amelia aged Maurice as time passed by, having worked above and beyond to be a deserving mother to her young daughter.

"Make sure to stay with her until she falls asleep. She said she gets better dreams when you're around. I swear she only gets a full eight hours when you're babysitting," Maurice chuckled before saying goodbye.

Maurice and her husband, Adam, were scheduled for a one-day business trip. And while Amelia surely loved her parents, she wouldn’t dare give up an opportunity to be with her favourite babysitter.

She was only seven, and having no siblings to play with, her time was usually spent burying herself in the variety of books that resided in their small library. The bookshelf in her room, though, sheltered most, if not all, of Y/N’s published story books.

Y/N placed her phone down, sitting at the edge of her bed, before browsing through her sketchbook which had always been placed on the bedside table in case of urgent matters. Those matters being rough illustrations for when she did not have enough time to paint.

The ache in her head came creeping back as she flipped through the drawings she made in the past few days. Graphite and charcoal sullied the pages, creating the image of the same subject over and over again.

These pictures were of the same man in her painting, who now was trapped inside of a glass sphere surrounded by a gold circle drawn onto the floor. There were runes, ones that only Johanna knew of. She referred to it as a binding circle, but the reasoning behind it was lost to Y/N. There was no fathoming why anyone would trap a man inside of such a cruel prison.

In the 32 years she had lived, the dream never changed. No matter the variety that visited her as she slept, the circumstances of the trapped man were substantially the same when his turn to visit her came.

It seemed, in a way, that she was trapped with him. Cursed to watch and feel him in misery for all those years without one person coming to his aid. She was but a helpless observer, never being able to touch or speak with him.

The dreams were frantic now, though, and they pestered her to no end. Every night she could see him. Same place, same fire in his eyes that would put the biggest star to shame. No other dream dared to compete.

How long has he been there? Was he still there? Did he even exist?

Questions that have long been unanswered were now occupying her mind. Questions she tried to forget ever since they woke her in the late hours of the night, crying out to her father several times a week.

He would soothe her back to bed, filling her mind with positive thoughts and reassuring her that no , that man would not come for her. He was a mere nightmare and nothing else.

There was a time when she wondered if the man was angry at her, furious that she would not set him free. She wanted to tell him that if it were up to her, he would have been out of there long, long ago.

Her five-year-old brain had not processed the dream well, and years after, she would continue to be haunted and disturbed by the dream’s air of resentment unmatched by anything she’d seen in the waking world.

* * *

The time flew by fast, and soon enough, Y/N was sat by Amelia’s side, tucking her into bed an hour before her curfew.

Determined to focus on taking care of Amelia, Y/N purposely distracted herself when the opportunity presented itself, letting her mind drift away from her recent dreams. It was not an impossible feat, though from time to time, she would find herself beginning to wander back to the thought of her unfinished painting, to which she turned her back and left all alone in the corner of her room.

Only to be reminded that she was at Maurice’s house by an energetic Amelia or a barking dog outside of the house.

“Can you tell me a different story tonight? I’ve read all the ones I have.” Amelia pouted, her eyes pleading as she tried to convince Y/N.

Y/N went along, making a face as if she was in deep thought. “Hmmm, I don’t know…thinking of stories on the spot is no joke, you know?” she teased, keeping her tone playful.

“Well…” Amelia dragged on, and her babysitter stayed silent, giving her time to think. “Tell me a dream. Your dream. The ones you have when you’re asleep.”

Y/N chuckled, caressing Amelia’s hair. “Why would you want to know about my dreams? If you go to bed now, you get to explore yours.”

“You said you wrote books about what you dream of. I reckon you have some unwritten ones.”

“Uhmm, I don’t know, Amelia. Maybe I don’t have any more dreams to tell,” she baited.

Amelia whined, kicking her feet in protest. “But you always have dreams! They’re always so good! Especially when you turn them into stories!”

Y/N laughed at the little girl beside her, who was clearly determined to get a bedtime story. Who was she to deny her?

“You know, Amy, dreams are the stories. They’re the only place where you can truly experience the most fantastic fairy tales. A place where you can truly be free,” Y/N trailed off, but only for a moment. It was a lie, at least to her it was. But for Amelia, she could pretend, bend the truth for her peace of mind.

After all, how do you tell a child that not all dreams are realms in which you can control? That sometimes, there are things you are only meant to observe, no matter how painful?

To Y/N, there was already enough of that in the waking world. Amelia did not need to know that dreams could be just as terrible.

“I don’t need to turn them into stories, Amy. They already are, and when I feel that the world deserves to know of such wonderful places and inspiring creatures, I write them. To help people like you, who may need a reminder that dreaming is free, and that all you need to do is get a full night’s rest.” She smiled, winking at Amelia.

It was Y/N’s way of getting her to go to bed early, and for a while, it worked.

When Encephalitis Lethargica befell the world, not all could dream. And not all could get out of dreams, either. However, as Y/N brought the adventures she saw in her sleep to the waking world, dreamers became just a little bit more hopeful, and a little bit more rested.

This time, though, Y/N had no story to tell, as all her dreams had been the same. She was a vessel, a writer who retold the stories she saw in the dead of night. The years she spent being an author had certainly made her a master at conjuring up tales in an instant if she wished, but when her mind was clouded with the same images and the familiar feeling of anguish from seeing the trapped man every night, it was not so easy to think of happy tales that Amelia deserved.

The little girl was hoping for another adventure-filled fantasy. One that would act as a send-off before she walked the realm of dreams.

The efforts Y/N made at trying to form the perfect story for her had become futile. Only one dream, one story stayed in her mind. Scenarios of what could have happened to the man, stuck in a cage he had filled with endless indignation, were at the forefront of her mind: images of him getting hurt and beaten just to get him inside of the sphere.

But perhaps it did not need to be that way.

“I…guess I do have a story for you,” Y/N said reluctantly. It was a stretch, but in the end, all stories, no matter how sad, could be adjusted to fit a happier narrative.

There was only one who had the power to command dreams and stories to venture on a different path. But on that night, for one little girl, Y/N would dare change the story of one such as the Dream Lord himself.

Routinely, she took the small vial of sand placed on Amelia’s nightstand, stationed there for the days Y/N would stay over to babysit. The little girl beamed, her wish coming true before her eyes as Y/N sat up from the bed and poured the white grains on the table.

She kneeled in front of it as Amelia moved to lay on her side, watching intently.

With the sand, Y/N drew, her story coming to life in mere seconds. The small grains of white followed her fingers ever so slightly, seeming to follow every movement of her hand to create any image she wished to show.

In that moment, in the darkness of Amelia’s bedroom, the faintest hint of light radiated from the sand like the moon covered by clouds. Barely there, only seen when one looks for it.

“Somewhere dark, somewhere hidden, there is a man.” On the nightstand was the image of a figure, enclosed within a sphere. “His eyes hold the universe, his skin as white as paper, his hair like the feathers of ravens.”

She drew a circle, encasing the sphere inside as she drew the runes she could remember. “And he’s trapped. No one knows how long, and no one knows how much longer.”

Now, there was an image of a raven, flying while its beak touched the glass sphere. “His raven had gone a long time ago, a victim of the man’s captors, leaving him truly alone.”

Amelia’s face showed a deep frown as her young brain comprehended the tale.

“He never speaks, never asks for help. But he lets you see, he lets you observe his pain as if even he thinks he deserves to be caged as one would a rabid animal.”

With precision, she added more detail to the image, using one of her better drawings back home as inspiration. “He’s known not the kindness of humans, not for a long time, but perhaps, one act of true humanity might give him all he needs to be free.”

In one swoop, Y/N cleared the drawings with her hand, turning them back into messy piles of sand before putting them back in the vial. She pushed the sand off the corner of the table, effortlessly catching them with the glass container and closing it with its cork-made seal.

“One act of true humanity,” she booped Amelia’s nose, snapping her out of her trance. “That’s where you come in.”

Interested, Amelia sat up as Y/N went back to her place next to the little girl. The painter pushed back some of the girl’s red locks behind her ear before continuing. “He appears in dreams. He only shows himself to me, and now to you through my story. It’s our duty to dream of his freedom.”

“If I dream, will you make it come true? Will he be freed?” Amelia asked, eyes pleading for a positive answer.

The worry that showed on the girl’s face was vehement, her empathy swam within the confines of her room.

Though all dreams could be felt by the Dreaming, there was something about children that fueled the realm of stories. There is an intrinsic ability for a child to dream, unafraid and untainted by the horrors one would face in a world such as theirs.

“Promise,” Y/N whispered, leaning down to kiss Amelia’s hair before tucking her back into bed. “Sweet dreams, Amelia.”

She stood, walking to leave the room, the little girl’s gaze following her. Y/N held the doorknob and spoke just before she closed the door. “And remember, you don’t need to be asleep to dream.”

In the guest bedroom, Y/N stood by the window, observing the quiet street and the clear skies. There were no traces of pollution, only stars that twinkle light years away. It looked serene, and she’d hoped that maybe somewhere out there, maybe in another universe where dreams really do come true, the man would roam free.

The man that held the cosmos in his eyes. The man who had started as her nightmare, and whom she had come to understand and sympathize with.

Y/N wondered if Amelia could do it—change her dream. It had been a long-standing one; the only place she had no control over while she slept.

The air was calm, much like how it felt whenever she was in the middle of writing or painting one of her dreams. Dreams that, if only she knew, were more palpable than she nor her father ever thought.

Remembering her dad, she dialed his number, waiting to hear his voice on the other side.

“Hey! Everything okay? How’s Amelia?”

Y/N smiled, eyes trained to the stars and the moon outside her window. “Hey dad. We’re good, she’s asleep.”

She spoke softly, not wanting Amelia to be distured in case she could hear them. Y/N loved her father dearly, and he would certainly be over the moon to know that perhaps she could finally get a good night's rest—one that did not require his comfort.

“What story did you tell her this time? She usually gushes about them when she visits the inn.”

“I, uhm, I told her about the… that dream.” She waited, but no response came. The dream was a topic to avoid, Y/N knew how much her father would chastise himself for not being able to make the nightmares go away, especially in the days when she was much younger.

There was no sound, only silence. One that Y/N took the first step in breaking. “I toned it down, obviously. I thought that maybe if I…made it a little more hopeful, maybe it could change.”

“Right,” there was a pause, concern dripping from his voice. “how do you feel?”

“I think—I think I’m going to have good dreams tonight.”

“That’s good!” he responded, the volume surprising even himself. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

Night after night his daughter would wake, crying about a man in her dreams. He was a good fighter, vowing to protect Y/N all throughout her life from any danger that dared to go near. He could give her knowledge impossible to acquire in her generation, and wisdom from years before the birth of their oldest friends—most of them, at least.

Of all he could protect her from, Y/N’s worst nightmare had to be exactly that—a nightmare. One that never seemed to fade away, one that haunted them for years.

Her because of the sheer weight of what could be seen during her slumber, and him because in his lifetime, there had never been such an unreachable feat.

He couldn’t walk her dreams, he could only hope to alleviate the sorrow that came after.

And for a man like him, for one who had steered clear of Death herself, no wound or hunger could feel as painful as the ache in his chest when he could not chase away the man that plagued her daughter’s sleeping mind.

“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you for letting me know, my little daydream. Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams, dad.”

As a child, after she wrote down each and every one of her nightly adventures, her father claimed that her dreams never seemed to stay put in her unconscious mind, but rather, spilled into her creations during her waking hours.

“My little daydream” he would call her.

After she dozed off in the guest room, the next thing she could remember was the feel of soft, powder-like material under her feet. The sound of the ocean reached her ears in a melody of waves, alternating as they touched the sand before going back into the water.

She welcomed the smell of salt and the breeze that graced her skin, the wind moving in time with the ocean. Y/N felt herself relax, finding that her mind was quiet here, as opposed to the burden she would carry in the waking world.

The beach, the sun, the sand—they were all hers. Her territory in the realm of the sleeping. Though she was none the wiser, all aspects of the Dreaming would bow to her in a heartbeat if she wished, following her orders to the best of their abilities as they would their missing monarch.

“Y/N!” The voice of Amelia shouted, running towards her, leaving her footprints on the soft sand. She hugged Y/N tightly, wrapping her small arms around her waist before looking up at her eyes. “Are you here to save the caged man? The one with stars in his eyes?”

The breeze stopped, their hair no longer blowing in the wind. The sound of waves could no longer be heard.

Everything stopped, no grain of sand gave the slightest bit of movement. Only she and Amelia existed in this plane, their surroundings a mere image of the life that once fueled the beach.

Y/N donned a black coat that reached her ankles, her feet clad in a pair of Doc Martens. She wore a black shirt and a black pair of jeans instead of the pajamas she slept in. To her, there was no meaning behind her clothing and why she wore them in her dreams.

However, as Amelia mentioned the Dreaming’s absent King, the realm seemed to have recognized what Y/N’s purpose could be that night. The land had stopped to listen, straying from their function to hear word of the man who could very well be their master.

The change in the atmosphere was stark, heavy on Y/N’s heart. She only had a moment to herself, thinking that maybe she could roam aimlessly without bearing the weight of that man’s anguish.

She was no longer trapped with him, but perhaps, she must fulfill her promise to Amelia.

She cleared her throat, glancing at their surroundings before stroking Amelia’s hair. The world began to move once again; the waves were loud, the sand moved by the wind, and Y/N’s coat billowed from the breeze.

“Yes, I am. But I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that—”

The waves reached their feet now, and from the corner of her eye, as she looked down at Amelia, she saw the water glow.

It shimmered when it covered her feet, electric and familiar, but remained a normal shade of blue when it hit Amelia’s.

“—but I think I might have just figured it out,” she spoke slowly, her eyes glazing over as she looked at the distant shoreline. It wasn’t the endlessness of it that caught her eye, rather, the blue vortex several feet away from them.

Amelia followed her gaze, seeing the same bright light. She beamed, looking excitedly up at Y/N. “What are you waiting for, then? I think that’s for you!”

Other than an unwavering smile, she offered Amelia nothing else before running off towards the portal, the sand glowing a bright blue every step she took.

Without so much as a second thought, she jumped, feeling herself get carried away by the vacuum before violently landing on black sand.

It was harsh, unlike the smooth, white sand on the beach. Here there was no water, no sound but the rush of stale air. The ground was coarse, small stones and pebbles pricked her skin as she tumbled.

Behind her was a gate—the entrance to the Heart of the Dreaming.

She felt no surprise, finding herself in a place she had been to many times before. She walked towards it, touching the grand structure gently before the Gates of Horn and Ivory opened to welcome her in, revealing the ruins of the palace.

It was a sorrowful sight. The castle broken and abandoned by most of its inhabitants. To her, however, the scenery looked the same as the first time she saw it.

She still wondered, though, about what the kingdom used to look like with its walls intact and cared for. Was the land bustling with life? Did they celebrate their own holidays?

Or was it tranquil? A calm paradise in which everyone basked in their people’s company with no need to gather?

The kingdom had long passed its golden years, but how could something devoid of life seem so…out of place? As if it couldn’t be anything other than alive .

Without the presence of their King who functioned as the heart and soul, the Dreaming could not be called a kingdom, but only a spectre that lingered in the space between realms.

It was barren, and had been for more than a century, but the ghostly structures—to her— felt unnatural. As if, instead of the ruins of a once thriving paradise, it was dying . There was a missing piece, an absent force that drained the realm of its life.

She kneeled, grasping a handful of sand that glowed with her touch. She opened her palm, blowing on the sand as it flew toward the palace, swirling around the broken walls and pillars, repairing the cracks and missing pieces.

There was no bringing back its prior beauty, however, she will do what she can, aiding the land while it still stands.

There was no telling how long it would last without Y/N before it turned into dust, turning into a vast desert where the grieving dreams and nightmares may wander, wishing for their King to give them back their home.

The black grains delicately fell back down onto the floor, barely doing enough for the castle. Only a small measure had been mended, but it would do.

It was as much as she could do no matter how many attempts. Whether she rebuilt it by hand or by sand, it would never go back to its former glory. It refused .

And though it denied her help, the Dreaming was, in essence, kept alive by the thin thread that had attached itself to Y/N when she was born, her care and love for it keeping its foundation intact no matter how battered it may seem.

Since her first visits, Y/N endeavoured to heal the land in hopes that some of its inhabitants might return to help. There was Cain, Abel, and Gregory, but they had insisted there was nothing to do for their home, yet keeping all other details hidden as per Lucienne’s request.

Contented with her work, knowing she had done all she can, Y/N entered the palace. Even in its broken stature, there was a memory of brilliance and power that lingered in the air, one that greeted her its fleeting welcome as she walked the halls.

She had explored all there is that surrounded the palace, though Y/N rarely ever stepped inside. And whenever she did, she would not stay very long. It was clear to her that the realm embraced her presence with open arms, but she did not feel comfortable roaming around inside.

She felt at home there, yet a part of her could sense that she was crossing into someone else’s territory—one that showed no malice, but deserved deep respect.

The inert landscape was a tragic sight. But within the palace walls was a kind of suffering she could not describe. It yearned for something, longed to thrive like it once had, but unable to do so with its throne lying empty, the broken seat of an absent ruler sat atop a regal set of stairs. The presence of Merv and Lucienne, though, told her that their history was not as simple as a runaway monarch.

It had been years since she went back inside, the last time being when she was still a teenager. She neared the throne, daring to get halfway up the stairs before she heard familiar footsteps.

Y/N grinned widely and eagerly turned around, rushing down the stairs as she engulfed Lucienne in a tight embrace.

The librarian tensed, stunned in place as she calmly held Y/N’s arms and gently pushed her away. “Uhm, pardon my ignorance, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before. Are you lost, perhaps?”

“Oh, uh,” Y/N stepped back, awkwardly shifting her feet, but her smile was as wide as ever. “I guess my father was lying when he told me I barely aged. Did I really? To the point of unrecognition?” she chuckled, hoping to refresh Lucienne’s memory.

The librarian studied her carefully, taking in her appearance and the uncanny similarities towards the Dream Lord. Finally, it dawned on her.

“Miss Y/N!” She held Y/N’s shoulders, stroking her hair with one hand. “Oh how you’ve grown!” She awed, this time, opening her arms to embrace Y/N. “Your father is no liar. I have not seen you in the Dreaming for so long, your visit was merely unexpected.”

Y/N’s shoulders tensed, Lucienne pulled back with a confused expression. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

She beamed widely at the librarian. “The Dreaming. Is that what this place is called, Lucienne?”

Hesitancy lingered in the air, silence invaded the palace as Lucienne contemplated her next words. In the years Y/N has visited the Dreaming, she took it upon herself to keep quiet about their affairs and the tragedy that befell the once prosperous realm.

The last that Lucienne knew of Y/N, she was blissfully unaware of the depth of their troubles. Lucienne had caught her trying to repair the palace walls by hand, finding materials around the Kingdom or borrowing from Cain and Abel to do so.

Gregory had been with her, and they were flying around to the tops of the castle in a misguided effort to rebuild.

Lucienne did not have the heart to stop them, only informing her that they had done what they could, but the Kingdom remained broken. No other information was disclosed, most questions were redirected or dismissed.

Nonetheless, they remained friends. The librarian adored her love for their realm, having not seen any other creature care for it besides a select few. At the time, Lucienne took her for a lost dreamer, finding their way to the Heart of the Dreaming because there was no one left to keep them away.

They were familiar with lucid dreamers, some better than others; she assumed that the young Y/N might have been one of the better ones.

Her visits started when she was only 12 years old, and she frequented the realm on most nights. Lucienne read all she can, attempting to decipher their mysterious guest. However, when more and more of the library vanished, she laid her investigation to rest.

In some respects, those who stayed in the Dreaming saw the curious little girl grow up.

She rarely visited the palace, where Lucienne spent most of her time, so they have not bonded the way Y/N and the others have. Moreover, that did not take away from their friendship.

The librarian liked to monitor her, though, for any other strange happenings. And in the process, she had started to care for her the way she does for the rest of the realm. Y/N had become more of an honoured visitor than an uninvited guest.

“Yes, miss. You are in the Heart of the Dreaming,” Lucienne answered, abstaining from revealing any and all other details.

No malice could be felt when around Y/N, she has crossed the gates many times on her own and has acted with good intentions—there was no doubting her kind spirit.

Nevertheless, as a loyal subject of Morpheus, she was unsure of how to go about telling a mere human about the existence of the Dreaming. There was no confirming that Y/N knew about their realm’s true nature, for all she knew Y/N thought this was all a strange dream regardless of the recurrence.

“That’s…nice,” Y/N replied, her smile turning mellow. “My second home finally has a name.”

Lucienne was touched. Most of the Dreaming’s inhabitants are long gone, losing their trust in their missing monarch. But no matter how broken, how unfixable their Kingdom was, someone had managed to find a home in it.

However, there was no denying that she did not belong there, and no one knew of any consequences that might occur due to her visits.

“With all due respect, you belong to the waking world, miss Y/N. This is merely another destination you venture to in your sleep,” Lucienne said, empathetic as ever. She did not want to deter her from coming to the Dreaming.

Y/N walked towards the bottom of the steps, taking in the newly-named palace. “I am dreaming, Lucienne,” she spoke, elegantly waking up the stairs.

Lucienne was frozen in place, watching as the girl walked up towards their King’s throne. It wasn’t her actions that baffled her, it was the semblance of power. Something seemed to have shifted in their realm every step she took, as if there was a low rumbling coming from deep inside the palace.

“My mind conjured this up a long time ago, and it is not willing to let it go so easily,” Y/N continued. “This is my realm. I belong here.”

Her voice grew more confident as she neared the broken throne. “They say that names are powerful—and I do believe they are. The Dreaming has become my refuge, and I hold you all dear to my heart.”

She arrived at the top, gently touching the throne. Light emitted from beneath her fingers, black smoke radiating from them as Lucienne let out a quiet gasp.

Y/N looked at the librarian, “I have tried to fix this place long ago, and now I think I finally can. For now, at least.” She looked around the room, broken pieces of the palace rising from the ground, going back into their rightful place.

The cracks and rubble from the bottom of the throne healed, becoming an almost-perfect image of its former self.

“This is impossible,” Lucienne whispered, overcome with gladness and fear at seeing her home be restored by such a display of power that she had not seen in over a century. The palace shook, but she kept in place, stunned in silence.

When the rehabilitation of the palace halted, Lucienne looked up at the girl in her master's clothing.

The throne room could not be revived to its former glory. However, all that was left were cracks and chipped pieces on the walls. It resembled a restored renaissance painting—alive, but never as beautiful as the days it spent with its creator.

Unfortunately, the sight did not last. It took only a few moments before the colour drained from the walls, the structures crumbling once again, but thankfully, not to the state Y/N found it in.

Y/N’s stature could not help but falter, discouraged that her efforts remained futile despite the power she could feel flowing within her veins.

Lucienne, however, staggered. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture while clasping her hands formally. “I mean no disrespect, ma’am,” she hesitated for a moment. “But what are you? ”.

She almost seemed afraid, and Y/N took notice, going back down the stairs as she stood in front of Lucienne. “I-I am human, and this is my dream—” she chuckled nervously. “There’s no need to worry—”

“The Dreaming is not your realm, ma’am. It is not yours to take,” Lucienne defended, her voice apprehensive but nevertheless defiant. “I mean no offence, but you do not belong here . I think it is best you go back—”

“No,” Y/N interjected. Lucienne’s words sparked a memory—her duty and purpose in the Dreaming coming back to her. “I need you to take me to the water. I don’t recall how I arrived there the first time, but I—”

“My apologies, ma’am, but it is not my place to show you where it is located.” Lucienne stood her ground, her voice wavering ever so slightly regardless of her efforts to stay professional.

“I have good reason to be there. You can trust me, Lucienne. I would never do this place any harm,” Y/N spoke, bringing down her voice to a softer tone.

Lucienne kept silent, and Y/N’s heart broke. “Ma’am, I do not take you for a liar, which could only mean that you do not know of the power you possess. No matter your purpose here, this realm cannot take any more damage in the instance that you might harm it unintentionally.”

Y/N swallowed, unable to hide her sorrow as the woman she once knew to care for her, now looked at her in fear. But she could not deny that she understood Lucienne’s apprehension. What she could do in the Dreaming was natural to her, she was sure of the fact that she could never bring any harm to it.

If she could not see that, Y/N did not have the time to convince her.

The man was waiting, and he had been for long enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sand swirling around her figure, growing thicker until Lucienne could no longer see her.

In her mind she focused on the water, not having a single recollection of how she wound up being pulled into a sea of different worlds. Regardless, she remembered how it felt, and she held onto it, letting it take over her body before she was violently tossed onto the wooden floor of a foggy pier.

Y/N was thrown across the wooden planks, covering her head with her arms as she stumbled, stopping right at the edge where she could see herself in the water. She kneeled on the wood floor, staring into the white, beady eyes of her reflection.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by it, she would have found it familiar.

She held her hand out, carefully reaching for the water, but pulled back right as she was about to make contact.

Instead, she dove in.

The water splashed around her as her body was engulfed by it, and she continued to go farther down.

Shadows and scenes of hell and paradise and domesticity swam around her, and she flailed the deeper she got, having regretted her decision to enter the treacherous water. Unfortunately, before she could try swimming up, something had caught hold of her foot, dragging her further down the deep blue.

Y/N screamed, air bubbles rapidly flowing out of her mouth as she aggressively kicked her foot, trying to loosen the hold of her captor. When she looked beneath her, there was nothing. The space where she could feel the pressure on her ankle lay empty.

Her hands stopped flailing, and her feet stopped kicking, feeling her lungs a second away from being filled with water.

Then, she was on a yacht. Clean and luxurious. Mountain tops could be seen in the distance; her clothes were dry and her breathing as light as ever. The familiar scent of the ocean reached her nostrils, and she breathed in, taking in lungfuls of the fresh air.

Her black coat billowed in the wind and she looked around. Other than the yacht she stood on, nothing could be seen for miles besides the silhouettes of mountains and the clouds that floated above her. She could hear seagulls, some landing beside her feet, and some placing themselves on the metal railing in front of her.

She clasped the handrail, looking down at the ocean. The waves obstructed the mirrored images of herself and the yacht, however, she recognized those same white eyes that gazed back at her.

In spite of the clear skies and the sun that burnt her skin, the water had no shimmer on its surface. No light bounced off of the ocean, and it remained as dark as she saw it on the fog-covered pier.

There was a depth to it, an endless dark blue inhabited by strange movement and worlds that seemed to pass by.

Her eyes squinted, noticing the circular shape surrounding her reflection. Everything moved slower, her coat floated as if she were in space instead of the quick flutter from the breeze. There were no seagulls in the reflection, but rather ravens accompanied her second self.

Then, just as she saw the familiar shape of the trapped man behind her reflection, she jumped in once again, pushing herself upwards as she held the steel bars tightly, swinging her legs over them and landing into the water once more.

The pressure in her ears was instant, and her body felt ice-cold—but only for a second.

When she landed on the other side, the air no longer smelled fresh, but stale and musty, old and worn. Her lungs felt heavy instead of refreshed.

Her clothes were still as dry as ever, but they no longer moved. There was no wind, barely any ventilation.

Y/N stood on the battered cement floor worn by time. Tall pillars held up the room and wooden arches supported the ceiling, but all were void of life. The colours they once held were now faded, barely visible in the darkness.

There was a door, next to it a man was sat on a chair with his eyes to the floor, glazed over in thought.

He was daydreaming, and it provided a dangerous path for Y/N to embark. She paid him no mind, as her presence was fairly obvious, and yet he failed to notice the stranger standing mere feet away from him.

Y/N knew where she had arrived, her gaze landing on the attenuated gold circle on the floor. Slowly, she looked upwards.

The man inside the sphere with his back turned to her, sitting motionless with his head bowed down. His alabaster skin glowed with the singular light placed above him, illuminating him as if he were a museum piece, bare and presented for everyone to see.

For a long time, this man haunted her dreams. Years of countless nights she was awoken by her own screams, the burden of sharing a fraction of his torment scarring and embedding itself into her childhood years.

But as she approached the glass sphere, silent tears fell from her eyes, weeping for the man who had been trapped here for far longer than she could imagine

There was an inkling of doubt that yearned to be acknowledged, crying for denial, telling her it was all a dream, and that when she wakes, it will all be a figment of her imagination, a memory from a place fantastical and unreal.

However, as she mourned his lost freedom, the doubt could not rise.

Her foot stepped beyond the circle, uncaring about its importance—after all, what good purpose could it have if it was created by his captors? She reached forward until her palm was only a few inches away from the glass.

The man turned to Y/N when her hand touched his enclosure, expression cold and shoulders broadening in an attempt to show power. Even now, with him as helpless as one can be, he commanded the room with only his eyes.

Upon seeing her tears, he turned his body to face her, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly at the sight. He had not known empathy in a long time, decidedly untrusting of it after Jessamy’s passing.

What Y/N could not see in that moment, were the eyes that Lord Morpheus himself was gazing into.

A pair of dark orbs, the cosmos within them as they shed tears—as if the galaxies beyond her eyes were weeping for him. The clothes she wore did not go unnoticed by the Dream Lord, nor the small but significant smudges her shoes had inflicted upon the circle that bound him.

Knowing he could not lose any more than he has, his palm touched hers from the inside of the sphere, their hands a few inches from one another. His expression remained stoic, but his fingers gave the slightest twitch.

Deep within Y/N’s soul, she knew she had found what the palace was searching for. And she had discovered what the man had been missing in the years he spent inside of the darkness.

They both turned their heads toward the door when another guard entered, their hands still barely touching.

Y/N remained looking at the guard, observing to see if they would notice her. Morpheus tore his eyes away from the door, jaw clenching and the hand that stretched to be near Y/N’s tensing, fingers almost clawing at the glass.

When Y/N turned back to him, she smiled delicately.

“Only you can see me,” she mouthed.

The newly arrived guard turned to their coworker, shaking his shoulder. “Spacing out again? Enough of that. It’s my turn to get a bloody rest,” they said, crossing their arms as they went to their seat.

When the resting guard awoke from his daydream, he sat up straighter, clearing his throat as he tried to get ahold of his surroundings.

Meanwhile, Morpheus briskly placed his other hand next to the one on the glass, tilting his head downwards, his eyes sharper than ever .

Y/N placed her other hand on the glass, growing anxious as she saw them begin to fade.

The daydream has ended, and so has hers. She was no longer tethered, and he was no longer undiscovered.

Y/N sat up, feeling the bed below her as she clutched her blanket. She was in no distress, and there was no perplexing want to paint. There was no headache present. A heavy heart took their place, and now, much like the Dreaming, she felt herself wanting to call for something missing.

And somehow, that feeling was much worse than the pain she used to wake up to.

In the darkness of the guest room, swirling black smoke emanated from her eyes. And as she brought up a hand to rub the sleep away from them, she felt a sprinkle of sand on her fingers then onto the blanket that covered her legs.

The glow in her eyes vanished, as did the smoke. But the sand remained, and while she took them between her fingers…

The Dream Lord had been busying himself with putting a certain man to sleep.

***

“I think they’re true—the rumours.”

Johanna looked up from her laptop for the first time since she sat down, furrowing her eyebrows at Y/N’s bold statement. “Since when were you into this? You never liked meddling with anything that came close to my job.”

Y/N held her cup in both of her hands, one leg resting on the couch as she looked at the window pane. There they were again—her eyes that shone brighter than the stars in the night sky. They weren’t as vast, nor were they as celestial as the man’s, but they were surely noticeable.

And Johanna was not one to miss such a detail. Her friend’s image in the window pane blended almost completely with the buildings and the lights outside, but her eyes reflected back two white orbs that could almost be mistaken as distant suns.

“Have you heard of the Sandman?” Y/N turned to look at Johanna, who tore her gaze away from the reflection and to her friends’ eyes. She closed her laptop as she sat up straighter.

“He’s a fairytale,” she shrugged it off, albeit her voice was just barely above a whisper. “With all the dreams you’ve had, you might as well be him,” she chuckled apprehensively. Something had changed in Y/N, but being the busy woman that she is, she overlooked it until she had seen the window that reflected her friend. “Are you alright?”

Johanna had never been very good at caring, jumping from one relationship to the next without so much as a goodbye. But Y/N had been a long-term friend, never expecting anything out of her other than a bit of her time.

Though she would not admit it, her first meeting with Y/N had intrigued her. She originally engaged in conversation due to her suspicion that she might not be human. Maybe a demon? An angel?

And when she learned about Y/N’s father, her interest grew. Her investigations proved to be futile, learning that her friend was no more than any other mortal that walked the Earth.

But perhaps she was wrong.

“I am,” Y/N answered. “I’ve actually been feeling much better since last night.”

Johanna cleared her throat, finding the haze in her friends’ eyes strange and a tad uncomfortable. “Did Amelia ask you to tell her another one of your bedtime stories?”

Y/N nodded gently, “Yeah, she did. It was a bit different this time, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I told her about the man. The one in the glass sphere?”

Johanna leaned back into her chair, not knowing what to say. She had known about the recurring dreams, but when she asked, Y/N had dismissed it, saying that it was nothing more than her imagination. A part of her wished she had not settled for such a simple answer.

“Isn’t that a little…scary? For a seven-year-old?”

“I changed it.”

Something in the air shifted, and Johanna felt it. Her job was to know when something otherworldly was afoot, after all.

There was more to Y/N's answer than what meets the eye, and Johanna knew that maybe she hadn't been wrong to investigate when they first met.

Unlike Gods and Endless, Y/N was not born into her function; she was hardly supposed to be anything else but human. And in a way, her purpose had been deeply rooted into her humanity.

Everyone else could feel it whenever she tells a story, that warmth that only a dream could bring, but Y/N firmly refused to acknowledge it.

She knew of impossible things, and yet she denied being one herself, even after discovering her father's long-kept secret.

Y/N turned to look back outside, staring at all the houses where people slept soundly in their beds, wondering what kind of adventures or horrors they were facing behind their closed eyelids.

She wondered if she could see them someday.

"I promised Amelia a good story, Johanna. I saw to it that I spoke true."

Notes: Chapter one's done!! Again, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on it!

#When Dreams Despair #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader angst #morpheus x reader fluff #sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus x you #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine #dream x reader #morpheus x reader

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mydetheturk · 7 months

Text

it has been something like. eight or so hours. and i am still trying to figure out how the fuck my eye doctor lost my glasses frames???

like. ive been going to the same eye doctor every year for the last like, six years or something like that. they have never once fucked up this badly.

timeline of events, from my pov under the cut because it got way longer than i thought it would when i first started this.

i go to the eye doctor, having set up an appointment like normal (late because its been a weird summer)

everything goes well until the very end, at which point the computer crashes and loses the data.

annoying, but its fine, i just have to go back in the next day and do it all over again on a saturday while they're busy.

go in again the next day. they're busy as hell, so i am there significantly longer than planned, because i'd set up for a late timeslot on friday for a reason (nobody wants to go to the eye doctor at 6:15 on a friday. trust me. it's great its so dead then.)

go through everything over again, i get a huge discount because i had to go through the inconvenience of coming back to the eye doctor. this is the best news, actually, because i hadn't totally been sold on getting new glasses, but i needed them because my old pair literally make my migraines worse.

the first indication that something was wrong was the fact that they didn't have any trial pairs of the contacts i wear.

This would not cross my mind until i picked up the new contacts a week later when they came in.

I try the contacts. Nothing is properly in focus, and i just think to myself, "oh its just cause i have a new scrip, it's fine, I'll get used to them."

i did not, in fact, get used to them.

About a week later, when my glasses come in, i make a mention to the guy fitting them that the contacts don't seem to be right. he tells me i've got plenty of time to bring them back in, they've got policies for stuff like "wrong prescription"

y'all i went to a friend's house on the other side of town two days later and came home via the bypass in the dark and i couldn't read the highway signs.

that's how badly they fucked this up.

i give it to the end of the week to be sure. End of the first pair of contacts, since i wear biweekly ones.

i go in on friday like "hey. this does not work, when can you get me in?"

and the lady at the front desk was like "well we've got a slot open right now if you've got time"

"nope, i only have until the end of the hour because I'm on lunch from work and i don't have either the contacts or the glasses with me right now. got anything for after (time i got off work that day)?"

"the doctor leaves at (time i got off work), will one of these slots tomorrow work?"

set up the appointment for the next day; i've got my glasses and my contacts and the eye doctor put me through a series of eye tests i'd never actually done before, which was kind of cool.

he was like "if you could shift your bangs back that'd be great, actually, i can't tell if you're squinting or not."

and i was like "well i'm doing my best not to but no problem."

appointment went fantastic, he even had trial contacts for me to put in. i almost cried the difference was so stark between the old scrip and the new one. (turns out the old scrip was just off enough it was giving me low-level headaches constantly. fun! not.)

so i leave the old contacts and the glasses with them to get the lenses replaced and for my new contacts to be ordered. (i looked at the eye chart they sent home with me cause i wanted to see the difference in the prescriptions. there should not be a discrepancy of over a whole number between the two. per eye.)

i picked up the contacts last week.

and now.

today.

this morning, i get two (2) texts saying my orders are in and ready to be picked up. sweet, i think to myself. i'll go pick them up later, get myself a treat while i'm out. grab something for dinner, etc.

i get there and its dead because its been raining all day. fantastic! it shouldn't take long.

i go in.

they're dead.

i let them know i'm here to pick up my order.

here comes today's first confusion: the guy at the desk is having trouble finding my order. which. okay. not a problem (yet).

so i sit and wait and fiddle around on my phone for several minutes while the guy hunts for my glasses.

I am slowly growing more and more confused.

another guy starts helping him out.

the first guy finds a couple of doctor-style ziplock bags and asks me if i have my frames with me.

"Nnnnno. I left them with you guys two weeks ago. I was assuming when I came in, my frames would have new lenses."

I am very confused now.

the gentlemen go on the hunt for my frames.

several more minutes go by, and i am increasingly incredulous and more confused.

i think to myself "did they lose my fucking frames????"

the first guy is sent to the racks of frames to grab a pair of frames that look almost, but not quite, like one of the frames i left with them. blue instead of brown.

the guy goes back in with the frames and i am fully invested.

because.

it sure as hell looks like they lost my fucking frames.

y'all.

they lost my fucking frames.

they got ahold of the lady who's been so helpful basically every time i've seen her and they let me know the situation.

tomorrow, she's going to look into the situation for me. see if she can't find my frames, and if she can't, replace them. gonna call and let me know tomorrow what the deal is.

they offered to give me the blue frames until they could find the frames i'd gotten originally - from THERE, mind you - and i was like

"i don't need the glasses to see. i wear contacts most of the time. my glasses are backups."

so i wasted a solid 45 minutes at the eye doctor today and i'm sure i'll still have to go in tomorrow to talk to someone because they mentioned potentially having to re-order the glasses frames from another store if they couldn't find my glasses.

this was at like. 2:45 this afternoon.

i'm still just like how in the hell did you lose them????

spoke to my roommates earlier about it and they were BOTH like "you are having a shit time with your eyes this year huh?"

and its just like

YEAH. YEAH I AM, ACTUALLY. CAN I GET OFF THIS ROLLERCOASTER NOW

just.

crhist alive

#myde talks #y'all i still have a headache #i'll reblog this tomorrow with an update #myde's eyes #block that tag if you don't care #the woes of capitalism

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peachsayshi · 3 years

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Chapter 4 - Domain

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Gojo returns from his trip, and while the two of you are hanging out you ask him to show you some of his powers. Unable to resist himself, he breaks a rule along the way.

A/N: Thank you so much for the likes and reblogs! I pretty much only have this updated on AO3 but am slowly trying to add all the chapters onto my Tumblr.

- - -

When Gojo texted you to let you know that he was at his apartment, he did it with a devious prank in his mind. He informed you that you could let yourself in as the door was unlocked but chose to turn off all the lights and hid in one of the closets.

Then he waited.

He heard the patter of your footsteps and a soft “hello”, before creeping out from his hiding place and lightly approaching you. He was quiet enough for you not to hear him, the shadow of your frame slowing down and he could tell you were getting nervous.

She’s going to kill me, he thought to himself but refused to back out now that he had already set things in motion.

He towered behind you, noticing you freeze in place by the unknown and proceeded to wrap his long arms around your waist before pulling you into his body.

“ Boo !” he exclaimed in your ear, earning a well deserved shriek on your part.

“GOJO, YOU IDIOT!”

You elbowed him in the stomach, forcing him to let go of you as a fit of giggles escaped his lips.

You marched over to the light switches, flicking them to illuminate his large penthouse apartment and you furrowed your brows at the six-foot-three goofball who was covering his mouth to hold in his laughter.

“This is how you greet your friends after coming back from a trip?! By scaring the shit out of them?! Who the hell does that?!!”

Gojo tried to contain himself but the image of your jump scare was perfectly etched in his brain, replaying over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry …” he said in between laughs, breathing in to regain control of himself. “I couldn’t help myself but you should see your face!”

“Ugh, you immature , asshole!” you grumbled, throwing the bag that you were holding in your hands in his direction.

Gojo had superior reflexes and caught it before it flew over his shoulder. He took a minute to calm himself down, extremely pleased that his plan went accordingly.

Meanwhile, you tossed your purse onto his coffee table, huffing to yourself as you plopped down on his black sofa. You folded your arms across your chest, unable to even look at him because of how irritated you were.

Gojo glanced down at the bag in his hand, the clear plastic enclosing a number of rainbow colored candies on the inside.

He bit his bottom lip out of guilt. “Okay, I’m sorry …I mean it this time…”

You scoffed, “are you? Because you still seem pretty content with what you just did.”

“I’m not going to lie, seeing you react like that was worth it…”

You scooted away from him as he took his seat next to you.

“What if you were some kind of murderer?!”

“Now why would you think a murderer would be in this apartment when I invited you over in the first place? You’re smart, use a little logic…” he teased as he tapped your temple lightly before proceeding to open the bag of sweets.

“That’s it, you don’t deserve Rina’s candies...”

Gojo clasped his chest in disbelief, “ you don’t mean that… ”

You snatched the bag away from him, a satisfied smile spreading across your lips as Gojo frowned.

Deep down inside he was really happy to see you. Playful banter and all, your presence was the recharge he needed after his trip.

The two of you met eight years ago at Rina’s candy shop. At the time, your best friend was just starting her own confectionary business which you were helping her with by working part time while you were still studying at university. Gojo couldn’t get enough of her sweets, earning himself a reputation as a repeat customer. You and Rina constantly joke that he practically kept the business afloat during the early days.What you didn’t know is that he also had his eyes on Rina’s pretty friend. Unfortunately for Gojo, you were taken and oblivious to his advances.

He didn’t care; just because you weren’t interested in him in a physical sense, didn’t mean that you both couldn’t be friends. Gojo is the type of guy who would confidently socialise with anyone around him. He knew not everybody took to his personality, especially when the words “narcissist”, “egotistical” and “arrogant” were constantly used to describe him. You knew all this about him but still chose to maintain your friendship. How you put up with his petty behavior and childish ways often had him wondering why you stuck around but he was grateful that you did.

After all, you were his closest friend - the only person he relied on after Suguru died.

Gojo pouted his lips, singing your name as he leaned forward to you and softening his tone. “If I get down on my knees and apologise will you forgive me?”

“Hmmm…” you pondered, “I think that’s a fair punishment and you’re buying dinner tonight, which I’ll be choosing so you can’t make a fuss about it.”

Gojo nodded his head and shifted his position to plant his knees onto the floor. He placed one hand on his chest, his other lifting up his blindfold so he was peeping at you with just one eye.

“I sincerely apologize for the hurt I caused you. Will you please, with a cherry on top , forgive this idiot who is on his knees?”

He noticed your lovely smile, amused that he was the reason behind this reaction.

“Okay, you're forgiven,” you replied, as you extended the bag of sweets back to him, offering him to take his pick.

Gojo returned to his sit next to you, his fingers dipping into the candy mix before pulling out a ruby colored square and popping it into his mouth.

“Mmmm…” he moaned, as the flavor burst along his tongue, “ this is good.. .”

“It’s a fresh batch. She made it this morning,” you replied, picking up a piece of candy for yourself. “Now that we can be civilized. Tell me how your trip went…”

The two of you spoke briefly about his trip but Gojo wasn’t eager to disclose the headache he is currently going through trying to uncover the fingers of a one-thousand year old curse. Instead he shifted the conversation back to you, asking how your morning with Rina went instead. He was only back for twelve hours before he had to leave again. The two of you wanted to see each other but agreed that you would hold off on “grabbing drinks” until he returned three days from now.

However, Gojo noted how good you looked seated right in front of him. Before all this started, you would usually show up at his place in casual clothes, paying no attention about how you looked but tonight he realized that you made an effort.

You made an effort to look nice for him.

He appreciated it, because the pair of denim jeans you had on fit in all the right places that he loved paying attention to. Your white t-shirt revealed a hint of the lace bralette you were wearing underneath and the man wondered if that was a deliberate fashion choice on your part just to tease him. Your lips were painted in crimson, practically forcing him to focus on your mouth. He had to remember that the rules were there for a reason. The rules ensured that the two of you maintained the boundaries of your friendship. The rules were there because you two needed to make sure that this didn’t influence your existing relationship in any way.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, but I can’t promise an answer…” Gojo cheekily replied, popping another sweet in his mouth as he grinned at you.

“Can I see your… domain ?”

“Is that supposed to be a code for my dick or something?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “you keep telling me about all these powers you have but I’ve never seen any of it.”

Gojo squinted his eyes at you, “why are you so curious about me all of a sudden?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were asking me a lot of questions about work just now, which you usually don’t do, and now you want me to show you my skill set…”

You fidgeted in place, your fingers tapping nervously against the fabric of your jeans. “I don’t know, I think it’s weird that we have been friends for so long but I still don’t know the real you…”

Gojo paused, taken aback by your statement, “of course you know the real me.”

“Not the parts of you that you keep hiding from me.”

It’s for your own good, he thought to himself.

Gojo pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying those words.

“You already know about my Six Eyes…” he light heartedly replied.

“There’s more to you than that! I guess I’m just curious to see what else you can do. Besides, I’m starting to come up with theories about your powers. Starting with the fact that you have to wear this blindfold at all times otherwise you’re going to start shooting blue laser beams at people.”

“No laser beams, I can promise that,” Gojo replied with a nervous chuckle.

“Then show me the you that “claims” to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer…” you said, poking him gently on the shoulder. “I just…want to see something …”

Gojo pondered for a moment, sighing to himself as he was not quite sure what he could possibly do that wouldn’t risk putting you in danger. A few seconds passed before he stood up, taking the bag of sweets from your hand and placing it near your purse.

“I want you to stand in front of me,” he requested as he walked around the sofa and found a spot in the middle of the room.

You did as he asked and motioned your way to the position that he had requested. Gojo extended his arm out, ensuring that you were a good distance away.

“Alright, now give me a hug.”

You arched your brow, “seriously?”

“Just do it…” he insisted.

“If this is another stupid prank…”

“I swear it isn’t. Now give me a hug, I’m trying to make a point.”

You walked over towards him, taking your time until you were a few inches away from him. Your arms looped around his waist as you embraced him, but you stared up at him in confusion waiting to see what Gojo was planning next.

“Now what?”

“Okay…” Gojo placed both his hands on your shoulders, before motioning you back until you were an arms length away from him again. “Now I want you to try and push me,” he commanded.

“Push you?”

“Yes. Try to knock me down.”

You scoffed and he could tell that you probably thought he was messing around with you again. Just to play along you nonchalantly placed both your hands up and moved over to shove him, only this time Gojo did something that he’s never done in your presence.

Your eyes widened, your hands pressing into the air that was separating your touch from his body. The force like iron poured over concrete, incredibly powerful and completely protecting Gojo from you.

“Wait… why…” you voice shook, as your frustration got the better of you. Your hands started to tremble and Gojo noticed you increasing your force as you tried to fight the barrier of his infinity technique.

“ Why can’t I touch you?…”

You were using your legs to push now, every ounce of energy going into fighting the invisible cloak that shielded him.

Gojo smirked before dropping his infinity.

You felt the barrier lift, the pressure giving way as you hurled into him. Your body collided into his, all that pent up energy crashing into the sorcerer as you fell onto the ground. Gojo braced your fall but your face was planted into his chest and your arms lay flat on the ground besides him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

You gathered your senses, pushing yourself until you were sitting upright to face him. A puzzled look masked your face as you patted Gojo’s chest lightly before clutching shoulders and massaging your hands down his arms. “I can touch you now! How…how did you do that?…”

Your gaze lifted to meet his own both shocked and amazed by what just happened.

With his blindfold on you couldn’t tell that he was looking at you with wonderment.

Gojo straightened his back so that the two of you were facing each other. You shifted your legs, adjusting your position so you were straddling him. Your hands were still pressing his arms, gripping onto them as if you were trying to prove to yourself that you were indeed touching him.

“You asked me to show you something. So I did...” he said with a shrug.

“Was that your domain? Are…are you the domain?!”

Your innocent question made his heart swell, and a laugh escaped him.

“That’s not how it works! It's more complicated than that but this is just one of my techniques that I use to defend myself.”

“That’s… pretty cool …”

“Does it satisfy your curiosity?”

“A little.”

Gojo felt you finally let go of him. He glanced down to stare at your hands which were slightly red. He winced at the sight, bringing his fingers to wrap around your wrist as his thumb circled the center of your palm.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, this is from smacking the floor when I tripped.”

“Technically still my fault, I should have warned you that I was going to drop my infinity…”

“When I tried to push you it was the weirdest sensation. Like, I was touching something but feeling absolutely nothing at the same time. Has anyone ever broken it? Your infinity?”

“You forget I’m the strongest,” Gojo smugly replied, “nobody can touch me unless I want them to.”

You hummed to yourself but Gojo could see that you were lost in your own thoughts. You took his statement into consideration but he could tell you still had more questions you wanted to ask.

“Thank you for showing me,” you replied softly, choosing to let it go for now.

Your eyes locked onto his, your cheeks a little flushed when you realized how close your faces were to each other. Gojo could sense your pulse increasing, your chest rising and falling as seconds passed between you both.

Right now, all he could think about is kissing you.

His lips brushed yours, a breathless sigh escaping you as you broke the silence that hung in the air.

“ Maybe, we should order some dinner…” you suggested, your eyes shimmering with anticipation.

“That’s an idea,” Gojo murmured, his eyes from beneath his blindfold dropping to your lips.

“I was thinking maybe we can take away from that place-“

His lips locked onto yours, interrupting your thoughts as he gave in to his desire. His hands moved to your hips, tugging you forward against him so he was holding you closer. He bit your bottom lip, before licking it and sliding his tongue into your mouth. Completely entranced by what he was doing, he didn’t notice your hands trailing up his chest until it circled around his neck. This kiss was different, slow and passionate as Gojo took the time to explore your mouth. The taste of sugar dance across your tongues as he deepened the kiss, and he could feel himself getting hard as your chest rubbed against his. One of his hands snaked it’s way up behind your back, tangling his fingers in your hair. His other hand began lifting your tee from the front, sliding underneath it as he slowly began rubbing the flesh of your midriff. You broke away from him, taking a second to catch your breath as you pressed your forehead into his and hoping to calm things down before they escalate.

“We shouldn’t…we said we weren’t going too…”

“You’re right, we probably should stop…” Gojo agreed, but his lips spoke otherwise as he returned a kiss instead.

“ Satoru… ” you whined, but he could sense the heat between your legs as your hips naturally bucked into him. “We said we wouldn’t…not tonight..”

“Then tell me to stop.”

“What about the rules…”

“Tell me that you want me to stop, and we can go back to what we were doing.”

His lips trailed to your neck, where he nipped and sucked at your skin with every intention of leaving a mark.

You whimpered, tilting your head instead and giving Gojo better access to continue what he was doing. Your silence spoke volumes and gave him the consent he needed to continue.

“Rules were meant to be broken,” he whispered in your ear. “And tonight, sweet girl, you’re all mine …”

- CHAPTER 5: EDGE -

#Gojo Satoru #Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x ofc #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru smut #Gojo Satoru fluff #Gojo Satoru angst #jjk fan fiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo jjk #Gojo jujutsu kaisen

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

Text

Till the Fever Breaks

A very happy birthday to @unremarkablegirl I hope you enjoy this!! <3 <3 <3

“This place looks like it hasn’t seen a living being in a century,” Jaskier whispered, following close behind Geralt.

“Just about. But it might have some records Vesemir has been looking for.” He held the torch a little higher, turning slowly. Around them, shelves with crumpling scrolls and molding books flanked work benches and long dead potting plants.

“Don’t touch anything,” he growled, carefully stepping over a pile of shattered glass.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. This place gives me the creeps.” Jaskier held his own torch a bit higher, letting the light throw the table in the center into a mess of shadows and grimey reflections.

Geralt scanned the shelves, kneeling to try to make out the old ruins on the side of one volume as his hand braced against the shelf above him. It barely took any pressure but he felt it as it went under his weight.

“Jaskier, get out!” he barked as there was a crash of glass and wood. Dust from the shelf fell into Geralt’s face and he coughed, struggling to get back to his feet for a moment as the taste of ash flooded his nose and mouth. The shelves around him seemed to fall apart as he scrambled out after the bard.

They both hunched over, gasping for fresh air, blinking into the bright morning as the cacophony of collapse rang out behind them.

“Don’t touch anything?” Jaskier looked over, smirking.

“Shut up, Jaskier.” But there was no heat to it. Geralt felt like his lungs were burning and his vision couldn’t seem to focus. He looked out towards where he had left Roach and blinked hard, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what had been in that dust but it couldn’t have been good.

They paced back to the road and Geralt found that Jaskier was easily pulling ahead of him, his strides even and sure where Geralt was starting to have trouble navigating the ground.

“Hmm.” He stopped, looking back at the building and finding that the stone looked unfocused and hazy, as if a fog had been put between them. He turned and found that he could no more make out Jaskier, even as he drew nearer.

“Fuck.” He felt as though the ground had shifted under him and his legs were quickly losing the battle of keeping him upright, his armor and swords feeling heavier against his frame than they ever had.

Then Jaskier was there, his arms under Geralt’s holding him up, his face only inches away. Geralt had only a moment to think how strange it was that he couldn’t quite make out Jaskier’s eyes the same way he had that morning.

“We got to get you to a healer. Something’s wrong.” Jaskier half carried him towards Roach as the world seemed to shift and crumble under him. “Shit, Geralt. You’re burning up.” His voice hitched with worry and he pulled Geralt a bit closer to support him.

“I’ll be fine Jaskier.” Geralt tried to reason but the ground was swirling now and everything seemed too hot, too much.

“Of course you will be,” Jaskier promised. “Of course.”

Geralt wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more. It didn’t seem to matter as he felt his body finally give out and he collapsed.

When he came to, he was tucked into a warm bed with the covers to his chin. He could feel the trace of fingers against his scalp and all he wanted to do was lean into them. So he did, groaning as those same fingers brushed his hair out of his face.

His whole body ached, a headache pounding behind his eyes as he tried to look around. Jaskier was sitting beside him on the bed, a book balanced on his knee while his hand still idly brushed through Geralt’s hair.

“Jask?” Geralt croaked. He made an attempt to sit up but he could not seem to find the strength in him.

“Well hello there,” Jaskier said simply. He pulled his hand away and Geralt thought he might have whined at the loss. Before he could make any verbal protests, Jaskier was sliding the book into his lap and sighing.

“Mages,” he explained simply. “They must have been some of the first to help create the witchers. I think they were trying to find ways to undo it. Why, I can’t tell, but,” and he pointed to a set of ancient ruins that Geralt could barely make out, “Whatever that dust was that hit you, they made.” Jaskier’s leg was bouncing under him, an anxious tick. “I think they only tested it on younger witchers.”

Jaskier twisted his hands for a moment before leaning in and helping Geralt sit up, piling the pillows behind him and readjusting the covers.

“Where did you get this?” Geralt let himself be propped up on the pillows, wincing at how stiff and frail he felt.

Jaskier cleared his throat, not meeting his eyes directly on. “Might have gone back in and found the shelf the powder was on.” He rubbed the back of his neck before glancing at Geralt. “Good way to brush up on my elder?”

Geralt only glared at him. He would cross his arms were he able but he hoped the scowl would be enough.

“Oh, scary witcher!” Jaskier chuckled. “Try again when you’re not laid out flat, darling.”

“The powder was supposed to do what?” He struggled against the blankets around him to bring his hands up in front of his face. Even as his vision seemed to fail him, Geralt could still make out the firm muscles and calloused pads that he knew to be his.

“Drains them- you? Makes the witchers men again.” Jaskier’s hand came up covering Geralt’s and squeezing gently. “I think only temporarily?” he plucked the book back from Geralt’s lap, flipping through pages. “They never fully succeeded it seems.” He showed the next page of ruins, splattered ink and water damage.

“And if the witcher was a few decades older than that?” Geralt dropped back against the pillow. His body shook for a moment but there was that hand again against his scalp, steadying and firm.

“Temporary, Geralt.” Jaskier nearly snapped but his hand remained gentle. “You’re going to be fine, remember?”

“Hmm.” Geralt gave in, pressing as much as his weak body would allow up into the hand, marvelling quietly as it came down and cupped his cheek. It was warm and slender and it was all he could do not to turn his face and nuzzle into it.

The powder had to wear off soon. Geralt realized that not only had it drained his strength but every ounce of his carefully maintained control seemed to have vanished with it.

Jaskier never left his side, only long enough to bring back meals and water. He was constantly hovering over Geralt, his hands never far from an easy touch. And with every touch, Geralt could feel his determination slipping. As weak as he was, there was no other weakness he knew greater than the one against the gravity that was Jaskier’s casual affections. Part of him wished that the powder would simply drain him so completely so that when this was over, at least he didn’t have to face the bard.

For days, Geralt laid there, his strength gone though his body did not show the same betrayal. He found that his senses had all been dulled as well. He was no longer able to catch the steady rhythm of Jaskier’s heartbeat or hear his footsteps on the stairs as he went for broth and ale and fresh linens.

All the while, he burned, his skin feeling as though it were on fire. He had tried to pull the covers away, just managing to do that only to find that the air around him was freezing. Geralt groaned and turned restlessly in the bed.

“You’re worse than my sisters when they catch a cold,” Jaskier teased, pulling the covers back up over Geralt’s shoulders.

“You could just give me one of my potions and we could be done with this,” he groused but shifted, chasing after the tips of Jaskier’s fingers with his shoulder. The touch was back, easily given and Geralt all but melted under it. It felt like he was duping Jaskier into the contact but he couldn’t find the strength in him to care.

“No witcher powers, Geralt. It would be over because you would be dead.” There was something distressed and anxious in Jaskier’s voice and then he was hovering again, pressing the back of his hand to Geralt’s forehead, fingers cool against the burning skin.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier made a soft sound in the back of his throat as he let his fingers slide into Geralt’s hair, pushing it back from his face, tucking loose strands behind his ears. “The powder’s going to wear off any time and you’ll be back to your old brooding self in no time.”

“Hmm, wouldn’t mind you keep doing this too,” Geralt sighed, letting himself settle into the comfort of Jaskier’s attention.

He remotely registered the press of a fresh cloth to his face, damp and cool and gentle. Cracking an eye he could just make out Jaskier’s face. He wondered if it was a trick of the light or his dulled senses that had made that look feel like it was just for him. He thought maybe it was best not to know and he tucked the image in the far back of his mind. The fever would break soon, his strength would return and he would lose those caring hands.

Jaskier was slumped over the edge of the bed, his doublet discarded and his hair rumpled. Geralt could make out his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of the cook below preparing the stew. He had to squint against the light that flooded into their room but he was able to sit up. He felt exhausted but there was strength in his own hands again.

So he used that strength, leaning forward and letting his own fingers card into Jaskier’s hair. It was softer than he had imagined, finer hairs at the nape of his neck brushing against the side of Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier stirred and for a moment he thought about snatching his hand back. Maybe he hadn’t returned to his full self. Not quite at least as he found that he no longer cared to restrain himself. Under his fingers, Jaskier turned his head to look up at him, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Good to see you’re feeling better.” He sat up slowly, almost careful not to dislodge Geralt’s hands as he pressed the back of his own fingers to Geralt’s forehead then his cheeks. “The fever broke.” There was something small and sad about the smile he gave him though. “Guess the training is going to need a bit more time to catch up, hmm?”

Geralt slowly pulled back his hand, flexing it for a moment before it dropped back into his lap. There was a pang in his chest he was having a hard time ignoring. He felt as though he had been caught out somehow.

Jaskier slid into the bed next to him, checking him over slowly the same way he had over the past few days, waiting for the magic to wear off. His touch was still careful, turning Geralt’s hands over, squeezing and waiting for Geralt to squeeze back. When he did though, Geralt didn’t let go. He squeezed back at Jaskier’s fingers and then held on, letting his thumb brush over the back of his knuckles.

He found that he wasn’t ready to let go of this. The thought that the touch Jaskier gave him while he was sick was only temporary churned his stomach and made the need to cling only stronger. The consequences were coming for him, he knew, but he was still too weak still to stop himself.

Maybe that had been the problem. Maybe he had always been too weak when it came to Jaskier. The bard had stayed far longer than Geralt thought he would and for all that time he had struggled to maintain that last distance. Now he found himself buckling under the weight of of a need he had no right to. If he pushed, he knew he was going to lose Jaskier.

“Love how you just sit there and brood,” Jaskier chuckled as he bent down, sliding off his boots. He shifted under the covers, his hands tugging at Geralt’s shoulders. “Come on then. You’re not quite up to snuff and I desperately need a nap.”

It was all the explanation he gave Geralt before rearranging them to where Geralt’s head was resting on his chest, Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him.

Slowly, Geralt let himself slip back off to sleep, realizing that those touches weren’t lost, he just had to be strong enough to let them stay.

#geraskier #sick fic #the witcher #accidents with mystery powder #touched starved geralt #hurt/comfort #happy birthday mars

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rileymustdie · 3 years

Note

So yk how hawks lost his wings yeah so hm what if it was a different story and the reader was a healer and brought his wings back BUT it hurts her in the process that’s my request if u can do it :)

UGH YOUR MIND

•angst, death, manga spoilers

•you both were a very good match. you both got along together, plus the fact that you were a healer and he was a pro hero that was constantly in fights, yeah he adored you.

• when he would come home all bruised and cut up, you would heal him. it only caused you a small headache, plus you had a happy and snuggly boyfriend after, what could be the problem?

•you never told him that if you overuse your quirk, it hurts you. you didn’t want him to start ignoring his injuries just because he didn’t want to hurt you. the headaches weren’t that bad anyways.

•that is until he loses his wings. the doctors said there was little to no chance of them coming back he was so upset about it and you knew you had to do something. so, you offered to attempt to heal them. his eyes lit up at the offer and so you sat behind him on the bed, trying your best to focus your power on him. now you have a massive headache and nothing even happened. you tell him “maybe it just takes time?” he goes back to sleep, upset. he knows it’s not really your fault and he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up but the thought of having his wings back made him so happy.

•the next day you wake him up and ask if you can try again. you hate seeing him so upset, might as well take a few ibuprofen and get over it. he says yes so you try again, nothing happens. you lean your head on his back with a sigh. “sorry birdie, nothing happened”. he nods and you help him get up to go make breakfast.

•he notices while you were cooking that your eyebrows were furrowed and you looked a bit dizzy. he decides it’s just that you were tired. you go about the rest of your day like normal. hawks calls as many doctors as he can find to see if they can do something about his wings while you work on some household chores. you go to bed, still with the headache

•you continue trying for about a week with no results. finally, you begin to see two small bumps on his back. you tell him and he runs (stumbling a little bit) to the bathroom to see for himself. his face lights up and he picks you up and spins you around, thanking you. you stumble a bit when he puts you down. surely he didn’t put you down that hard, did he? he asks you if something is wrong, but you just brush him off and ask to go cuddle on the couch with a reassuring smile. he guesses he just put you down too hard and you both fall asleep on the couch.

•over the next month, you put more and more power into healing him. for every feather that appears on his back, another dark circle or bruise appears on you. he’s starting to get worried now, but you continue to act like you’re fine and blame it on low iron or just lack of sleep. he listens to you and you continue to heal him, but he keeps his worries in the back of his mind.

• after a few more weeks, he suggests that you should take a break from healing him. his wings are still small and not ready for actual flight, but it’s a large improvement from nothing. you tell him that you’re fine and that you need to keep healing him so he can go back to being a hero. he still tells you no, that he wants to wait until you’re feeling better. (keep in mind that you still haven’t told him that it’s hurting you) you agree with him and you go to bed that night.

•little did he know, you still healed him while he slept. of course not enough to where it would be noticeable the next morning, but you still wanted to help him.

•he started to notice that you hadn’t started to look any better over the past few weeks, and feeling so awful all the time took a toll on you too. every time you looked in the mirror, you saw the dark circles and bruises. how much weight you had lost. you looked deathly, compared to hawks. he was so bright, his muscles back to where they were originally, his hair so smooth. you felt like you should start listening to him and stop trying to heal him, until you heard him on the phone with the commission. “yeah! my partner has been healing me and my wings are coming back! i might even be able to go back to work soon!” oh no. he was no where near ready to go back, you had to work harder.

• you still continue to heal him little by little. you can no longer stand to look in the mirror or make eye contact with hawks for too long. one night before bed he’s holding you, and you start crying into his shoulder. he asks you what’s wrong, and you start explaining. you tell him how you’ve been healing him all this time, how insecure you’ve been, how sick you feel, how much you want to see him happy. you “forgot” to mention what your quirk does to you. he tries his best to comfort you and makes you promise to take a break.

•you decide to listen to him and you start to look a little better over the next few weeks. but unbeknownst to you or him, you’ve already caused permanent damage to yourself.

(also for plot reasons,, we’re going to act like hawks wouldn’t immediately take you to a doctor)

•you tell him that since you’re feeling better, you can start on healing him again. at first he shoots you down, saying that your health is more important to him than going back to work. but then he sees the look in your eyes, how you genuinely want to help him. “fine.” he says with a sigh, “once a week, but if you start feeling worse you have to tell me. deal?” “deal.”

•so, that next week you start again, and immediately you’re back to where you were. you know you should tell him, but he just looks so happy when he sees his wings growing. he only needs a few more weeks of healing and he should be able to fly again. you just have to hold on until then.

•one day, while he’s out getting groceries for the two of you, you start to feel more lightheaded than usual. you remember your phone on the couch and try to get over there to call keigo. you get to his contact, then the room goes dark. he comes home to you passed out on the couch, for a second he assumes you’re taking a nap and smiles down at you warmly. it’s only until he’s halfway through telling you about the new foods he got for the both of you to try that something was wrong. he walked over there and saw your phone was opened to his contact. he sat down next to you and asked if you were alright. no reply. he started to panic and picked you up, no response. you had a pulse going, a slow one. (a/n: i literally don’t know anything medical so i’m making this up and hoping it’s right) he immediately calls an ambulance, tears streaming down his face. “no, baby please don’t do this to me. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i should have payed attention more. please just be okay.” after about a minute of him sobbing into your shoulder, you start to wake up. your eyes barely open with a soft smile. he looks at you and hold you tight “what’s going on, what happened?” you give him a pained look as you start feeling numb. “i’m sorry keigo, i should have told you.” “tell me? tell me what? i don’t know what’s going on, i just walked in and you were passed out” he starts rambling, you use your last bit of strength to kiss him one last time. “you’re going to be a great hero keigo. i love you.” he stares while he processes what you said. “no, no please. don’t leave me. please there’s got to be something.” he grabs your wrist and checks for a pulse, vision blurry and shaking. nothing, you’re cold. he felt his breathing stop, his brain stopped working. the person he fell in love with so long ago, the person he spent long nights awake with talking about anything and everything, the person who greeted him with a warm and loving smile and dinner after a long day of patrol, the person who saw him at his weakest and brought him back up little by little, gone and never to return. he opened up his phone to do something, anything and there you were. the picture you had taken that day he brought you flying. your beautiful smile and that red shirt he got you for your birthday. he remembered how you said it looked so pretty next to his wings, he responded with “well, you look so pretty next to my wings” a silly response, yes, but it made you laugh and you kissed him on the cheek. he looked back at where you currently lay, grey and bony, no life left in you. all because of him. the ambulance finally arrived and they had to pry him off you. he finally got himself to stop crying so he could talk to them, but as soon as he saw them carrying you in the bag, his facade vanished and the tears started flowing again. that night on his way to bed, he saw the indentation on the bed of where you laid just that morning. he made his way to the couch, only to see your phone still on the coffee table. he started sobbing again, and fell asleep on the floor.

(tw: mentions of alcohol and suicide)

•your funeral was the next week, he went back to work the day after. he needed something to take his mind off you. he worked long hours, not caring how much his fragile and much smaller wings ached and how they could barely carry his weight. on his way home, he picked up the strongest alcohol he could get. he downed bottle after bottle and at one point, if he squinted hard enough, he could still see your sillouette.

• a month went by, he was miserable. some intern at his agency said “well, at least they died helping you. you can just get a different healer to finish the job, right?” he smacked the guy and retired then and there. he felt too much guilt, it was his fault you’re gone. just because he was too stupid to notice how bad you were getting. he stopped by your grave on his way home that night, the grass hadn’t even grown over the top. he looked at your name on the headstone. “heh, we didn’t even get to have the same last name yet. yknow, i had the ring in the drawer by the bed.” he looks down at the ground. “i know you worked so hard to fix my wings but, i hope you don’t mind too much if i joined you.” with that, he adds the roses to the growing pile of ones he brought before and heads home. the news the next morning read the title “Pro hero Hawks found dead after sudden retirement” He was with you again.

———————

okay okay i didn’t mean for this to be so long and so sad but here we are,, if you have any suggestions on how to edit it plz lmk! asks and requests are open and feedback would be appreciated! :)

#hawks angst #hawks x reader #bnha angst #keigo takami #keigo x you #keigo x reader #hawks x gender neutral reader #bnha headcanons #mha hawks

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kariachi · 4 years

Text

@petrosapian Some chill little fanfic with Gwen and Kevin and eyewear

Idly, as she glared at the form in her hands, Gwen wondered what would happen if she put down that she was being held against her will. It wasn’t going to happen, both because she wasn’t an asshole and because if she got Kevin arrested for kidnapping he would kill her, assuming Argit didn’t get there first. These facts in no way changed just how much she didn’t want to be there.

“You wouldn’t do this to Ben,” she grumbled. Kevin didn’t even look up, sat across from her with a form of his own.

“Because he can see, G. Now fill out your paperwork or we’ll be here all afternoon.”

For a brief moment, she kind’ve hated him. Still, she turned to the form.

Name. Age. Phone number. Where she’d gotten her last eye exam. Nowhere, that’s where, because out of her entire family tree the only person under sixty who wore glasses was her father. She had never had a problem before. Or at least not enough of one to pay any attention to. But she’d made an offhand mention of struggling to see the board in some of her classes and after attending a few of them Kevin had set up an appointment for her.

So now here she was, filling out a form about her medical history while he acted like this was all par for the course. Though for him it might have been, given he’d apparently worn corrective lenses on some sort or another since he was fourteen (“And probably needed them before that, that’s just when shit started interfering with my work enough that I couldn’t put it off”) so he was probably used to all this. Gwen was not. She was young and healthy enough to have never had to fill out a form like this, and too stubborn to admit that maybe a solution other than her ‘sit closer to the front’ might be good.

Kevin had practically frog-marched her into the building.

“Do you get headaches,” she read off the form, glowering at Kevin through her eyelashes. “Yes. Constantly.” He just smirked.

“Better mark it down then.”

Yeah, definitely hated him right now.

“Alright Ms. Tennsyon, I’m going to need you to stand behind that white line there.” Obediently, Gwen found the line on the floor of the room and stood so the toes of her shoes barely touched it. The lights went low around her, and a screen on the far side of the room lit up with letters on it. “Now, I’m going to show you a series of letters and I want you to try to read them, understood?”

“Yes.” The man nodded, turning to a computer nearby, and the letters on the screen changed along with their size.

“Can you read this?” Gwen could, with ease.

“V. F. J. K.”

“Good.” Again, the letters changed, smaller now.

“M. N. R. D.”

“Getting them so far.” Again. Now they were starting to blur around the edges.

“J…. C. T. U.”

“Okay. How about these?” This set was even smaller still, by a fair margin, and blurred enough that Gwen had to squint.

“P… Q… F… K.”

“And these ones?” The letters went large again, like the set that’d been there when she first walked in. A bit of tension slipped from Gwen’s shoulders.

“R. J. X. D.”

“Alright then.” The man moved away from the computer, turning the lights in the room back up. “You’re definitely going to need corrective lenses,” he said, not seeming to hear the aggravated noise Gwen made in her throat in response. He gestured her over to a chair in front of some machinery. “I’m going to need you to sit down and rest your chin here.” Gwen did as asked, scooting the chair forward so she could sit comfortably with her chin on the provided rest and her eyes looking through something like a pair of binoculars. There was a picture visible through them, of a green field and a hot air balloon.

“This’ll only take a minute,” the man said. “I just need you to focus on the balloon, okay?”

“Okay.”

He was right, it didn’t take long. Maybe thirty seconds of watching the balloon come in and out of focus, sometimes so much so that Gwen couldn’t make it out as anything but a blur of color.

She refused to see the point in it.

“Which is clearer, A or B?”

“Wait, let me guess, I was right.” If anything was going to make Gwen throw someone into a wall of frames, it would be the smug bastard who was paying for all this.

“Glasses, really.” She grumbled, looking at the selection of frames and not really seeing them. “They’re not conductive to fighting evil, you know.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said, and while she couldn’t see him she could hear him rolling his eyes, “because you totally aren’t a ranged fighter who’s trying to move away from fighting and into academia.” She swatted his arm, he didn’t seem to notice. “Get contacts, if you’re that worried about it. It’s just nice to have a pair of glasses proper on hand, just in case.”

“Oh no,” Gwen said with a snort, “I’ve seen the trouble you go through with those things.” How many times had he had to dig his glasses out of the glove compartment because he’d lost his a contact during a fight? How many times had he had to drop out of a fight because he lost a contact? He’d straight up admitted before that he didn’t even find the things comfortable, just more convenient for a brawler who spent as much time as possible ass-deep in machinery. And the care they needed? Not even.

“Glasses it is then,” he replied, taking Gwen by the shoulders and gently pushing her towards the racks of frames. “Go forth, Gwendolyn, find something you like.”

She wanted to argue, but by the time she’d run out of momentum (‘gently’ by Kevin’s standards was still a good push, stupid superstrength) he’d wandered off to another section, looking for new frames to go with his new prescription. There was nothing to it but to heave a sigh and begin looking through the selection available.

It wasn’t much, given how many frames there were, easily two large walls full. Just none of them were what she was looking for. By which she meant none of them made it look like she wasn’t wearing glasses at all. The ones that came closest just looked, off, on her face. Strange. She found herself driven towards the standard frames just because they at least looked right. Then once you hit frames you had to deal with colors, and by the time Kevin swung back around with a pair of frames that looked remarkably similar to the pair he was already wearing in hand she was standing there in a pair of thick blue frames, judging her reflection.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“You look like a dork,” he replied with a complete lack of venom.

“Ben would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t no matter what you got.” He threw his arms around her shoulders from behind, consciously not putting his weight on her. “You like ‘em?”

“I think so. I do like blue.” Kevin smiled in the mirror.

“Then get ‘em.” He slipped away and moved over to another display, grabbing a subtler pair of black frames and holding them out. “Try these ones too, your mom’ll throw a fit if you don’t have a ‘formal’ pair.” Chuckling despite herself at the image of her mother getting passive-aggressive over her daring to have colored frames on her glasses, Gwen accepted the second pair.

Maybe this wasn’t so horrible.

#fanfic #ben 10 #gwen tennyson #kevin levin #yes i am now tagging papa in all of my gwen-focused stuff

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katsukisbeatingheart · 5 years

Text

let me help

ao3!

there's a difference between hard-working and overworking.

word count: 1309

Crunching of the leather punching bag drew every possible scornful breath from your lips. It was hard enough trying to be a hero against the odds of people like the League of Villains, who constantly found ways to terrorize your school, in particular.

Not to mention trying to figure homework, classwork, hero-work, housework; there was enough stress already.

You didn't need the addition of weighty family ties dragging you down.

Everyone came with baggage, you knew.

It was normal, and usually you could shake it off like mere pebbles caught in your shoe.

This time though, everything felt like it was slowly becoming a heavier load. Cement trucks full of issues—family issues—as opposed to the previous, humble shoulder bag full of chaos.

You'd received jab after jab and comment after comment with a steeled will before you made it to UA. Now that you were on your own though, you'd expected to limit dealings with ball-and-chain insults.

I never asked for anything.

A slam of your elbow to the side.

I was obedient, and did as was expected of me.

Harsh blow from your knee to the center.

I supported myself, and worked as long and hard as I could.

Feverish throws of your knuckles to where you figured the face would be.

Why won't they just leave me alone?

White hot rage boiled under your skin and rushed to your head, blurring your sight. Upon complete animalistic instinct, you lashed out, shoving a palm to the fabric and spinning into a tight roundhouse kick landing closer to the base.

You slammed your hand into the swinging bag to steady yourself, leaning into your right knee for support.

You were tired and sweaty and emotionally spent, but the anger still clawed at your dizzying thoughts.

"You okay?"

You snapped to attention, twisting to get a good look at the person catching you at the worst possible time.

The red hair and sharp teeth came into focus quicker than his worried expression, but you heard his voice well enough to know how he was probably staring at you.

When you didn't respond, still panting and squinting with some kind of intensity he didn't understand, he continued—much more gently.

"...I'd thought I heard a yell—or two—and I-I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You squinted a little bit harder, watching the already vague outline you could make out swim in front of you.

"I'm oka—"

The ground beneath you tipped. It was like being stuck in one of those tunnels at the carnival; the ones that spin and you have to get to the other side without falling over.

Gym Gamma's floor panned in rather quickly and you distantly registered that you were, in fact, falling.

There was a shout, thundering footsteps, and next thing you know, you were cradled in the grip of two very toned arms. Your head swiveled upward, and you peered into the harshly screwed up face of Kirishima, bent into overwhelming concern.

"What the hell?" His voice rattled through clenched teeth, and—not that you could really even see—if he could scrunch his nose and furrow his brow even more, he did.

Blink once. Twice.

"Kirishima? I thought that was you," you mumbled.

"Well, who else would it be?"

"I don't know; I wondered if maybe I was just hallucinating or something. Which would makes sense, because I think about you a lot, you know," the ease of your tone deluded from the incongruous pain ebbing away at your consciousness. You were fighting off the largest headache you'd had in quite some time.

Meanwhile, Kirishima was doing his best to avoid letting that last bit distract him. He cleared his throat and bit the stammer out of his throat before it could shake up his thoughts.

"Hey— c'mon, what are you doing overworking yourself? You need to take it easy; it'dls not very manly to run your body so deathly ragged," he chided softly, mindlessly wiping away the moisture collected around your cheeks. "Keep doin' that and I'll make sure you never work alone again," he added with a tiny laugh, hoping his gentle threat would get at least a smile out of you.

It didn't.

You pushed yourself up from his grasp, hastily moving to your feet.

"I can take care of myself just fine, thank you," you snapped.

Kirishima blinked in shock.

That was a little unexpected.

His eyebrows furrowed in a new kind of concern.

"H-hey wait—"

He reached for your upper arm, grabbing it with a grip just as firm as his Quirk. The sternness was a little unnecessary though, because you tipped over and right back into him with more ease than a signpost in a storm.

"I said I'm fine, now would you please just—"

"Leave you alone? I don't think so. I'm not about to just walk away when you're obviously in trouble. I want to help you!"

He was clearly agitated, and you flinched at the hurt in his voice, retreating a little deeper into his embrace. Kirishima was the kind to do anything for his friends, no matter what the case. It was unfair to just leave him to worry.

"What are you trying to prove?" His every syllable felt as fragile as the tension that had been tossed into the air. It was a moment before you gathered the courage to admit the truth.

Your lip quivered.

"Myself."

The hurt moved away and understanding took its place. He could relate to that. Eijirou just didn't know what was driving you to practically break yourself.

"Why?" He whispered.

Your voice cracked.

"My family."

Kirishima inhaled deeply, pulling you tighter to his chest to set his chin on the top of your head. Under normal circumstances, he probably would've been a flustered maelstrom right about now—but in the moment, there wasn't anything else he felt he needed to do more.

"I don't think there's anyone worth proving to that takes destroying yourself along the way, you know." He lightly rubbed shapes into your arm, trying to coax you into calm. "Especially because you don't have anything to prove. You're incredible, and as long as you know it, that's what counts, right?"

Deeply touched, the warmth he gave spread clear up your neck. You even felt your ears heat up. Thankfully, the fatigue covered for that.

"What if I said it was for me, then?"

"Self-destructiveness is unmanly," Kirishima grunted.

That managed to make you laugh; you'd been waiting to hear him say something like that.

Eijirou visibly brightened, more than ecstatic to see you smile—even if it was a little pained.

"Will you please let me take care of you?"

You placed your hand on his wrist, puffing a contentedly defeated sigh.

"Alright, alright, you win. You can after I take a quick nap, though," you hummed, eyes sliding shut as you nestled further into his lap.

Kirishima let every ounce of embarrassment he felt in the past few minutes get to him, and suddenly he was reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess.

"Wh—?! Y-you mean right here? Right now?"

"Good night, Eiji."

The boy shifted under you, and you felt him lean backward. His groan vibrated against your skin and you had to keep from smiling coyly.

You turned as if readjusting your place on a rather comfy pillow, curling into his abdomen.

"And thank you."

You didn't dare open your eyes to face him. The silence though, was enough to make you contemplate peeking—until you felt him shift, and stretch out on the matted gym floor. He gathered you into his arms again, silently pressing your head to the junction of his throat and collar bone.

With the way he held you, you knew he wasn't letting you go any time soon.

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shadowsndaisies · 5 years

Text

Carrie: The Musical

a/n: okay so kind of excited for this one! this is my first Riverdale piece, and in honor of the 2nd musical episode, I just watched. I wrote this for Carrie from last year, and I’m planning to do another one based off of Heathers now that we’ve seen that beautiful fit. This piece is broken in sections as you’ll see, be aware of the warnings before you read!

Fandom: Riverdale

Pairing: Sweet Pea (kinda)

WC: 4297

Synopsis: Carrie episode from season 2 re-write

WARNINGS: character death, panic/anxiety attack (more so at the very end)

masterlist

Pre-Show: Rehearsals Begin

“I can’t believe you’re doing the musical,” Sweet Pea grumbled as you got off your bike.

“Good morning to you too, Pea,” you sighed.

“First Topaz ditches us because of the Blossom chick, then Fangs dips because of Keller, Jughead joined yesterday, and now you, what the hell am I supposed to do?” SP ranted and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“First off I’m not actually performing and neither is Fangs and secondly you could always join the production,” you offer as the two of you enter Riverdale High.

Sweet Pea scoffed at that, “please tell me you’re joking,” he added a deadpan as his eyes slid to you.

“Not exactly, Pea, if we’re all in the musical, don’t you think you should probably come to see why?” you say as the two of you approach your locker.

“Hell no,” he stated simply, crossing his arms and leaning down to be closer to your eye level.

“Okay, well, enjoy being on your own for a bit Pea, because the rest of us have rehearsals today, I’ll see you later,” you nodded, after exchanging your books.

You tap Pea’s shoulder twice before walking away, shaking your head as his grumbles about enjoying the time off would suit him just fine.

After class you found yourself sitting in the circle with the rest of the main cast Kevin was giving a basic intro when Fangs finally showed, he slid into the circle between you and Kevin.

“Nice of you to show Fogarty,” you whispered to him, a playful look on your face.

“I’m a busy man, (y/n) you know that,” he winked slinging his arm on the back of your chair causing you to chuckle softly and shake your head.

You would’ve continued your conversation too if Cheryl hadn’t begun to sing. You had to give the redhead props, as she sang Carrie you could totally see her embodying the role of Carrie White. Although when she was done the smile that had come to your lips during her performance disappeared as soon as the thud that sounded with the falling of the sandbag was heard. You had physically jumped and Fangs’ arms had instinctively gone to pull you back, just in case.

Sweet Pea and Fangs were the same in that sense, the two of them had consistently been putting themselves in the line of danger to save you for years. A fight breaks out, the boys immediately push you behind them or one of them gets you out. For Fangs the reasoning was easy, he was your best friend, the flirting was all for fun and just a part of both of your natural natures. With Pea, the relationship was a bit different as often times he got a little too protective but at the same time would never give the honest answer, he was one of your closest friends and god were you grateful for him.

When rehearsals ended, shortly after the Cheryl and the sandbag fiasco Fangs walked you back outside to your bike, except when you got there you saw Sweet Pea waiting, leaning against his own Harley.

“Hey Sweets, what are you doing here?” you asked slowly as you and Fangs approached your bikes.

“Fangs texted me about the sandbag,” he stated and you rolled your eyes before glaring at your other friend.

“Seriously? I wasn’t even close to it, Cheryl’s the one who could’ve gotten hurt. Hell, I’m not even actually in the musical, I’m helping with costumes and filling in as an ensemble dancer and voice,” you clarify.

“Dead, she could’ve gotten dead,” Fangs argued.

“You’re not helping, Fogarty,” you squint at him.

“From now on, if you’re going to insist on doing this stupid musical because it is stupid, then I’m there, every time,” Sweet Pea decided.

“Fangs is going to be there constantly, and I don’t need a babysitter, I’m a big girl, Pea,” you attempted to object.

“You know this doesn’t really seem like you need me for this argument, so I'm just going to head out, I’ll see you guys back at Sunnyside,” Fangs managed to get out as you glared at Pea and he stared back.

It was once the roar of Fangs bike could no longer be heard did Sweet Pea speak up, “I know you’re a big girl, okay. Trust me I’m well aware, but here’s how it’s going to go down, I’m going to be there, end of story,” he stated.

You couldn’t help but scoff, “look Sweet Pea, I’m grateful for the fact that I have you and Fangs always looking out for me, but this time I have to say no. If something’s going on we’ll figure it out, okay? I’ve got Jughead and Toni and Fangs all in the musical. Not to mention I’m actually friends with Betty and Archie and Cheryl and pretty much everyone else, if anything happens I’m protected. And you’ll be the first to know. But you gotta give me space this time,” you sigh before starting your engine, revving it so that Sweet Pea wouldn’t be able to get another word in.

Act 1: B & V

Days began to go by without another incident, Jughead told you he’s looking into the whole sandbag incident and that he’s got his eyes open, Cheryl and Josie seemed to have made up, or gotten to the in the works stage of the process and your costume game was going strong, so was your ensemble voice. However, the tension between Veronica and Betty was beginning to become even more palpable. Though things did come to a peak during Veronica’s The World According to Chris number.

“Okay, Veronica I am obsessed with everything that just happened,” Kevin praised as those of us, not in the number clapped from our seats in the audience.

“Thank you,” Veronica smiled, her hands clasped together and a gleeful smile splayed on her lips, “it helps to be off-book and in full costume,” Veronica sent you a silent thank you which caused you to smile back.

The dry laugh from Betty drew all of your attention though, “don’t be so modest. You are the literal embodiment of Chris,” she began and you couldn’t help but send Jughead who was a few seats to your left a look of worry. “Never had a role been so perfectly type-cast.”

“Oh no…” you mumbled a hand already coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Betty…” Archie began but stopped himself when Veronica raised her hand, you also didn't miss the sigh that Kevin let out, one very similar to the one you let out as everyone straightened in their seats, the drama something they craved.

“What was that, Betty?” Veronica asked, walking closer to the girl who was once her best friend.

“I mean, think about it,” Betty began again, her tone flat as if this were boring her and were completely obvious. “Spoiled rich girl, check. Major daddy issues, check. Bad to the bone, trying to control everyone around her, including her boyfriend and best friend, check, check, check,” Betty finished taking a few steps closer to Veronica as well.

Fangs let out a sigh before turning to you, your fingers still pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to fight an oncoming headache.

“What do we do?” Fangs mouthed, looking straight at you.

“Nothing,” you shook your head and mouthed back, this was one argument where you all had to keep your mouths shut until there was more information.

Intermission #1: a conversation

“Yo, Red,” I need to talk to you,” you shouted through the halls of Riverdale High School when spotted the familiar flob of red hair by his locker.

“Hey, (y/n), what’s up?” Archie nodded, switching out some of his books.

“How are Veronica and Betty? I mean I like them, really I do, but the tension with the musical, and the incident that happened after the Chris number, I’m a little worried,” you explained.

“Don’t worry about it, they’re sorting it out, but trust me, it’s getting better,” he promised before shutting his locker and reattaching the lock. “All you need to focus on is making sure that we look like we’re from Carrie, yeah?” he nodded before walking away.

“Sure thing, Andrews,” you sighed before heading off to your next class as well.

Act 2: Cheryl Blossom

Some more time went by and the cast was becoming stronger and stronger and then Kevin got another note, of course, you weren’t supposed to know. But you were a Serpent and that meant you and Jughead were family. When Kevin decided to talk to Cheryl things turned out very different than how you all were expecting them too.

“Due to some unforeseen circumstances...” Kevin began, clearly upset. Fangs had moved his hand to hold Kevin’s shoulder soothingly, though, Kevin had pushed it away. “...Cheryl will no longer be playing the role of Carrie White,” your eyes widened.

Sure Cheryl was being targeted but Cherry Bombshell never backs down from a fight, ever. Clearly, you weren’t the only one to be surprised as everybody immediately began asking “What?” and “Why?”. As your eyes danced around looking carefully at everyone sitting in the circle they couldn’t help but fixate on Ethel Muggs for a moment, she seemed to be fighting a proud little smirk and failing.

“Let’s just say Penelope Blossom isn’t much of a stage mom,” Kevin announced to everyone before leaning towards Toni, she was sitting on the other side of you while Fangs was to your right.

Toni gave a quick nod before grabbing her stuff and walking away, you shared another look with Fangs, there was some weird shit going down in this musical.

“In the meantime, Cheryl’s understudy will assume the role,” Kevin concluded with a curt nod.

“Understudy?” Ethel asked the smirk had been wiped away by the new information.

“I appointed one after the sandbag incident,” Kevin explained and your eyes narrowed on Ethel as she let out what seemed like an irritated sigh, “Midge Klump.”

Applause erupted from all of us as our attention went to Midge who’s smile brightened and cheeks flushed just enough for us to notice.

Intermission #2: Sweet Pea Returns

“Fangs mentioned things have been getting kind of intense over at the musical,” Sweet Pea noted as casually as he could while the two of you were playing a game of pool in the nearly empty Whyte Wyrm.

“Yeah, figured you must be the soul that Fogarty cries his sweet little heart out to,” you snorted, taking a sip of your water and lining up for your shot.

“Just wanted to check in, see how you were doing,” he continued.

Your eyes squinted slightly as you adjusted your angle before taking your shot, another of the striped balls landing in a hole, a smile on your lips you turned back to your giant of a friend. “Careful Sweets, almost sounds like you care,” you laugh.

You were about to place your hand down to continue your turn but Sweets pulled you back by your wrist, forcing you to turn to him, “Damn straight I care, you tell me what’s going on,” he said seriously, eyebrows furrowed, gaze focused on yours.

And your mouth went dry, suddenly all words taken from you, the look on his face was serious, deadly serious.

“Fangs told you about the second note, didn’t he?” you whispered, you were just so close, a whisper was all you needed.

“You tell me, okay,” he repeated, his voice still low and still serious.

Your hand came up to grab the one he had on your other wrist, “I promise, Sweets. I’ll tell you,” you nodded and he let you go.

“Good, now finish your shot so I can mop the floor with you,” he said, clearing his throat, and that soft look, one that almost looked like fear was gone, and his normal hardened by the world facade was back.

“It’s not nice to tell lies,” you shot back, sparing him another careful glance before turning back to the table.

Act 3: The Cooper Drama

As soon as we started working with Midge as Carrie we had to do a full breakdown of the new dynamic, so we finally let Alice Cooper take the stage, it was going really well and then Betty’s name slipped her mouth. Your head dropped at the realization of what was coming next, Fang's hand came down on my shoulders, his thumb rubbing slightly soothing circles into the blade.

“Mom?” Betty’s voice was soft as she called out to her mother after the older Cooper finished her lines form the song.

“Don’t leave me, Betty,” Alice begged, a soft hiccup in between. “Don’t leave me like all the others,” she added before rushing off stage, Betty got up and followed right after her.

“Am I directing a train wreck?” Kevin asked and that caused me to sit up straight. Fangs shrugged his shoulders before lifting a cup. “And where’s my tea?” Kevin added causing Fangs’ arm to freeze.

“Alright that’s enough drama for me, I’m heading home. Fangs, you good or you need a ride?” you asked standing up and grabbing your bag.

“Rehearsals aren’t done yet!” Kevin interjected.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not on stage then,” you sighed, offering the group a peace sign before walking out of the auditorium and to your bike.

Intermission #3: your interview

“Why are we in the music room, Jones?” you asked, a bored expression over your face as you sat down on one of the stools.

“It’s your turn for confession,” Jughead jokes.

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned,” you shot back sarcastically.

“No, but really, this is your time to talk about what it’s been like working behind the scenes and with the cast,” Jughead prodded.

“Kevin’s my friend Jughead. And he asked me to help with costumes. I agreed. The cast is just more of my friends, so it’s been cool. I mean I’m not really one for people’s drama so that’s been a bit much but I don’t know. Fangs is breathing down my neck constantly because Sweet Pea’s doing the same to him. Oh! I just finished the digital file for the program mock-up, I sent it to Kevin so he could make some final adjustments before sending them to print,” you offer.

“This is lame, you know that? You’re giving me lame stuff to film, boo,” Jughead shook his head and you laughed.

“Sorry, my life isn’t some telenovela-like some of our other friends,” you scoff.

“Such a shame too, you could’ve been a star, kid, a star,” jughead trailed with a slight accent, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re something else, Jones, you know that?” you laugh as the bell rings.

Act 4: The Show Begins

On the night of the show, I arrived with a bag in hand, inside was my best dress. I wasn’t going on stage but I had been a lot of help and so Kevin had asked me to dress nice. When I walked into the dressing rooms everyone was preparing themselves.

As the curtain call drew closer and closer I had already changed and now was running around to make sure everyone looked perfect. We were all singing You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet as we went.

“You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night you'll never forget. You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget,” everyone was singing

“This will be just great,” Archie sang before I pulled him away from Veronica and to his costume.

“Oh, my life is gonna take flight. Can't wait till Saturday night, yeah…”

Sheriff Keller came in to take a picture of Kevin, and then they ushered you into the photo too.

“Eighty bucks for a tux?” Kevin sang the next line, gesturing to his own clothes, causing me to laugh.

“Damn, we better get laid,” Moose cut in.

“You've been prayin' for that since the seventh grade,” you sang back causing Moose to snort in return.

“It's the least we deserve after everything we've paid,” Alice added from where she was curling her hair.

“Got the food,” Archie.

“Got the drinks,” Chuck.

“Got the limo for ten,” Veronica.

“And we won't get a chance like this again,” everyone.

“We'll be leaving as boys but we're coming home as men,” boys.

“This will be just great! Yeah, my life is gonna take flight,” Chuck.

“Can't wait till Saturday night,” Ethel.

I walked out into the hall to hand costumes out to everyone as they passed.

Toni came first, “You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget.”

Then the rest, “You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget. You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget. You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget. You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never forget. You ain't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna be a night we'll never, no, never, we'll never forget. A night we'll never forget,” then they were ready.

Intermission #4: 10 minutes til places

“Ten minutes till places! Where is Fangs?” Kevin announced before looking to you.

“I don’t know, Kevin. I’ve been trying to find him myself,” you shook your head.

Sweet Pea hadn’t told you if he was coming tonight but you knew Fangs would know.

“Okay, you know what? You!” Kevin pointed at one of the many co-stage managers he had gotten to help with the musical, “give (y/n) your headset. I need to be able to talk to her in case we have a costume malfunction.”

The girl handed it to you with a smile before walking away to help finish final touches.

“Why’d you really give it to me?” You asked, your friend as you adjusted the headset.

“Keep your eyes open, I’ve got this queasy feeling,” he mumbled before walking away.

“(Y/n)!” Jughead called out to you from where he was behind the camera.

“Yeah, what’s up, Jughead?” you asked.

“When we find Fangs, stick with him, okay? Or find Sweet Pea and sit with him,” Jughead told you.

“Jug! Are you serious? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” you grumbled before walking away.

Not even five minutes passed before you saw Jughead again, this time he was being thrown out of Ethel’s dressing room, “Really, Jones?” you asked.

“I think Ethel’s the one who wrote the notes, sounded like a guilty conscious to me,” Jughead responded, turning the camera towards me, and then to the side again, “Hey Moose!”

“Out of my way, Jones,” Moose spit back, a hand to Jughead’s chest for good measure.

Your eyes met Jug’s over the top of the camera, you were vaguely aware that he was filming you again, “What is going on with this musical, man?” you muttered.

“Something, diabolical,” Jughead answered, squinting his eyes slightly as he looked after the direction in which Moose had gone.

Act 5: The Final Act

The musical had been going well, you were sitting next to Jughead and Kevin in the middle of the front row, watching Alice Cooper sing before it all went to hell.

“All right, Carrietta, it’s time to come out of your closet,” Alice announced and the stagehands took their queue to raise the closet set.

We were supposed to see Midge, on her knees and she should’ve been singing, instead, your hands began to sweat and your heart began to move much more rapidly and you felt something sour rise up your throat. Midge was on stage, but not how it should’ve been.

“Uh, Kevin, did you reblock this scene? Why isn’t she on her knees singing?” Cheryl’s voice had an edge to it, the same edge that had made it slightly more difficult for you to breath.

Kevin could only stutter and my hand came up over my mouth, the feeling as if I were about to cry, or faint, or vomit all swirling through me. Because on stage was Midge, she was on the wall, suspended in place by multiple daggers in her body and around her, was bloody letters, “I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD ALL THOSE WHO ESCAPED ME BEFORE WILL DIE... B.H.”

“Oh god, no,” you muttered.

“I don’t think that’s part of the show,” Jughead murmured.

“Oh my god,” Kevin was finally able to spit some words out.

“Somebody should help her, for god's sake help her!” Cheryl screamed, and that caused Alice to turn around.

When Alice Cooper let out a scream of pure fear everyone began to move, but you were frozen the panic of the situation was getting to you, everyone seemed to close and the room felt like there wasn’t enough air and everything was too loud.

“(Y/n)!” Jughead shouted from where he was beside you.

“I-I can-can’t-” you shook your head violently and your body began to shake.

You were so focused on how your hands were shaking you didn’t realize when someone else came to stand before you, allowing Jughead to go run after his girlfriend.

“(Y/n),” his voice was stern and low and had an edge to it that made you look up.

There was Sweet Pea, he was staring at you so carefully but also with what looked like relief, then he notices your hands.

“Hey, just breath, okay, you’re going to be fine,” he attempted to soothe.

“Fine!” you shot back between ragged breaths. “She-she’s dead…” you tried to gasp for air and then Sweet Pea made a decision, he slipped his arms around you from where you were sitting, and with a small grunt lifted you into his arms.

His giant stature allowed him to move through the crowd relatively easily and he didn’t stop until he got you outside.

“Hey, I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay” he whispered a few minutes after he had set you on one of the picnic tables outside in the back, it was quieter there and the cold air helped to get you to calm down, his arms were on both sides of you and then you were hugging him.

He froze this time, surprised at how you had basically latched your arms around him, but his arms moved to wrap around you, and he squeezed you just enough to remind you he was here.

“You’re freezing,” he noted, his voice a soft whisper, just like it was that day at the Wyrm. He pulled away from you for a moment to slip his jacket off, he was wearing the leather one today, and then it was enveloping you.

“C’mon let’s get you home,” he said softly.

“I don’t want to go home, Pea. I don’t want to go back to an empty trailer, not tonight,” you whispered.

“Then you’ll come to mine, I told you I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he nodded, offering you his hand.

You nodded before grabbing it.

The Curtain Call

You were sitting on Sweet Pea’s bed, staring at a picture on the wall.

“That was a good day,” Sweet Pea said, his voice soft as he set some stuff to the side of you on the bed.

You didn’t respond and your hands were tucked under your legs to keep them from shaking.

“I got some clothes for you to change into,” he continued, but your eyes stayed focused on the photo. “(Y/n).... C'mon, work with me, tell me something,” he asked and you slowly turned to him.

He sighed and grabbed a wipe as he took in your disheveled face, makeup smudged and streaked over your face. “C’mere,” he said as he tilted your face up to him, tucking your hair back and slowly wiping at your face.

Your lips parted as he swiped the wipe by your chin, “I’m terrified,” you admit to him, voice cracking.

Sweet Pea kept one hand gently on your face as he threw the wipe into the trash bin, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, while I’m here, okay? I’ve got you. All the serpents do,” he promised, but it did little to soothe your nerves.

“That’s not the reason,” you breathed as one of your shaky hands came up to grip onto Pea’s wrist.

He stays silent, eyes flicking to yours as he grabbed your scrunchie from your wrist, his hands moving to your hair.

“I’m terrified for who’s next,” you continued and your eyes watered. “I don’t want to watch another person die.”

He tied your hair in a half bun and swept a few of your baby hairs from your face before crouching down to be eye level with you, “They’re gonna get this guy,” he said seriously.

“You don’t know that,” your voice cracked as you met his eyes.

“I don’t have to. Because what I do know, is that no one is going to touch you, because I’m here, always,” he reminded. “Here, these should sort of fit, get comfy, we can watch a movie or something,” he nodded to the clothes on the bed.

He walked out to go and change himself and carefully you unzipped your dress and changed into the black boxer shorts and grey t-shirt he had left for you.

When he came back he laid on his bed and you fell in beside him. With one arm over your waist, he started the movie. You fell asleep before the halfway mark, and his grip on you tightened slightly. There was no way in hell he was going to just let you go.

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dreamwritesimagines · 6 years

Text

Don’t You Love Me? 20- Can’t Keep Hanging On [Steve Rogers x Reader]

A.N.: So, it turned out to be more angsty than I originally planned it to be 😂 Thank you so much for your amazing feedback, please keep it coming! <3

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark x Pepper Potts, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of addiction, self destructive behavior, cussing, explicit language, mentions of sex. Read with care please.

Summary: Moving too fast isn’t always so good,

Word Count: 2382

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

The beautiful moodboard is made by fictionwillneverdie

Gif’s not mine!

Your phone buzzing beside your head snapped you out of your sleep and you gasped, then lifted your head from the table, almost hitting your laptop meanwhile. You made a face and reached out to your phone, knocking the empty bottle off the table and sending it to the ground with a loud thud that resonated through your head and you groaned.

“Fuck-“ You muttered and squinted your eyes to look at the texts.

From: Peps

Where are you?

Call me.

Y/N I’m serious, don’t make me get one of Tony’s drones to find where you are!

From: Nat

What happened between you two?

From: Bucky

Any idea why Steve looks like a kicked puppy?

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered and turned to the screen to rewind what had been going on for the last couple of hours, wiping the drool off your face. You switched between cameras, lighting your cigarette and finally found one where Steve, Bucky and Tony were all at the lab, then turned the volume on and put your earbuds into your ears.

“…so yeah, Fury is right.” Steve shrugged, “If we’re going after HYDRA-“

“I’ve already contacted with SHIELD.” Tony said “Speaking of…”

“Tony,” Bucky said and Tony stole a look at him before turning to Steve.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Steve frowned slightly, “What do you mean?”

“You know, will you be able to…focus on the mission?”

“What fucking mission?” you mumbled, ignoring the way your phone vibrated on the table and Steve shifted in his seat,

“Yeah.”

“Because I’d hate to waste a good plan just because you had a lover’s spat with our best tech.”

“I’m fine.” Steve’s voice was almost stoic, and Tony rolled his eyes

“We both know you’re not, Cap,” he stated, “You’ve been the opposite of fine for the last three days.”

“Three days?!” you asked, grabbing your phone to check the time, then groaned.

Right.

Apparently drowning your sorrows meant drowning your perception of time as well.

You huffed out, grabbing the bottle to check it but of course it was empty. You heaved a sigh, then your glances returned to the screen when Steve talked.

“Let’s focus on the mission.”

“Steve-“

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Steve cut Bucky off, “I have not- we’re-“ he paused and took a deep breath, “She is free to do what she wants with her life.”

“But if-“

“Including making me a part of it or not.”

“Come on man…” Bucky said, “She likes you, you know she does. I know, even Tony knows.”

Tony nodded and Steve shrugged,

“She likes alcohol more,” he stated and you could practically feel your heart breaking into two pieces. You put the bottle down, the anger pulsating through you and you pressed your fingertips to your temples, desperate to rub the headache away.

You really should’ve seen that coming. It was of course bound to happen, one day, it’d be too much for Steve.

In all honesty, you had warned him.

It had just never occurred to you how much it’d actually hurt you.

“Fuck…” You mumbled and grabbed your phone to unlock it, then found the contact to touch Pepper’s name.

It rang only once.

“I’m going to kill you,” Pepper’s voice was like a whip and you licked your lips.

“Hi Peps.”

“Don’t Hi Peps me!” she hissed and you clicked on the keyboard to see where she was and whether or not she was alone, but she was nowhere to be seen, which made you think she was in her and Tony’s bedroom.

At least bedrooms didn’t have any cameras.

“Hello, future Mrs Stark?” you tried again and she heaved a sigh.

“Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“I would’ve seen you if you were around.”

“It’s a big tower.”

“Y/N!”

You rubbed at your eyes, “I didn’t want to come there shitfaced, Peps.”

“Yeah, we figured. What happened?”

You scoffed and lowered the volume of the cameras, “Cap didn’t tell you?”

“I’m sorry, Cap?” Pepper repeated “Okay, what’s going on?”

You pressed your lips together, and cleared your throat,

“Listen, I can’t do this on the phone.” You said, “Wanna meet somewhere?”

“Are you sober?”

“What are you, Tony now?” You asked back, then paused, “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just- I’ll sober up by the time I get there, okay?”

“Let’s meet at a coffee house then.” Pepper said, “I’ll text you the details.”

“See you there.” You said and hung up, and three seconds later your phone vibrated.

From: Nat

I’m coming too.

“How do you even do that?” you asked out loud, then stood up from the chair to walk to your bedroom.

“Okay, spill.” Pepper said and you grabbed the huge cup of coffee from her as she sat down. Natasha looked up from her phone, then put it on the table to turn her attention to you.

“It’s all fucked up,” you shrugged and took a big sip, making Natasha scoff.

“I could tell, from locking yourself in your apartment for three days.”

“You knew where I was?”

Natasha raised her brows, “What do you think?”

You wrapped her hands around the warm cup and leaned back.

“Steve and I-“ you paused, a bitter laugh leaving your lips, “I don’t even know if there’s a Steve and I anymore.”

Pepper’s head shot up, “What?”

“We sort of had a…disagreement.”

“Y/N.”

“I made a bluff and he called it,” you took the cup to your lips to take a small sip, the hot steam warming your face, “Anyone who saw that coming from a mile away, let me see your hands-“

“You broke up?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t-“

“Listen, I got-“ you cleared your throat, “I saw Tony’s email, you know about that one?”

Pepper nodded and you tilted your head to the right, “Let me guess, you found the rehab center?”

She narrowed her eyes, “I’m not going to apologize for trying to help you, enough people are doing that already.”

“Potts-“

“Forget it,” Pepper said stubbornly and you took a deep breath,

“Yeah so we- I bailed. Then he turned up at my doorstep and I was drunk as fuck, so we had a fight.”

“How bad of a fight?”

“He told me to find him if I want to find him.”

“And you haven’t stopped by the tower for three days?” Pepper asked and you licked your lips, shrugging slightly.

“Listen, it’s not some-“ You gulped, “Some stupid lover’s quarrel, okay? Steve doesn’t deserve this shit, any of it.”

“Y/N-“

“Nat, you know how I am. You know how unlikely of a couple we are-“ you paused, “Were.”

“You don’t think he deserves a break up talk?”

“What are you even-“ Pepper threw her hands up, “You’re being ridiculous, go to the tower and solve your relationship issues-“

“But it’s not a relationship issue,” you cut her off, “Not really, it isn’t. Do you honestly believe Steve would ever-“

“Ever what?”

“End up with me?” You snapped “End up with someone like me? Wake up Pepper, I’m just some chick he hangs out with until he finds the girl of his dreams.”

“And what makes you think-“

“Don’t even,” you shook your head, “He’s gonna end up with someone less fucked up. This shit was going way too fast anyways, it’s better if it just ends right now before it gets ruined.”

But even the alcohol in your system didn’t allow you to keep your voice from cracking. You cleared your throat, desperate to hide the emotion seeping into your tone and sat up straight while Pepper eyed you up and down and pushed her chair back.

“Yeah Y/N, but it doesn’t just get ruined. Youu’re the one ruining that,” she pointed out, “Not Steve. Not alcohol, not even fate. It’s one hundred percent you, so I hope you know how much you’ll regret it.”

You blinked back the tears and raised your mug a little, mocking a toast.

“Trust me,” you managed to murmur, “I’m fully aware of it.”

But of course you couldn’t stay away for very long. That was the thing about your job, you constantly had to be pulled to one direction or another, and Fury was not the kind of boss you could actually say no to, so you heaved a deep sigh as you made your way to the kitchen as silent as you could, trying to stay away from everyone’s way.

“Oh you were alive after all?”

Shit.

“Listen man,” You turned your head and looked over your shoulder to see Tony, who was leaning against the wall, “Hold on, have you been waiting there to make an entrance and look cool?”

“I was busy with the coffee machine but the posture happened after you walked in.”

“Of course,” You muttered as you walked to grab your laptop “The love of your life busted my ass enough, okay? Save it.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Tony-“

“I had to put up with the America’s Golden Boy’s pouting,” Tony counted with his fingers, “Puppy dog eyes and passive aggressive comments. There’s no way you’re getting out of this conversation.”

“Make it snappy, I have shit to take care of.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes, next question.”

“Are you high?”

You turned to look at him, eyes narrowed but he didn’t look intimidated at all,

“It’s a snappy question.” He shrugged and you gritted your teeth.

“No.”

“Okay, then another snappy question. Do you honestly think he doesn’t deserve a break up speech?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach but you hugged the laptop tighter over your stomach,

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“Not at all,” You stated “I’m going up to the rooftop, Fury gave me lots of stuff to do.”

“Rooftop?”

“Yeah, what man, you own the rooftop too?”

“Yes but-“ Tony paused, making you roll your eyes,

“What?”

“Nothing. Don’t get cold.”

You nodded and walked to the elevator, then pressed the top button to go up. It soon made a small ding noise and you left the elevator, then pushed open the rooftop door but froze as soon as you took a step.

Fuck you Tony.

Steve had of course heard you opening the door and looked over his shoulder, then jumped on his feet, making you swallow thickly. Your heart started pacing in your chest and you took a step towards him as if he had some kind of a magnetic power, but then managed to pull yourself together and stopped.

Steve looked as lost as you were as he closed his sketch book and shifted his weight.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” You tried to smile, “Tony didn’t tell me you were here.”

“Oh.” Steve looked around, then cleared his throat, “I should probably go then.”

“No no, I can go-“

“Y/N-“

“You were here already, it’d be- I can find a computer lab.”

“Y/N, stop,” Steve said and you pressed your lips together.

“Sorry about…” You shrugged, motioning around vaguely “Not calling.”

He shook his head, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” You could swear you actually felt your heart breaking into two pieces, and everything, every cell in your body screamed at you to not mess this up, but you knew-

You knew it had to be done.

This would never work, ever. It was good to lose yourself in the feeling, in that bliss when you were with him, and the last couple of weeks felt like a daydream but you knew-

If it weren’t alcohol, it’d be something else. Something worse. You seemed to have a talent for ruining every good thing that ever happened to you, and Steve-

Well Steve was possibly the best thing that had happened to you.

And you were possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Steve shook his head again, and you could feel the tears filling your eyes,

“Steve-“

“You don’t have to say it,” Steve said slowly, “I, uh… I got the clue. You don’t-“ he cleared his throat, as if he wanted to make sure his voice didn’t break, “You don’t want to be with me anymore, do you?”

Oh God, it hurt much, much more than you could even imagine. You closed your eyes for a second in hopes of gathering your thoughts, but you were way too heartbroken to think anything.

“It’s not like that,” The tears escaped from your eyes as soon as you opened them, “Steve it really isn’t, I just-“ You took a shaky breath, “I- I don’t think I can explain it.”

Yes you could. You actually could.

You basically had a list.

This addiction will never leave me alone.

I’ll never be what I should be. Softer, gentler, smarter about what’s good for me.

I’ll never know what’s actually good for me.

Or better yet;

I’m falling deeper and deeper into this thing between us and I have no idea how to handle it.

Steve nodded slowly,

“Okay,” he whispered and lowered his head for a moment, as if trying to hide his expression but when he raised his head again, he looked completely in control.

Unlike you.

You were falling apart.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” he tried to smile but failed, “You- you deserve the world, really. I hope you’ll see that, someday.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

This hurt much more than any kind of withdrawal.

“That’s it?” You turned around as soon as he walked past you and you sniffled, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, “You- you’re just gonna- you’re gonna be civil about it? I didn’t even give you an explanation, you’re not gonna call me names or- or something?”

He swallowed thickly, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Why would I?” he asked, “Just because you stopped liking me, doesn’t mean I stopped liking you.”

You tried to repress the sob trying to rip itself from your chest.

“You should though,” You managed to say and Steve took a shaky breath,

“Yeah,” he said slowly, and a painful smile pulled at his lips “Yeah, I wish it worked like that doll.”

With that, he walked away and as soon as the door slammed behind him, you fell on your knees, sobs taking over your body.

Read Chapter 21 here!

A.N: Now repeat after me: I’ll leave feedback because Dream loves feedback! ❤️ 😂

Special thanks go to: @theskytraveler @asongofmarvelanddc@thorohdamnson @girlwhoisfearless @fictionwillneverdie@barnesrogersvstheworld @lostkizzy @miss-jen-winter @aikeji @evanstar @thatprofessionalfangirl @stargeek727 @superwolfchild-fan @loricwizardbluetoastedcake@marauderskeeper @whogaveuspermission @kimmiestrawberrykiwi @local-space-ace @marvels-mistress@love-for-fanfics @nightm1me @901seconds @part-time-patronus @zlixlle @vikrone @not--even-a-real--fan and lovely anons! Without you, I wouldn’t be able to write this, you’re amazing! <3

710 notes · View notes

connywrites · 5 years

Text

of flesh and blood 23

start - part [22]

I'll share a story I want you to know It's better than the real thing I took my time retouching myself To enhance my personality There's no need to dig any further I've laid it all out, it's clear And everything you feel down inside your chest Completely fills you up like a real, real, real

Connection It's not that typical We're connecting But it's all in digital

I just need this so much I thought I was in love With you, and me I thought this was my destiny And then the trail went cold I looked everywhere But were you ever really there? I thought we had a real, real, real

Connection It's not that typical We're connecting But it's all in digital

Its voice echoed in his head with the way it spoke ohs and hms while it acted with more innocence than necessary in favorable situations; something like leftovers from the prototype, in his mind. The way its eyes never left him, its voice never stopping as its words trailed on and on. It would stand in the doorway, lay in his bed, sit in his room, drive his cruiser, make his coffee, order his dinner, fix his clothes, buy him things; everything he had now, to the place he lived down to the last detail. It taught him to do everything else on his own, from washing and folding the laundry to sweeping and dusting, but as soon as it was gone, he was grateful for an excuse to get away with doing nothing. The amount of relief he felt for the physical pain to finally be over was beyond thoughts, let alone words.

Even though the physical embodiment was gone, however, his subconscious still felt it at every corner, watching and waiting, snapping and pointing. Any movement, no matter how small, he awaited some kind of response for, freezing as the springs of his mattress shifted and he prepared for some kind of response, usually in scolding. All he was met with was silence.

Seconds dragged on as he could hear the clock on the wall, eventually taking it down and throwing it in the trash after listening to the passing minutes for too long. Turning on the TV, he checked the news, only to find himself disinterested and turning it off. Opening his laptop, he started one of his games, but couldn’t pay attention and after dying three times in a row from pure inability to focus, he slammed it shut and stood up to wander to his bedroom.

Case file numbers, phone digits, addresses, anything with nines or zeroes sent him through a phase of particular panic that haunted him as if the symbols, themselves, would somehow affect him. That particular bright blue color of the ring glowing in the darkness of his own home as the android stared him down with soulless, mechanical eyes, dilated pupils and an expression that made him feel like it would eat him alive at any second, as he almost always expected it to.

The threats still echoed in his mind, haunting him through nightmares to waking life, as did the aches and pains of the wounds that never seemed to cease even in his best moments. The alcohol and the painkillers numbed off the discomfort, but nothing else did. Going to work was another experience entirely without the RK900 there, and the impression it had left on him in the past nine weeks alone would probably eternally haunt him. Sometimes, he did his best to ignore it, and others he’d be constantly glancing to his side, to the corner of his eyes, turning around only to find no one behind him. The DPD noticed, but said nothing.

Plans shifted around him, but he was irrelevant to the adjustment, seeming to be permanently stuck in the psychological cage the RK900 had trapped and left him in. Picture-perfect, prim, without a single mistake; he never threw things across the room only to miss the trash bin, having stood to take whatever he disposed of to the trash or recycling bin as necessary. Day in and out behind the terminal, his exterior remained centrally the same, but internally he felt his mind slipping away into the static.

Every day he told himself he didn’t need the caffeine. Trying a cup of the decaf, he took one sip before an intrusive thought told him to throw the cup to his kitchen floor to shatter in disgust, but the precognitive thoughts he’d developed over the weeks of Rk900’s hyperintelligent training had evidently began to pay off as he simply poured out the rest and rinsed, dried and put the cup upside-down in the dishdrainer.

Leaning back against one of the polished, amber counters, he looked around in the large, empty kitchen that still smelled like rich wood and clean floors. It was incredible, really; anything someone could have dreamed of and more. More than he could have ever anticipated, expected to earn, wanted, even imagined having; maintaining a life of this class was farfetched in the life of being a poor, underpaid cop. Three years, he thought to himself, and the RK900 kept its other promises as well; the kitchen was full from fridge to pantry, the beds of both his own room and the guest room were comfortably sheeted and decorated, warm silk caressing his skin every night when he slid between the sheets – still dressing in no more than a pair of boxers, per old routine.

A large, curved-screen holographic TV hovered over the bed and he stared at the crisp, high-definition images of people, places, things he didn’t digest. All of them had the same face, the same eyes, the same expression. Turning it off, the wall behind the artificial screen still seemed to hold the outline of its face.

The mornings started with eye-openers to chase the hangovers from the strung-out nights before. A few times he’d fallen asleep at the terminal keyboard, accidentally saving an improper chunk of a file case and re-arranging the others with the electrical charge from the skin of his cheek against the touch-sensitive keypad. After shaking him by the shoulders to wake him, Fowler told him to go home for the night; it was barely 11am.

Waking up in a haze on the floor of his living room, he didn’t recognize the shattered glass shards glinting in the corners of his vision, nor the blood trickling down from the cuts in the back of his hands. Standing up, he staggered to the kitchen sink, stomach lurching to throw up some of the poisonous liquid before he abruptly fell unconscious, forehead smacking against the edge of the kitchen counter on the way down.

The pounding headache stirred him from his slumber a second time, as did the brightness of sunshine blaring in through the windows. Blinking a few times, he looked around with bleary eyes, confused as to why he didn’t recognize the tall, white walls, and waxed oak-frame windows towering over him—before remembering where he was, and that this was his house.

Dropped picture frames, shattered to pieces, holding art he never even liked. The vases and synthetic flowers were on the ground, flickering as half-melted radioactive thirium struggled to keep up the imagery between flickering light waves. Scoffing, he tried to pull himself up, only able to crawl forward on his elbows as he felt all of the strength gone from his legs and the majority of the rest of his body. With a cramp coming on in the back of his calf, he rolled onto his side to pull up a bent knee, hissing a few ‘fuck’s under his breath in the process of trying to handle the pain. Given a few moments and repeated stretching, he was able to feel his limbs, but using them would be another feat entirely.

Eventually, he’d crawled toward the TV tray that held his phone on the end of it, nearly vibrating off the edge as it rang; reaching up to try and grab it, he knocked it down with a clumsy swipe, watching it fall to the floor landing screen-side up before trying to squint at the portrait to see who was calling.

Oh, no. No no no no no.

If he didn’t pick up, it’d end up worse for him. Trembling, he pushed himself up from the floor with his arms, pulling his legs up to fold awkwardly next to him. One arm remained propping him up as the other reached to grab the phone, nearly dropping it again as he sloppily nudged his thumb across the ‘answer’ circle.

“Hey,” he grunted, though the hoarseness in his voice from the liquor and cigarettes was still clearly evident.

“What? No, no, I’m fine. Yeah. Great. Got uh, a new house ‘n’ everything,” he murmured into the phone, squinting down at something on the floor and picking it up to observe it with his other hand.

“Yeah, sure. It’s a 2040 Bermuda concept, a design that hadn’t been released to the public yet. Navy blue. I know, right? Yeah, sorry. S’been busy.” His voice held the same firm, monotone tune as that of the hardened man on the other end.

Bolting upright, words from the other end of the line startled him into immediately fixing his posture as his blood rushed through him with a quick wave of panic.

“What? You wanna visit? This weekend?” He couldn’t say no; he knew better than that, but there was no way to get the house fixed and cleaned up by then, even with the hardest working…humans.

“Sure. I’ll make something to eat. I think you’ll like my T-bone steaks,” he murmured with the feigned, faltering confidence collapsing beneath his every effort not to panic.

“Dinner will be ready by 18:00 on Sunday. ‘Course, dad. Bye.”

#fun fact: big dater is abt social medias influence on modern society n communication!#fun stuff #gotta appreciate ofab leaves me for 3 days n then comes back all at once #thx gavin #detroit: become human #dbh: gavin reed

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dr-gloom · 6 years

Text

Overworked and Underpaid Ch 1

Don’t ask, the title just sounded cool

Anyways!

Thank you @lucifer-in-my-head for helping me out!

Chapter 2

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: none

Summary: Thomas has been too busy to hang out with his friends, and it’s slowly been taking a toll on Virgil. Of course, being who he is, he puts his own health and well-being aside to be there for the others, until it runs him into the ground.

Tags/Warnings: sick Virgil, stressed Virgil, delirium, poor anxious baby, soup

Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

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like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

Virgil was exhausted. He’d been on high alert for days, no, weeks now. He stayed up throughout the night worrying and stressing and trying to fix something that the others didn’t think was broken and it was wearing on him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept. The closest he remembers was one day last week when he’d been about to sleep, his body giving in to the desire for rest, and Patton had knocked on his door and told him to come down to breakfast, scaring the daylights out of him.

So, it’s been a while.

At first, it’s just the anxiety. He’s just stressed, keyed up, exhausted. He can handle that. He can handle how he starts to see things in the shadows of his room and the headache that gets worse with each day because it’s all happened before. He doesn’t think much of it when he looks in the mirror and he looks pale. Well, paler than usual. He hasn’t been sleeping, he reasons with himself, of course he’s going to look paler. Especially when the bags under his eyes were no longer makeup.

At first, no one sees anything wrong. At most, they figure Virgil is just having a bad day, or a bad week. They assume he’s been staying up late listening to music or watching The Office again. When he squints in the light because it makes his head throb, they just joke that he spends too much time in his dark room and he lets them. It’s better that they don’t worry. Patton compliments him on his eyeshadow, says he’s getting better at it, it looks so realistic! And Virgil just grins because Patton doesn’t need to know that he hasn’t had the energy to put on makeup in almost a week.

Then, he can’t focus on anything. Thomas gets irritated when Virgil zones out badly during a video, though he tries not to show it. Roman gets aggravated when he tries to run an idea by Virgil, searching for approval, only to find out Virgil hasn’t been listening since he walked up to him. Logan asks him how long it’s been since he’s slept, and Virgil can only shrug, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore. Every day blends into the next because he can’t sleep and he can’t focus and he feels so damn tired. Patton looks at him with concern and asks what’s wrong, because Virgil’s eyes are watering, but they’ve been doing that a lot lately, so Virgil says nothing’s wrong and goes back to his room.

Virgil finds one day that he can’t stand still without swaying dangerously on the spot. His mind is cloudy, and his eyes have a hard time focusing. It’s alright, he tells himself, he just won’t stand still. So, for the next three days he doesn’t stop. He makes his rounds through the mindscape, ever the protector. He helps Patton when he needs it, even though the moral side always looks guilty for asking for Virgil’s help. He lets Logan use him to test hypotheses and works as a lab assistant when he wants to try some chemistry experiment, even though Logan has to take the beaker from him because his hands won’t stop shaking, but I’m not panicking Lo, I promise, it’s okay. He plays the villain in Roman’s adventures so that the creative side has someone to fight who isn’t an NPC, and even though he feels weak and his vision swims and he feels like he’s freezing, he puts his all into it because Princey would never accept a sub-par villain.

He doesn’t notice when Roman looks at him strangely and brings them out of the imagination. He doesn’t notice when they rise up in the commons, Patton and Logan on the couch watching TV and reading a book respectively. He doesn’t notice when Roman asks what’s wrong; he can hear him say something, but he doesn’t know what, and when Patton gets up and starts coming towards him he thinks Roman’s started the fight scene and tries to charge him. He takes three steps and starts to fall, his legs giving out on him, and he wonders how Roman managed to do that when he was so far away. Someone grabs his shoulders just as his knees hit the carpet and in the back of his mind he wonders when the stage became so soft before everything goes black.

When he wakes up, he panics. He doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening or why he can’t move and why can’t he open his eyes? His breathing starts coming in shaky gasps and he tries to sit up, but he can’t and he’s freaking out and there’s a hand on his chest he’s going to die-

“Shhhh, Virgil you need to calm down. Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re in Logan’s room. We figured this would be the safest place for you besides the commons… Take a deep breath, it’s okay.”

He goes lax, but only because he doesn’t have any energy, and he tries to do as the voice says. He’s shivering; he’s still freezing and he’s not wearing his jacket for some reason. Where did it go?

“Are you cold? I’ll go get you a blanket. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

He falls back under before the voice comes back.

For days, he’s in and out of consciousness. He never opens his eyes; his eyelids feel like they’re made of lead and he just doesn’t have the energy to force them open. He switches from being too cold to being too hot constantly and his chest hurts and his throat feels like it’s full of cotton; dry and thick. Even though he can’t move – he’s trapped he’s trapped he’s t r a p p e d – he can feel how much his joints ache. Every time he wakes up he just wants it to end and he hates it, but there’s always a voice talking to him as he tries to take full, deep breaths because if his chest expands too much his lungs burn.

The voice doesn’t always sound the same, but it’s always comforting. Sometimes it tells him that everything’s okay, that he’s okay, how long he’s been sleeping (but he always forgets by the next time he wakes up). Sometimes it’ll tell him grand adventures in a soft tone, as if it was scared of frightening him but wanted to make him feel better for being trapped – trapped trapped t r a p p e d – in bed. He liked those stories; they always ended with him being celebrated as a hero or running away with the prince. Sometimes the voice would give him facts in a smooth, even tone; sometimes they were about what was happening, sometimes they were random things like “When Hitler invaded Paris, the French turned off all power to the Ifle Tower so that the Nazis would have to take the stairs instead of the lifts.” He didn’t know why the voice told him these things, but it was nice to hear a voice at all, so he didn’t say anything.

Once, he woke up and the voice wasn’t there. He was terrified; what happened to the voice? Was it angry with him? Did it get hurt? He’d rushed to sit up, his lungs screaming in protest and his head throbbing. His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t make out anything he saw before everything was warped with his tears. He started crying, openly sobbing, his entire form shaking with the effort. The voice was gone, he drove it away with how useless he was, it hated him and now he was alone. He cried harder, gasping for breath between sobs, and he must have been doing that for five minutes before he heard the sound of the door opening, and just like that the voice was back.

“Oh Virge, oh sweetheart, shhh, shhhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, I’m so sorry. It’s okay, you’re okay. Lay down baby.” The voice pets his hair and gently pushes him back to lay down again, pulling away briefly to fix the blankets and put something cold on his hot forehead. It feels amazing and only makes Virgil cry harder; the voice was just going to get him something nice and he’d assumed it hated him. The voice continues to shush him softly, and eventually he settles down, taking slow, even breaths. He was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“I know you’re tired baby, but do you think you can eat? It’ll make you feel better.”

Virgil is confused how the voice read his mind, but he shakes his head. He can’t eat, he can’t! He doesn’t want to, please don’t make him! He starts crying again and the voice makes a sad noise, shushing him again and petting his hair. He calms down fairly quickly, too tired to keep crying, and the voice talks him into eating, saying that if he can eat a little bit it’ll let him sleep as long as he wants. He nods, and the voice gently helps him sit up, leaning him against something hard and pressing a spoon to his lips. He opens his mouth dutifully and swallows the soup. He’s still hot, sweating in his shirt and boxers, but the soup feels nice going down his throat.

Once the voice decides he’s eaten enough, it helps him lay back down, readjusts the cold thing on his forehead, and tells him to sleep. Virgil nods, and he’s out before he even realizes it.

The next time he’s awake, he feels like complete crap, but at least he can open his eyes now. He looks around with his limited mobility, taking in the sight of Logan’s room. Why was he in Logan’s room? Why wasn’t he in his room? Was there something wrong with it? He tries to sit up, but there’s a heavy weight on his chest and he realizes for the first time that it’s a little hard to breathe. He raises his head just slightly to see what’s holding him down and sees Patton practically laying on top of him, sitting on the edge of the bed and slumped over Virgil, asleep.

His arms are wrapped around Virgil, pinning his arms to his sides, and Virgil feels extremely uncomfortable being trapped like this. It’s a little hard to breathe and Virgil is uncomfortably hot, and he can feel the slightly damp bedsheets leaving lines in his skin. Virgil tries to move, managing to pry his arms free and raising one shaky hand to shake Patton’s shoulder.

“P-Pat.” Wow, his voice sounds like shit. He tries to clear his throat – ow – and tries again. “Pat- Patton. Wake up.” Patton stirs, but stays sleeping. Virgil huffs weakly and shakes him a little harder, speaking louder despite how it burns his throat. “Patton, I can’t breathe. Wake up.” Patton huffs softly, starting to wake up, and his eyes flutter open. He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and when he looks at Virgil he freezes. Virgil is about to say something when Patton smiles widely and leaps at Virgil, hugging him tightly. “Oh, kiddo! I’m so glad you’re awake! You had us all worried so much! How are you feeling? How’s your throat? Does your head still hurt?”

Virgil wheezes, tapping Patton on the back. “C-can’t… Breathe.” Patton is off him in an instant, looking embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry kiddo! I just got so excited, you haven’t woken up in two days and-“

“Wait,” Virgil cuts in, and it’s a testament to Patton’s hearing that he can even hear Virgil’s hoarse voice and closes his mouth. “How long have I been sick?” Oh god, please don’t let it be something bad like-

“….Two weeks?”

Virgil balks. Two weeks? Oh god, he’s left Thomas to fend for himself for two whole weeks? How could he be so stupid, how could he have let this happen? Was Thomas okay? What if Virgil had been replaced? Two weeks was a long time, what if the other sides figured out how to function without him? What if they didn’t need him? Worse, what if they did and he wasn’t there and now Thomas was-

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kiddo, deep breaths. Thomas is okay, we’re all okay. You’re safe, everyone’s safe. Just breathe. That’s it, come on now, shhhh.” Patton pushes him back down on the bed. Virgil hadn’t even realized that he’d sat up, or that he’d just said all of that out loud. His head is spinning, though he doesn’t know if it’s from the sickness or his racing thoughts. Patton pets his hair, continuing to shush him softly. “Everything’s okay, you just rest up and get better, okay kiddo?” Virgil nods. “You think you can eat something?” When Virgil nods again, Patton gets up – albeit reluctantly – and leaves the room.

Virgil takes the moment of silence to think to himself, having his first moments of clarity for – apparently – two weeks. He couldn’t remember much of being sick, but the parts he did remember made him blush slightly. Hands petting his hair, calm voices talking to him when he’d wake up, that panic when he’d woken up and no one was there, crying because he didn’t want to eat.

How pathetic.

Patton comes back a moment later with a tray, setting it by Virgil’s feet and helping the anxious side sit up. He spoon-feeds Virgil, who’s cheeks are pink, and he refuses to make eye contact. Patton smiles softly, helping Virgil drink some water before setting the tray on Logan’s desk. “You think you’re up to seeing Lo and Ro? They’ve been really worried, too.” Virgil nods, looking at his lap as he rasps out, “Yeah, fine, bring them in.”

Patton jumps up excitedly and goes to get Roman and Logan, and a moment later all four sides are sitting on the bed talking, though the three healthy sides do most of the chatting; they understand that Virgil’s still healing and hearing his poor abused voice kind of makes them cringe. The four of them talk for a couple hours before Virgil’s eyelids start drooping, losing energy and trying hard to stay awake. Roman smiles at him softly and ends their conversation, telling Virgil to get some sleep and leaving with Logan. Patton tucks Virgil in, petting his hair and talking to him until he manages to fall asleep.

The next time Virgil wakes up, he feels completely fine and he’s alone in Logan’s room. His throat is still a little scratchy, and when he goes to stand he feels dizzy for a brief moment, but he feels good enough, so he heads down to the commons. As he predicted, the other three are watching TV (or reading, in Logan’s case) and look up when he walks in. They all smile at him as he sits on the opposite end of the couch, and Virgil smiles back. He’s thankful no one mentions the fact that he was basically incapacitated for two weeks or berates him for pushing himself so hard, and just enjoys a quiet afternoon with his family.

“Guys? …Shouldn’t we tell Thomas?”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders

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whitewolfbumble · 6 years

Text

The Fallout - Part Fourteen (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, language, remembered torture (you know the drill!)

Word Count: About 6k

A/N: We cycle back to some Bucky POV finally! I thought having that in the last few chapters would just be doubling down on the pain but its finally back in this one. Hope you like it! We get some sweet, deep diving feelings at the end here! Wrote and posted this pretty fast, let me know what you think by a reblog, like or message!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART THIRTEEN

“You called me down here to train Steve?” you said, zipping off your black hoodie as you heard someone walk into the training room. “I thought you didn’t think defending myself was the best idea? Hmm?”

But you stopped still when you saw Bucky instead.

Everything at once had paused at his unassuming, quiet presence, your senses leaving you and heart stopping mid beat. The feel of your soft hoodie in your hands, the musty sweat smell of the room, the buzz of the city below all gave way when he walked in.

“Oh, sorry Bucky.” you said quietly, backing away to give him some space, saying your excuses before grabbing your water bottle to leave. “I thought I was meeting Steve.”

“I’m training you.” he said. And again, you stopped still. This time the flow of blood in your ears was all you could hear or focus on.

Turning slowly on your heels you looked at him, eyes wide to met his deep blue ones. What had prompted that? He had been distant. Brooding. Pained at being in the same room as you it seemed. Now he wanted this?

Maybe the Team had gotten through to him. Or maybe you had.

“Um… really? Why?” you questioned, it coming out far more incredulous than you really intended.

“They won’t,” he said. “And you need it. At least if just for now.”

“You do know that they… They’re pretty well orchestrating this?”

Steve and the whole crew had gone to great lengths to try and steer the two of you together lately. They may not know the whole situation but they knew enough. You figured he wouldn't have been so easily won over by their games.

But at that thought, you knew this wasn’t a game to him. It was your life, and maybe having you around now was brutally hard for Bucky, but there was still an enemy out there that no one else in the world knew better than the two of you. He knew what it meant to be defenseless against them.

He nodded, unfazed. “Yes, and they are stupid for playing with your life like that.”

Again, his words were practically yours. A pang hit you in the stomach as you missed the days of silent understanding between the two of you.

“So you and I...” you started, a little hesitant. “We’re talking again? Like friends?”

“Yeah.” he said maybe a little gruffly, not looking you in the eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t resounding “yes” but you would certainly take it.

You had been at it for hours, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing in exhaustion being Bucky himself.

While you were training you were with him, and that gaping hole in your chest was soothed. The second you walked out the door it could disappear. He could slink back into his isolation and leave you aching all over again. So you kept sparring.

It took a desperate amount of time before he slipped back into some kind of easy normalcy with you, able to talk somewhat openly again. It had been like a chess game, the strategy delicately and purposefully played.

You, focusing on technical sparring questions first, then making general comments of the moves to engage him in brief conversation, then digging deeper, then just normal but quick talking points on everyday topics.

That alone had been exhausting enough, you constantly having to gauge and recalculate your words so as not to push too far. It was sapping all extra brain space to do so, keeping you slightly out of focus on the actual sparring that was happening concurrently.

You fell back with a half grunt, half yell as a punch you should have easily been able to dodge landed on your ribcage.

“Geez, are you okay?” Bucky said, stepping over and bending down, hand just barely touching your shoulder.

You were bent over a little, hands on your hips. What you felt most of all was pathetic, not pain. It had not been near full force (none of this was even close), you both going through the motions and trying to get you to perfect each small sequence.

You stood up and waved him off, walking to the bench to grab your water bottle. You took a sip before taking off your black long sleeve shirt, revealing a black tank top below.

“My ego is bruised, not my body.” you said. “I saw that from a mile away and still couldn’t dodge it.”

But Bucky didn’t seem to hear your words, looking instead down your chest and arms. You let him scan over all of your many and varied scars. He didn’t used to notice or care, having more than a few himself, so you could guess what he was thinking.

“You can ask me, Bucky. I promise, I won’t run.”

He complied.

“Those scars… Where are they from?”

You pointed to one on your shoulder, a curved gash that had been from a knife.

“That was from you,” answering the question he wanted to ask, not the one he did ask. “And this one.”

You pointed to another one on the opposing forearm. It was ghostly and a little more jagged.

“I don’t remember how I got all of them, but those two I know. I wish I could fill in the rest of the blanks, save us both from starting me almost completely over.” you said with a gesture to where he was standing, wishing you weren’t such a novice at fighting.

But that statement wasn’t totally true; you remembered a lot of training from the earliest years at Hydra. But definitely not up to the level you had been. It was harder to do it under your own control and not theirs. Eventually they let you more “off the leash” but in the beginning they were the puppeteers. The muscle memory from their control hadn’t sunk in yet.

He nodded, distant. Something else was pooling behind those eyes, words on his lips that he wasn’t saying.

“Tell me Bucky,” you said again, waiting for him to carry on.

You so wished he would. Getting him talking, even about this, was a win.

He looked almost embarrassed and didn’t look you right in the eyes.

“Do you really want to remember everything that I did to you… everything that happened to you?”

“No, I certainly don’t. I’ve read enough to cool my blood til the day my body is stone cold dead too.” you admitted. “But can I ask you something? Something personal?”

He hesitated but gave a terse nod. He leaned back slightly like he was bracing for you fight him or something.

“Can you leave this life behind? Or would you?”

“You mean fighting, training… Everything?”

“Yeah.” You already knew his answer because it was the same as yours would be. He just didn’t understand that yet.

He took a moment, eyes pulling away. You could almost see him create a normal life in his head, living out what his dream situation would be.

“I would.” he started, before looking back at you. “But I can’t.”

“Because even though you could leave, the past wouldn’t leave you behind. It would come after you.”

“Yeah.” he said, almost sad. “Always does.”

“It’s the same here Bucky. I can’t leave this. Maybe I want to now but maybe I don't. I can’t exactly say anymore. But my past? That’s not going to let me go. So I have to stand and fight. And right now I can’t fight. I’m here, defenseless for all intents and purposes. I have to pick back up where I used to be. I may want a fresh start- and maybe I’ll get one in some small way- but I will never be able to truly leave.”

“They would do anything to set that up for you, give you every opportunity.” he countered, voice on the edge of imploring.

He nodded towards the door, motioning to the Avengers scattered through the building behind it.

It was tempting. Asking the Team to pull resources, knowledge, and skills to get you out. To set up a life for you outside of these walls and this life. Keeping you away from a fight that maybe you could have won before but you couldn’t win now.

It really didn’t change your mind on it all though. Your resolve was the same as it had been, even if the fear had gone up to the nth degree.

“Yeah, but I guess I’ve never been good at running away from a fight, only towards it.”

“I could go after them, all of them.”

“Most of the men I know you don’t want around alive Bucky. You don’t need to fight them for me.”

“But I would.” he swallowed. “And it could be permanent.”

The disambiguated voices of Hydra you heard above you as your mind was wiped came back, along with the feel and taste of their brain and blood hitting you.

He had already proved he would do it. That didn't make you feel any better though. Not at all.

“Killing the people who hurt me won’t take away your guilt Bucky, and it won’t change what this is. This is my fight and I think I want to fight it. So will you help me? I don't just mean “for now” like you offered before. But actually train me?”

There was a pause, your requested heavily weighted and thought through as he watched you.

“Alright.”

You thought maybe it was the intensity of the training session with Bucky, but the next day as you rolled into the kitchen, you realized that this painful daze was not from your muscles, but a migraine.

“Where was the party? Shame I didn’t get an invite.” Clint said, mouth full, crunching way too loudly for your ears.

“Don’t worry,” you said, voice sounding a little rusty. You squinted in his general direction, the morning sun streaming through the windows too bright. “I missed it too. Just trying to fight a headache.”

“Who are we fighting?” Nat said, sliding over a coffee cup filled with steaming liquid and a tad bit of cream. The grating sound it made on the counter about made you blanch.

“Headache.” you repeated, and Nat nodded in understanding. She sat down with Clint who was reading the newspaper comics, while she flipped to the politics section.

You didn’t bother sitting, looking down to the subtly rippling mug in front of you for a minute. Something about it was confusing, but you couldn’t figure out why. Your brain could barely put a thought together through the ache of it all.

A ripple moved through the coffee again and you pulled your eyebrows together.

Suddenly you understood, seeing a dark, filmy liquid mix in with the light coloured coffee. Your hand went to your nose, and when you pulled back, your fingertips were covered in blood. You made a surprised exclaim, and that was enough for Nat and Clint to take note and spring up into action.

Nothing like a little blood to snap two spies into serious mode.

“Steve, we’re taking Y/N to the med bay.” Nat said to him, courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y. patching her through.

“Why does Steve need to know about a nosebleed?” you questioned, being ushered on either side by the pair, their hands securely guiding you by your elbows.

But you were ignored.

“We’re just landing now, I’ll be there in two.”

“Steve, please don’t come I swear it’s… Did you say landing?”

“I really am fine.” you reassured quietly to Steve, his arms crossed.

Some saw it as a neutral or casual position for him, but you always thought it was something more. Maybe concern or protection. Or maybe the med bay made him uncomfortable too.

“I know, I just care about you, okay?” he said with a curve of his lips.

“So can you tell me now where you were?”

“Yeah, good news for us. The Black is taken care of, once and for all. Tony and I were at the Raft. We marched the last of them there early this morning.”

“Wow, one enemy down.” you said in shocked, feigning approval.

It seemed a little hollow, not being there yourself. Not after your long history with them, both past and recent. You had always imagined that you would be the one to take them down finally. They were connected to you, they worked with you, you knew how they worked and operated.

And now they were just... taken care of?

This anti-climatic new was fairly disappointing. But you also had a bigger fish you were after whose demise would be far sweeter. You focused on that thought instead.

“How is Tony going to celebrate that?” you said, trying to snap out of your head and back into the conversation.

“I don’t know but I’m already scared.” he joked. “I’m sure he’ll cook up something.”

“Yeah, no doubt.” you said, as the nurse removed an IV form your arm. Whatever it was did wonders for your headache.

“Alright, time to train again I think.” you said hopping off the bed.

“C’mon, you can’t be serious.” Steve responded.

“The Doctor gave me a clean bill of health. A mind-wipe isn’t without some side effects I’m sure. I’ll take a headache and nosebleed over brain damage any day. And The Black might be taken care of, but Hydra certainly isn’t. And I thought you wanted Bucky and I to train together, hmm?”

Steve chose not to respond to that and gestured you towards the door. “Maybe you’ll humour me if we start off slow and go for a run first?”

“You know that won’t tire me out enough to skip training, but sure.” you said, seeing through him.

Skipping that would also mean less time with Bucky, and that was a commodity you weren’t giving up.

Freak nosebleed and migraine occurrences were apparently in full force today. During your run it happened again.

You had been running between Steve and Bucky, the three of you keeping in perfect stride with each other, until you felt a nagging at the base of your neck that began to spread into your head.

The three of you had been running in silence, you and Bucky only exchanging a quick hello before you three set off. You weren’t sure if Steve had planned this or not, but you thought not actually. That left Bucky, who could have left once he saw you or run ahead. But he didn’t.

You were the one to disrupt the silence by saying a “Here, keep going” causing the two to turn to you as you feigned bending down to check your shoelaces. Their steps didn’t falter and when they turned back, you gripped the back of your neck, letting out a pained exhale through your nose.

What came out was both hot air and blood, splattering on the indoor running track and your shoes. In a moment a blinding pain erupted in your temple and you fell to your knees like a rock.

“Bucky,” you called out, your immediate response.

You didn’t think what you were saying, just how you were saying it. You had tried to make it sound like someone politely getting someone’s attention, but this came out far more urgent.

The blinding pain of your migraine made you again squint at the intensity, but Bucky’s hands were on your face in a flash, pulling your gaze up to him.

“Has this happened before?” Woozily you wondered why that was his first question of all things.

“This morning.” you and Steve said at the same time.

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing Bucky kneeled in front of you and Steve bending down to look at you just beside him.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve before turning back to you.

“And you didn’t think to talk to the person who has had their mind wiped before about it?” he questioned you, sounding quite soft.

He gritted his teeth and turned towards Steve, throwing him a glance. Clearly, you weren’t in trouble for this oversight, but he certainly was.

“We just… I guess forgot.” Was his only response, getting a snort from Bucky.

“Here, c’mon.” Bucky pulled you up, keeping you close to his side as he walked you towards a bench. You sat down and leaned your head back, holding the bridge of your nose.

“I’m going to get the Doctor,” Steve said, only stopping at the wave of your hand.

“Please don’t, she’s not my personal caretaker.” you said. “Just tell her what happened and that I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie really, your headache was disintegrating by the second. Steve nodded before heading out to the med bay.

“I got this too,” Bucky started, watching you as you watched the ceiling. “Blinding pain, nosebleeds… then flashes of memory. Memories they had wiped away.”

“So this was always a possibility, you just didn’t want to tell me?”

“Your mind wants to heal, to put back the pieces they scrambled. I just didn’t know if it happened to everyone or when. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or down, I guess.”

“Yeah, flashes of tortured memories I’d like to skip, for sure. But I guess you can’t pick and choose, huh?”

You swallowed down another gush of blood and it dripped down your throat.

“No,” he said, and you thought maybe he was smiling a little, as you were still looking up. “You can’t.”

“I don’t think I remember anything new though?”

“And you might not. We don’t have the playbook on this, just one soldiers patchy experience.”

“Well, I’ll still take it.”

There was nothing to be done to stop these episodes, so at Steve’s disapproval and Bucky’s insistence that the enemy was still out there, you carried on with your plan to train. Better than sitting and wondering when your next headache would split you down the middle again. Or when Hydra would show up to kidnap back in your ranks. Or if the love of your life actually was warming up to you again.

Yeah. You definitely needed the distraction.

Steve insisted on staying this time and you practiced fight two attackers at once. Steve was great at defensive skills, while Bucky had a flawless handle on the offensive side. You practiced avoidance and basic counter attacks, building on your session with Bucky the day before.

It was an hour or so into it when you start to feel a bit weird. You pushed it out of your mind, wondering if you last fall to the mat coupled with your two episodes from earlier were messing with you.

But it just continued to grow.

After bending down and sideswiping Steve- the latest maneuver you were practicing- you didn’t get up but stayed there a moment. Steve held out his hand to help you but you didn’t take it.

They both waited, but you were quite still.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked, coming up you and kneeling over to see if something was wrong.

Your eyes stayed to the blue mat, and you almost heard an audible crack. Like something inside of you snapped.

In a flash your hand shot out, grasping the kneeling Bucky’s neck in an impossibly tight grip. Eyes still down while the two stunned men stayed motionless in surprise, it was half a second of calculating before you sprung into action, time feeling like it was slowing down for you.

Your right knee was bent on the ground, with your left leg stretched out behind you. Lightning fast you swung your left leg out powerfully, clocking Steve in the face hard, sending him to the ground. Your leg kept moving, bending just as you hit Bucky square in the chestwith your knee.

The force would have pushed him on his back, air exiting his lungs in a puff, but your grip on his neck was too tight. You touched your foot down only enough to use the ground to propel it back up, one hand on his neck and the other now on his head, bring his head down to connect with your knee with a cracking sound.

As you pushed him down you used him as leverage to spring up over his falling shoulders and kick Steve square in the chest who was coming up behind you. You flipped over Bucky, rolling on your back and sliding expertly near the weights. In one fluid motion you grabbed one weight in each hand and swung yourself around, crouched to the floor and ready use them as weapons.

You watched the scene before you, for some reason not moving, panting as you went from zero to sixty in seconds.

Bucky was on all fours, blood dripping from his nose, and Steve was hunched over beside him, split lip oozing red too.

“The fuck…” was all Bucky spewed, voice strangled.

But something mentally pulled you back from the scene in front of you.

It was slowly becoming clear that there was this nagging numb feeling. Through that whole episode you hadn’t really felt a thing. Your body had been numb to your movements and mind had been shut down to anything and everything. It was familiar, that calculated numbness.

You looked down to your hands, still gripping the weights, though you couldn’t really feel them. It was like they were far away, not at all attached to you or belonged to someone else.

As you watched your hands, you noticed them start to shake, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away.

In a flood everything hit you at once.

You shrieked out at the highest pitch scream you had ever made in your life, closed fist hitting your temple as blindingly hot pain struck you.

It felt like lava dripping through your brain and you were unable to respond to the sudden shock of the overwhelming torment of it. You collapsed back down, hands reaching out to brace you as you felt red hot blood trickle down your face and arm, spilling out from your nose.

Sudden hands grabbed your face on either side, but again, you couldn’t exactly feel it, not like what it normally felt like. You were still coated in that numb feeling, with everything but the agony inside you feeling so distant.

Your face was met with Bucky’s, his angry pained look and voice replaced by concern. Briefly, you wondered if it was his blood that was on you, but you knew it your gut that it was yours.

“Y/N!” Bucky called out, eyes searching yours as the liquid kept streaming down from your nose.

“What’s… happening?” you asked, wondering if your body was just going to float away. You could feel so very little externally right now, completely weightless besides the pain.

Before he could answer you shut your eyes tight, crying out in anguish again as your head was splitting in two. You could have sworn there was another audible cracking sound.

“You’re in shock,” Bucky answered, voice low and strained but wonderfully calm. “I think you’re having another episode. Your nose and ears are bleeding.”

“Where’s Henry?” you asked, his face coming to your head.

“Uh, who?” That was Steve’s voice. Maybe he knew where Henry was?

“He must have just left,” you said, words sounding a little slurred even to your ears. “I hope I didn’t scare him off. He was so nice to me.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Just let her talk.” came Bucky’s voice. “What else do you remember, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to go to the… Where is the lab now? I thought we were going… Wait, don’t! Stop! Bucky!”

Shots of images and memories hit you one after the other, bits and pieces scattered over years of your life that had been blacked out.

Three people strapped to dining room chairs, bodies split open.

A little girl dead in the corner, her friends screaming and crying in their own vomit as you made them watch.

Alone and abandoned in a decrepit warehouse, sobbing in silence.

A man smiling down to you as he sawed through your bones.

Trickling a thin stream of acid slowly up a screaming man’s leg.

“Oh, God, Bucky…” you cried out gripping his shirt and trying your best to focus on him. “What have I done? How could I…”

You braced against him in this storm, waves crashed over and pulling you under. They surrounded you, inescapable. Your lungs filled with it, drowning you in pain and memories and torment.

You tried to anchor yourself in his eyes, focusing on the deep blue as the waves pummeled you. Everything swayed as your mind spilled out in the room around you, swirling and turning. But you stayed anchored to him, riding out this out until you just couldn’t.

You let the waters pull you down into their depths, waiting for the ground to come up and meet you. But it didn’t. Strong arms grasped you and held you, rocking against your dizziness. You felt the sway of his hold on you for some time.

When it ended, you were in Bucky’s arms, still and quiet.

It took some time for you to realize you were not in the training room and it was also no longer day. Despite your training, the panic of a new location didn’t come. It was still and quiet and familiar. You were in Bucky’s room, in his bed again. He was holding you on his lap, blankets pulled over you and his arms wrapping you in close.

You simply breathed for some time, trying to align your breath with his. He made no movement beyond that, no sound to try and push you back to reality. He just waited, holding you until you were able to speak.

“Is it over?” you asked, not wanting the responsibility of that question to fall to you.

“Yeah, doll, it’s all over.” he said.

It might have been a lie but it was a welcome one.

“Does it always hurt this bad?” you whispered, rubbing your chest as you couldn’t quite reach down to the spot of your soul that ached.

It was like a piece of you had been put back in place, sharp and jagged. It felt like you were a little more whole, but it was raw and painful. It made your chest ache with a dull throb and your throat constrict. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Mine came back slowly, in pieces. Maybe I was wiped too many times. Had too many layers to crack through.”

You made a noncommittal noise, trying to focus on the delicious warmth of his chest closing you in all around and not the pain within you.

Waking up was a tangle of blankets and limbs. You briefly wondered if there was a lingering to Bucky’s movements like he wanted to stay close to you, touching you again. Or maybe you just wanted there to be.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here.” you said, a tight smile on your weary face. You felt the need to address this, even if there was no desire too.

His back was to you at his dresser as he pulled out a shirt.

“I didn’t mean to keep you. I’m sorry.” he said, devoid of most emotion.

You sighed to yourself. This distance seemed endless.

“Please don’t be sorry. You were helping me, comforting me. That is well within the realm of okay. And I’m not taking it for more than what it was.”

He kind of nodded, holding the shirt in his hands still.

How were you- someone who’s closest friend used to be a hacksaw and the only real company you kept fleeting because usually you horrendously killed them- supposed to handle emotions? Like real, proper, loving emotions. And with a guy who seemed too hung up on the horror of his past to actually welcome those feelings?

You weren’t a kid from the 50’s anymore. You weren’t a solider or executioner anymore either. You weren’t someone incapable of expressing yourself or standing up for yourself. But how the hell were you supposed to manage actually loving someone? What did that even mean for you and him?

Taking advice on this from anyone else seemed like a waste of time. You weren’t typical and neither was he.

The fact was you were pretty fucking direct with him on your feelings (you still felt a stab to your heart when you thought of your words and the icy expression on his face) but he hadn’t been. Either he did feel something for you but maybe didn’t now because of his history with you being so raw. Or he didn’t ever really have feelings for you, you were just conveniently there and easy to be around.

But you were done pining and avoiding this. The Team thought it best for a subtle approach, thinking time together would heal this and bring you back together like you had been. But you were thinking now maybe talking about it was the only way.

God, you were a glutton for punishment sometimes, considering you were deciding to do this now after yesterdays episodes. All this was just so exhausting.

This whole conversation could potentially end up making this way, way worse though.

“Do you… How do you feel about me?” you said flat out.

That got a surprised look from him as he turned around.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just your actions weren’t logically motivated here?” you said, motioning to the bed. “You probably took me to the doctors, then back here? Why leave me there, or take me to my own bed? I mean you have been keeping me at arms length lately. So I’m just trying to understand why. I don’t know… do you have feelings for me?”

“No,” he snapped reflexively before his eyebrows furrowed. “Well, yes.”

“Okay, that clears it right up.”

“It’s complicated.” he said, trying to avoid a direct answer.

“So just tell me.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, trying to keep back the flood that threatened to burst.

For days this raining, dark cloud didn’t just hang over him, but pushed him down farther and farther into black depths.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, this dreary, weighted agony making him sink deeper and deeper. Then you showed up in the little apartment in Bucharest and began lifting him out. Day by day you got through to him, leaving an impression on his heart and soul that would remain.

Though when he found out his role in your life- how everything was his fault- he was instantly dragged back into that black pit.

But even now you would look at him, would say something and for a moment the weight of it all was lifted.

You hadn’t deserved that, you deserved better than him. And he thought as much, wallowing and brooding and agonizing for days on end. Reliving everything he read about you in your file. It was like his hands had committed it now. Like it was Bucky himself who had tortured and maimed and killed. Not you. You hadn’t fallen into this like he had. You were torn from your life by him. And the strangulating guilt of it was crushing.

How could you want or love someone like him, like you had declared when you finally spoke again?

He tried to feign icy indifference, even anger, to hide his torment. Torment at your exhaustion, at the pain he caused you, at the fact that you were here with him at all, when you should have lived out the life you wanted, sweet and happy and young in the 50′s, not the one he ripped you away from.

It must have been a sick, twisted thing for you love him, and he told you as much. When your face crumpled in pain and rejection his heart about stopped. Oh god it practically snapped his resolve to push you away, when all he wanted to do was erase everything and start over. Start over everything with you in his arms and his bed.

Bucky convinced himself that someone- anyone- would be better. He told Steve as much, time and time again when his friend had tried to lift him out of this, engage him in the world again. But the world didn’t have much meaning without you. And you deserved more than he could ever give you.

But his firm belief in that faltered when Natasha was speaking to you in the kitchen. Steve had suggested he put on a pot of coffee for him which would be done now, so Bucky ventured out, needing to stretch his legs after sleeping so long. It was a glorious sleep, filled with visions of you while you held and soothed him.

But Bucky heard the Black Widow’s words to you. Saying you would rather be alone. That you would rather be in pain. That being without him was painful. And it was one thing to insist you would be better with someone else, but to hear Natasha say it? To make suggestions of people, with Bucky’s mind instantly pulling up visions of you with someone else besides him? With you in someone else’s bed night after night, holding them close and not him? No one to hum the memories of pain away, or to be able to touch you, to keep you safe or keep him safe… It was too much. Bucky practically fumed, the only emotion other than grief and torment in days. And he ran away from it and from you.

He choked it down, his feelings for you, for your sake. But he couldn’t help his fury rising again to the surface first at Thor, who, like an idiot, had hurt you. God, Bucky practically ran over to try and snap his neck. But Steve’s words stopped him dead. You were untrained. Vulnerable for the first time probably since the 50’s, and able to have Hydra trigger you again. Instinctively his protective side kicked into high gear and he checked every exit, every person for signs of a threat. Bucky spent all hours then (as it’s not like he was sleeping much at all, not without you with him) trying to protect you, to keep you safe.

And when Steve insisted everyone would be upset with him if he didn’t show to this Team dinner thing, he went, and could barely tear his eyes off of you. You laid down on the glass hallway that was suspended between the kitchen and living room, looking tired and flawless. From his corner of the room he watched you uninterrupted by anyone else, eyes roaming over every curve and edge of your body, Tony distracting you from noticing. Bucky took you in fully for the first time what felt like an eternity, drinking you in like he was parched.

Then you sang, and he melted. Your sweet, sad notes filled the room and Bucky’s chest with longing and aching for you. It was a song he had heard before and it took on a new meaning when you sang it. He couldn’t look away from you until you all sat down to eat, then tried to focus solely on the food, knowing if he looked at you his face would reveal everything emotion he was trying to hide.

But when you collapsed, blood spilling from you, he knew what this was and knew for your sake he couldn’t be distant anymore. He couldn’t bear to be, needing this or any excuse to be near you again. To smell and feel and touch you again. To keep you safe and feel safe again.

Watching the tears in your eyes form as memories of your Hydra missions came back to you, he watched, thinking you would break under the strain. That everything he forced you to endure would be too much. But it wasn’t a fluke that over the last seventy years that you survived. And your strength was not just skin deep, now or ever. You took in every painful memory, calling out names and threats and screams as you relived them, like it was happening all over.

And you beat them.

You took those horrific scenes you caused and what was done to you and you didn’t break. Not then. Not when you escaped Hydra, alone and broken. Not when you faced them down again. And not when they came back to haunt you, forcing you to relive the wretched life you had led.

He held you in his arms as this happened and you didn’t break. Your strength to withstand this was incomparable. No one understood better than Bucky what those years at Hydra were really like, to have one memory come back would be hard to bear, he knew that. But floods of them assaulting you? Most- actually anyone else- would crumble into insanity at them. But you embraced the pain, then steadied yourself, calmly waking in his arms- for he was not about to part with you- as if the trauma of it all hadn’t shaken you.

So now, when you asked if he had feelings for you, what was he supposed to say?

That he was in awe of your strength?

That your pain was his?

That his very soul ached when you weren’t close?

Or almost burst at its seams with joy when you were?

That to have feelings for you was terrifying and selfish?

But that to be with you was all he would ever truly want?

That the word love didn’t even begin to encapsulate what he felt for you?

“So just tell me.”

PART FIFTEEN

If you liked this part please consider reblogging! A like or message would also make my day! Thanks darlings!

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aquariusmattel-blog · 6 years

Text

Say You Love Me - Craquaria

Chapter 2 - Liked

Hello, I’m back with chapter two! You better enjoy it ;)

Here’s chapter 1 & here’s my ao3

Happy reading! xx

He knew my name. He knew who I was.

Giovanni couldn’t contain his smile as he walked away. A warm flutter filled his stomach. He looked behind him one last time to see Miz Cracker handling the guy that interrupted their conversation, a look of concentration and frustration on his face.

God he was cute. Giovanni smiled as he practically skipped to the curb outside to find a taxi.

Brianna Cracker knew who he was. Gio knew that she followed him on Instagram and Twitter, but to have it reiterated in such a solid way made his heart swoon. He just wished he was able to bring himself to ‘ask’ for his name sooner, but surely the older man was freaked out by Gio’s eagerness, so the added knowledge of Giovanni being his ‘number one fan’ would have been far too much.

Gio waited far too long for a taxi to finally stop for his waving arm, but he didn’t mind. The scene of talking to Miz Cracker played in his mind on a constant loop. I have to tell Jordan, he would freak. He slid into the back seat of the taxi, told the driver his address and settled into his seat.

It was a cool night, but the memory of having Miz Cracker’s back pressed up against his chest made Giovanni warm all over. He still couldn’t get over the look of surprise and even joy, that took over Miz Cracker’s face when he slid into the seat next to him.

Giovanni felt giddy. He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. He searched Miz Cracker’s account before scrolling through her photos, a warmth emanating throughout his entire being.

………………………………..

@yuhuahamasaki liked your post.

@thatonequeen liked your post.

@miaouler liked your post.

@monetxchange liked your post.

@missjuicyliu liked your post.

@ageofaquaria liked your post.

Max stopped his scrolling, just as his heart stopped beating. He breathed heavily. Once. Twice. Before putting his phone down on his bedside table.

Breathe Max, just breathe. So what Giovanni liked your photo, it’s not as if he asked you on a date or proposed marriage. Max’s insides churned as he tried to calm down, he screwed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose.

Max couldn’t get of Aquaria out of his head. It had been a week since their encounter at the bar and it hasn’t left his mind since. When he was at the gym, or when he was hanging out with Bob and Monet, even in the shower (he tried especially hard not to think about her in those more intimate moments), she was always there. What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t focus on his own drag persona when the baby queen was constantly invading his thoughts.

Max laid in bed, blinking his eyes open until he was staring at the dilapidated ceiling in his shit-hole of an apartment. It was all he could afford at the moment, and even then, he was barely able to make ends meet. I wonder what Aquaria’s apartment looks like… No. Stop. Max shook his head before turning it to the side and burying it into his pillow, he let out a drawn-out groan. He was never going to get Aquaria out of his head.

His phone beeped on his bedside table, Monet’s name flashing across the screen. He groaned again. It was too early to be dealing with her shit. He picked up the phone and accepted the call, and before he could even put it to his ear, Monet was screaming down the line.

“Bitch! You’re still in bed, aren’t you?! Get up, get out, enjoy the day!” Her loud voice boomed. Max winced.

“Indoors voice Monet, please,” Max sighed. “It’s only eleven, I got home at six this morning, because I had to make sure your drunk ass got home safely.”

“And look at me now, I’m up and out and about.” Max pictured Monet twirling down some busy street, with her arms wide open, surely hitting other pedestrians and pissing them off. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Of course, you’re already ‘out and about’, where are you going?” Max rolled out of bed and sat up, stretching his left arm above his head and popping his back muscles. He squinted against the rays of sunlight crawling through the slats in the half-broken blinds.

“I’m about a two-minute walk away from your place actually,” Monet’s happy voice chirped down the line. Max’s head dropped back, and he let out a deep breath through his nose.

“What’s that face about?” Monet teased.

“What face? You can’t even see me,” Max whined, walking into his bathroom and bracing his left hand on the sink, his right still holding the phone to his ear.

“You make this face when you’re annoyed or caught off-guard. Your eyes scrunch up and your nose crinkles,” Monet laughed. “It’s kinda cute.”

Max let out a belting laugh. “Cute? Cute my ass.”

“Hey, I know you probably think I’m only saying this because we’ve slept together, but it’s true.” Monet defended, her voice still as playful as ever. Max turned on the faucet and picked up his tooth brush, trying to balance his phone between his cheek and shoulder. “Plus, I’m sure Miss Aquaria would find it endearing…”

Max dropped his toothbrush and fumbled for his phone before it fell into the running water. “What?” He choked out, “Did you say Aquaria?”

Max hadn’t told Monet anything about Aquaria. She was his ‘crush’, if you could even call it that. Sure, it wasn’t if he was trying to hide it, but the only person that had picked up on it was Bob-

Bob.

“Yeah! I said she’d think your face is cute. Or maybe she already does from what I heard,” Monet let out a loud laugh, Max could see her in his mind, holding her belly as she laughed like she was Santa or some shit.

“Bob told you, didn’t he?” Max sighed, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“Yep! And he was very happy to supply me with all the details! So, if you could-” Max stopped paying attention to Monet as he stared himself down in the mirror.

Could Aquaria ever find him attractive? Surely not. Could Giovanni find him ‘cute’? Absolutely not.

Max’s eyes scanned his face. He was okay looking. He hated his nose, it was too big. And his mouth was too small. And his teeth were too crooked. His eyes were a muddy brown colour. And his eyebrows were too thick. But overall, when those features were combined, it created one really average-looking person. And he was okay with that.

This ‘average-looking’ person had had his fair share of trade walk in and out of his apartment, each one as satisfied as the last. Max thanked his toned and slender body for that, years and years of intense karate training had sculpted him into a fit and desirable form. Although, Max was only 5’5” and often described as ‘adorable’ or ‘juvenile-looking’, he could charm the skin off a snake if he really wanted to.

He was a solid six out of ten. Okay, four out of ten. Okay, five. He was a solid five, no higher no lower.

Maybe he did have a chance with Giovanni. Sure, the boy was drop dead gorgeous, and he was better than Max in every which way, but-

“Cracker? Cracker. Max. Maxy… Yoohoo. Maxwell.” Max shook his head and cleared his thoughts, his attention now on the clearly frustrated person on the other end of the phone line.

“What?”

“Were you listening to anything I just said?” Max racked is brain, searching for just one thing Monet mentioned in the last minute or so. Nothing. Monet exhaled deeply. “Really? I’ve been ringing the buzzer to your apartment for the last… I don’t know, decade? Let me up already, bitch.”

“Oh sorry,” Max scurried out of the bathroom, and pressed the buzzer to allow Monet into the apartment. He threw on some clothes that needed to be washed, badly, before spraying deodorant all over himself and chucking a piece of gum in his mouth to cover his morning breath.

A banging shook the door to the apartment, and Max took a second to collect himself. Bob knowing was not a big deal, he would keep to himself, most of the time, and limit how much he would say. He knew Max’s boundaries, and when they need and didn’t need pushing. Monet was a different story all together, one word of gossip and half of New York knew about it by sun down. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut. But maybe this time it would be different. Max hoped, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Monet burst through the door as soon as Max unlocked it, making his way straight to the dining table. She turned and smiled at Max, with a mischievous glint to her eyes and a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat.

“I brought coffee and doughnuts,” Monet trilled, gesturing to the tray and paper bag she had set on the table. Max busied himself getting out plates and reheating the doughnuts, while Monet just continued to stare. That stupid grin still on her face.

“What,” Max sighed, sick of the silent interrogation.

“Oh nothing,” Monet said. “I’m just waiting for you to pour your delicate little heart out about Aquaria.”

Max rubbed at his eyes, he could feel a headache coming on. He plopped down into the seat across from Monet and sipped at his coffee. He placed his phone on the table facing up.

“What would you like to know?” Max sighed, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions.

“Tell me everything!” Monet squealed, kicking her legs underneath her and bouncing in her seat like a five-year-old.

Max opened his mouth to start talking. He glanced down at his phone as a notification lit his screen.

@ageofaquaria just posted a photo.

Max smiled.

………………………………..

“Oh my god,” Jordan groaned. “Please stop checking your phone for five minutes, you literally only just posted the picture.”

Giovanni sighed and placed his phone down on the table. “Sorry,” he mumbled before digging back into his food.

“I don’t get why you don’t just ask him out, I mean clearly he’s into you. Didn’t you say he was like ‘practically obsessed with you’ or something?” Jordan continued, taking a bite of the kale salad on his fork and chewing loudly.

“I can’t just ‘ask him out’, he’s so much more older and mature than me, and I don’t think he knows I’m only nineteen,” Giovanni answered, his face twisted in an unpleased manner.

It was something he was self-conscious about, how could anyone take him seriously when he was so young? Especially Miz Cracker, who had so much experience already. He’d probably think that Giovanni was too young, not polished enough.

“So what? He could be your sugar daddy,” Jordan laughed, shovelling another mouth full of rabbit food into his mouth.

Giovanni chuckled, his shoulders shaking. He looked out the window of the small café him and Jordan were brunching at. He wondered what Miz Cracker was doing at that very moment. Was he in bed? Sleeping? In the shower? Out and about? Sewing? Fucking someone else? The last thought left a sour taste in Gio’s mouth, he didn’t even want to think about the possibility of that.

I wonder if he’s thinking of me. Impossible. Gio sighed before looking down at his phone. A notification catching his eye.

@miz_cracker liked your post.

#craquaria #craquaria fanfiction #aquaria #miz cracker #rpdr #rpdr fanfiction #aquariusmattel

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