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highdramas · 3 years

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it’s rotten work | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, general talk about illness/stomach flu

word count: 1.7k!

summary: you have the stomach flu. bucky takes care of you. somewhere in there, love is confessed.

note: here’s another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like! just a heads up i wrote this SUPER quick and it is not proofread but the thought of bucky taking care of me when i’m sick....... ya i just had to write it

enjoy! <3

“doll?”

you’re not sure when you padded out to the living room. you’re not even sure how you managed to get the bowl to set next to you, in case your stomach turned again. and you’re really not sure how you even thought to put a few cubes of ice in the mug full of water that sits on the coffee table.

all you had known was your stomach was a pit of fire and your head was pounding and you are an absolute baby when it comes to feeling ill. and bucky is finally beginning to sleep through the night in the bed that you two share. he doesn’t need to be woken by your moaning and groaning.

apparently, you had drifted off into sleep at some point. and apparently, bucky had noticed. you shouldn’t say apparently as if it’s so shocking. bucky pays attention to just about everything when it comes to you. you’re sure that the second he reached his arm out and felt nothing but the sheets, he sprung from the mattress.

you’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for you don’t know how long. it was nearly two in the morning when you wandered out of the bedroom, and as you scramble to grab your phone, it reads 3:07am back at you.

“doll, what’s goin’ on?” bucky sits on the edge of the couch and his hand goes to your bare thigh, rubbing your skin, and you note that he is shirtless.

“don’t feel good,” you mumble and cover your eyes with your forearm. “didn’t want to wake you up.” you pause and look at him. “you look so good. ‘s not fair.”

bucky scoffs and he pushes your arm away, placing his hand on your forehead. “jesus, you’re fucking burning.” you faintly feel his hand moving down the side of your face. “you should’ve gotten me.”

“didn’t want to wake you up,” you repeat and you finally open your eyes. he’s looking down at you with an incredulous smile, that somehow manages to mix irritation and adoration. “or get you sick.”

“i don’t care about that.” you’re sure with the serum he couldn’t even catch a cold. “one second.”

you begin to push yourself up, protests on your lips, but bucky shakes his head and gently pushes you back into the couch. “stop. let me take care of you.”

oh.

there’s something simple inim the words that stirs your stomach.

and you promptly grab the bowl and throw up into it.

bucky’s not gone long once he hears you. he has a hair tie on his wrist and various other items which he sets on the coffee table before he scrambles to pull your hair back. you’re hunched over with the bowl in your lap and a pout on your lips. you look at him and say, “i’m sorry, this is so not sexy.”

you throw up into the bowl once more.

despite tying your hair back, bucky keeps one hand tangled in it, the other rubbing circles on your back. “i always think you’re sexy.” cue a gag. “even now.”

you pull back and look at him with furrowed brows. “shut up.”

bucky grins and he wipes your mouth with a damp towel. you slacken slightly as he holds you, as he takes care of you. your mind is nothing but a fog, but at the center of it is bucky. bucky’s touch, bucky’s hold, bucky’s soft voice in your ear. “i think i fell in love with you the first time i saw you,” you begin to babble, your head falling to the side. whether it’s the fever or the exhaustion or a mix of both, you’ll never know. “when you asked to help build kitty’s tower.” you point to where it now lives in the corner of his apartment. “look at your handiwork. you did such a great job. how could i not fall in love with you?”

bucky stills. the two of you have passed many firsts. hell, you two live together for christ’s sake. however, there is one thing that has never passed either of your lips.

i love you.

you continue. “it’s so easy, too,” you say, your head lolling to the side. “to love you. you’re so hard on yourself, buck. but it’s easy as-- it’s easy as breathing.” you smile and it quickly dissipates as you feel your stomach twist again. “god, i’m so sorry you’re doing this.”

“don’t be,” he says, and his voice is husky.

you love him.

he should’ve guessed, right? because he is in perfect agreement with you. he has loved you since he has known you.

slowly, you lean your head on his shoulder and he holds you, setting the bowl down onto the ground beside you. “i feel like you’re not going to believe me,” you mumble. “how much i love you. you never believe me.”

“doll…”

“it’s true!” you pull back, and your eyes are glassy. you fall back onto the couch and you once again place your arm on your forehead. “i wish you could understand.”

“understand what?”

blue eyes lock onto yours. “how deserving you are of good things in the world.” you stretch your legs out across his lap.

you don’t give him much chance to respond before you’re pressing your hand to your forehead and groaning. bucky opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words, before he shakes his head. not the time. “here,” he grabs the bottle of ibuprofen he’d found in the cabinet and the mug full of water you’d fetched for yourself when you initially stumbled out into the living room. “let me help you. can you sit up?”

nodding, you push yourself up again. he taps your chin lightly, and you open your mouth. he places two pills onto your tongue and he holds the back of your head, handing you the water. a shaky hand takes it and you tip your head back, downing nearly the entire glass. “thank you,” you look at him. “you don’t have to do this. i would’ve been fine.”

“didn’t you just say something about being deserving of good things?” bucky studies you. “that applies to you, too.”

“i didn’t realize puking all over my boyfriend was a good thing.”

he rolls his eyes and you laugh. even when you feel like shit, you’re laughing, bucky notes. it’ll never be lost on him how lucky he is to get a front row seat to that laugh every single day. the two of you sit in quiet for a long time. he gets another damp rag and puts it on your forehead. he sits on the opposite side of the couch and he runs his fingers up and down your legs, making smoothing circles.

when you open your eyes again, sunlight is beginning to stream in through the windows.

bucky is still sitting in the same position, but now, he’s watching the tv, and he seems to have found a t shirt. no sound omits from the tv, but you watch as his eyes take in the subtitles at the bottom of the screen. as you begin to stir, his head snaps to look at you. “hey.”

you rub your eyes, and you’re already feeling a hell of a lot better than you did last night. “what time is it?”

“almost noon.”

bucky has clearly done some cleaning. the bowl from last night is gone and replaced with a new one, clean and empty beside you. there’s a new glass of water on a coaster next to you, as well as more medicine and some saltine crackers. you rub at your neck, trying to recall the events of last night. the things you said.

how could i not fall in love with you?

your heart plummets. you fix your eyes on him and he sits up a little bit straighter. “are you feeling alright?”

“oh my god,” you breathe, and you cover your face with your hands. “i’m so sorry.”

bucky pulls your hands away, scooting closer to you. “doll, no. don’t be sorry--”

“no, i am!” you press your hand to your cheek. “i throw up all over you, probably sweated all over you-- like, ew! and then, i incoherently mumble about how much i love you?! buck, that’s not the way that i wanted to tell you. not at all.” frustrated tears begin to rear their ugly head. “i’m sorry,” your apology is not more than a whisper.

bucky doesn’t seem to mind any of that, though. “you remember?”

“of course i remember!” you fall back and bucky takes your hand.

“doll…” bucky looks at you. “doll, c’mere.”

stubborn as ever, you stay where you’re at, embarrassment written all over your face. his hands pull you up and finally, you look at his eyes. “i’ve loved you since that night, too.” his words are soft, almost nervous, though you could never understand why. “i thought that maybe you were just… you know, when you’re feverish, you can say crazy things. i didn’t want to--”

you can’t help it, a laugh breaks free from your lips. “that is so like you,” your words are laced with fondness. “i confess my love to you, and you think it’s the fever talking.”

his cheeks go pink. you lick your lips and you hold his face in your hands. “i meant it.” you nod your head, biting down on your lip. “i meant all of it.”

it’s as if you can see the physical weight that lifts from bucky’s shoulders. he breathes a bit lighter, his smile is a bit easier. “i love you,” you insist. “forever, buck.”

bucky’s hand goes back to that spot on the back of your neck, pushing past the tangled knot that your hair has turned into. “i love you,” he says, and he leans in.

his lips barely brush yours before you scoot back, shaking your head. “no, no.” you laugh and move to stand up. “you had to see me throw up everywhere, i’m not going to make you kiss me with vomit breath.”

bucky grabs your hand, holds your face in those tender hands of his, and he presses his lips against yours. the kiss is slow, and it is sweet. when he pulls back, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “i’ve seen a lot of bad shit, sweetheart,” he pecks your lips again. “i’m not scared of a little puke.”

you fall in love with him over and over and over again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #the world's a little blurry #my writing

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anaiswriterr · 3 years

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The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part four, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW. Todays chapter does include gore, death, killing, hunting, sickness, etc.

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter five: the blood a trickster spills -

•

You grab onto a tree branch, grunting as you pull yourself up. It has been an hour since you've been aimlessly walking through the enchanted forest, your feet already burn in exhaustion. You managed a to find a stream, the land was smooth - perfect for a fire in the morning but right now your main priority:

Is to somehow climb this tree without breaking a leg.

You grumble incoherent words to yourself, enraged by the stubborn bark your hand could not grasp. You opted for another tree branch, pulling yourself up to a reasonably thicker branch - which you deemed was thick enough to wait the night out. Though sleep was definitely out of the question for you, a fall from this height was enough to put you out of commission and paint you dead.

You wrap your arms carefully around the trees trunk taking deep breathes in attempt to sooth your beating heart, "don't look down.. don't look down." you chant, the words stitching together like a prayer. But your eyes glance down - for only one second. One second and suddenly your breath hitches and fear burrows into your stomach. One slip and it was over. Your hands grasp hard onto the trees bark, imprinting your hand with small indents of patterns.

Your eyes grow heavy with sleep, exhausted from climbing. You mentally curse yourself for not taking advantage of the time you had in the carriage ride.

From beneath you, bushes rustle and heavy footsteps emerge.

Yet, you don't dare look down to peep what roams the dark night; growling and far away howls creep up your skin as you shiver. You were in a long night - a cold grueling night.

***

You shiver against the bark, as rain pours down from above soaking your boots and clothing. The rain clouds cover up the moon - as if the night couldn't get worse - you feel small rain drops drizzle down from the skyline. Tapping your nose and cheeks, falling hard onto the ground after a few seconds. You roll your eyes in annoyance, tightening you grip against the tree bark as the rain soaks you from head to toe. In this case you were going to get sick if you didn't dry up soon - and sickness in the kingdom was a true tragedy. Your grip is slippery, chunks of bark peels off the tree and onto the ground below. Startling the animals that roamed below - one snarls as it's hit on the head with one piece. Tightening your legs and arms you realize if you fall now, in this darkness, at this moment..

You would never see another night again.

Determined to survive you travel even further up top into the tree line, it wasn't the smartest idea, staying put in the position you were in and waiting the rain out seemed like a logical solution.

But you needed to get to the tree line.

The sky could tell exactly what time it was, where the rain was coming from, and when it would end. It was better visually, other than waiting for you to fall.

But that also was a thought, what if your foot slipped when you were trying to get further on top, surely by that height you wouldn't have to worry about getting eaten alive by creatures of the night - you'd simply die just by hitting the ground. In all actuality, you didn't wanna think about it, but each time your damned eyes just peered down you saw death. This entire forest reeked and felt like death, or was it a curse, a game? A game to see which Queen can be the most traumatized?

If so, you were pretty sure by the end of this you'd have to see the royal therapist. If there even was one in this kingdom you served.

Grunting you pull yourself up, cheering yourself on internally. You're just nearly there, one more step and the sky line would be clear!

Rain droplets splatter your face, gliding across your cheeks and drenching your hair. Just a few more branches, a few more pulls. The dark clouds peer through leaves above, and you can already see the rain clouds gathered together. You sigh in relief, the rain would stop soon, you estimated the rain would most likely stop in approximately five minutes. And the moon would shine down again. the clouds were just passing by.

You breath in the fresh air, ignoring the pelting rain.

You just simply needed to breath, tears run down your face as you stare off into the Kingdoms silhouette - staring angrily at the sky refusing to place your fate in another persons hands. Clutching onto your dagger your carve into the tree branch.

"I will not accept the fate you place me under, you scoundrel pieces of shit!" You say quietly under your breath, a promise you will get to retell to your future children when the time came.

***

Birds chirp all around you, it's officially the first day.

The beating sun scorned your skin, but the cough in your throat is enough to pull your attention away from the scorching heat. You are developing a cold.

Your throat tickles and your nose feels stopped up, your hand shoots up to cover the suns beating rays off your face. It was early, if you had to estimate most likely seven in the morning. The sun came down behind the kingdom at exactly seven thirty, (you made sure to observe), which only meant you had had twelve hours and thirty minutes to find food, make a fire, track down a goblin, and lastly if you were lucky enough to stumble upon safe herbs to create a tea that would soothe the pending cold.

If an infection didn't kill you, it'd be a cold that would have a final say, but the cold was the least of your worries.

You had a goblin to track down, and those tricksters could kill you faster than any fever.

You slowly move down the tree, checking your surrounds.

You found yourself a loose rabbit wandering off into its borough, noting your next meal for the day was only a few feet away. Your boots crunch onto the dried leaves and wet dirt, you search for dried logs that survived the rain fall, along with rocks that you could create a pit with. You set up directly in the sun in hopes to dry out a few damp logs. In the meantime you went to the rabbits borough - it had two entrances and from what you learned from Kirishima it would attempt to escape from the back. You stealthily placed a large heavy rock at the back entrance blocking its way.

Intricately you back away, you weren't so immune to dead animals. Your father went on annual hunting trips all the time, but, this would be the first time you are hunting out of survival.

The entirety of the "game" was survival.

You check up on your logs, noticing they are now dry from the suns heat. You grab your sticks rubbing your hands up and down to create a spark - fire blazes in front of you. Normally you'd say it was to hot to start a fire, but at night you rather face the cold than a grueling hungry Ogre. Of all things you had to deal with in life at this moment, a bitch ass Ogre was not one of the problems you had the proper strength and patience to deal with.

You grab an end of a stick, lighting the other half on fire. Waving it as a torch, your meal for the day would be served.

You rush over to the borough, lightly throwing the stick into the hole before closing it off with the boulder. Running over to the other end you hold your dagger.

You felt bad for the poor thing.

But a girls got to eat.

***

You have no idea where to start.

When one thinks of a goblin one would refer to the story books that claimed they lived under bridges - shunned away from society maybe even deep into forests. But those were simply just stories, if you had to think like a goblin you'd live far away from the kingdom in fear of being killed.

Nobody prepared you for the hunt, only survival.

You decide you should move, being stuck in the same place wouldn't get you very far. The herbs you were in search for in the meantime for your throat weren't found so you inevitability gave up on the luxury of a warm leaf of tea. You cough into your arm, sniffling your nose from running. The heat rose your temperature to the point you had to stop your travels to lie down, mentally cursing yourself for wasting time.

Heaving, you look up towards the sky, noticing the sun has moved positions. Only a few hours away of setting and you have yet found a single clue where you could find a goblin. You crouch down beside a creak, cupping your hands and drinking away the water from your palms. Splashing your face with it as well to cool the rising fever you felt approaching. You only had three days and if you were gonna make it back to start on time by the third day the heart must be in your possession. Your feet ache, and your calves muscles cramp. The lower part of your back is sore and the sun is burning the sides of your feet - you were in complete misery.

Black dots appear in your line of sight, you stumble onto your feet holding back the urge to vomit what little food you had left in your system.

Your hand quietly slaps over your mouth, clamping it shut.

"Well well well... what do we have here?"

Before you can even answer your sight goes dark, and you feel your head hit the ground. It falls silent.

***

Humming.

The sound of a cackling fire.

And the warm rich scent smell of hazelnut soup.

You slowly open your eyes, "What the-" your heart rate rises in fear, where were you? Who's here? Why are you here, how are you here? You search for the dagger but are left bewildered when the sharp blade is nowhere to be found. You shuffle backwards, your hands running over the wooden floorboards - splinters penetrate your skin. But you could careless, you remember passing out from the heat - or was it from a fever? You didn't know, footsteps approach you.

"Oh well it seems like you're awake!" A females voice cheers, you scan her body, taking in her frame. She was tall, and very beautiful, her striking long brown hair and dark green eyes, a dark red gown adorned her body. Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you bark at the woman, "Who are you-"

"Now, that isn't a way to speak to a woman who saved your life your Majesty."

"How do you know who I am-"

The woman chuckles, "Well I hear everything! The forest, it speaks to me. And not to mention the witches that live here love to gossip!" You stare at her, blinking your tired eyes. It still didn't make much sense, yes technically you ruled this land as well but it's so far away. You can feel your pounding headache even worsen, "So you're a witch?" You ask, pulling your feet in.

"Ha! You think I'm one of those people! How rude. See I'm just a modern lady sitting in a cottage, I don't suppose you would know that kind of lifestyle." The woman shrugs, sipping her cup of tea.

You nod, "I'm afraid.. I don't actually." All your life you were surrounded by jewels and gold's, fed the most expensive meats and the most tasty fruits. Living a fast paced life of "don't say that." "don't touch that." "sit like this." and "who told you to speak." Speaking to Mina about eventually running away from marriage, even planning to take her too.

"Well it seems to me you are part taking in those heinous games the Dragons throw women into. What a shame, you are beautiful too."

You arch a brow in curiosity at her, "What do you mean?"

"I mean this isn't going to end well for you. I mean, look at you! You look like you couldn't hurt and fly, I wonder what King Bakugou must be up to? You wouldn't stand a chance against a goblin!" The woman laughs manically placing her cup of tea onto the table, she steps towards you. "I managed to survive one night alone-"

"Oh please, If I didn't take you in the wolves would've had a feast. You should be thanking me." You roll your eyes in annoyance, "Now dear," she grins, "you look parched. How about some tea."

Tea.

Your body is practically begging for a warm remedy to sooth your raw sore throat, oh.. you realized that you're actually growing sick. The headache on the sides of your temples is beating - pounding against your brain. Your vision is cloudy. How could you not of realized. You were so distracted by where you were you barley remember you couldn't find the herbs you searched for.

The lady wags an empty cup in your face.

"Come on. Your cheeks are burning red, and whether that's just a sun burn or fever I'm sure you need a sip. You're burning up a storm."

A part of you wonders her name, but was it truly important? Could she possibly show you were you could find a goblin? You look over your shoulder out of the window realizing the sun was just barley going down.

"H-How long was I out?" You shakily ask, pulling your hands into your chest.

The woman arches a brow, "You know for a Queen you surely do stutter a lot. You've been out since noon."

Lord if you didn't have strength to be patient you probably would've thrown a wooden slab at her by now, you breath in heavily through your stopped up nose; coughing in despair. Blowing out a few pieces of hair from your face. "Well, then do you want the tea or no - your royal highness?" She asks in a taunting matter.

"No. I'm fine." You huff.

"More for me then-"

"What's your name?" You interrupt, "Id love to know the name of the woman who saved me after all." You grin tilting your head to the side. The lady clears her throat, "Marigold. My name is Marigold." You nod, finally knowing her name. "Well Marigold, do you know where I can find a goblin?"

The word seems to stop Marigold in her tracks. Her face grows pale for a second before returning back to her natural nonchalant expression. Blowing a raspberry she proceeds to laugh, "Well honey, that's a days trip. They live deep into the forest. You wouldn't make it there in time."

Hmm, you nod suspiciously. Recalling the last conversation you had with Kirishima.

"What do goblins look like? I've only ever read about them." You asked, moving beside him following him into the horse stall. He combs out the mane of his horse, "Well that's a tricky question my Queen. They are real tricky and can spew lies just to get you where they want... they promise you things. You have to be real smart to not fall for it - I've encountered one in my youth. It didn't look anything like those storybooks."

Your eyes wander her body; she looked normal. But to trust her would be a stretch, one that could kill you. Her voice sound normal. You watch her closely, "Where's my stuff?" You ask. Marigold arches a brow and shrugs her shoulders; "What stuff?"

You bark, "My dagger! My holster for it! Where is it?"

"Oh those things.. why do you need them?"

"I need to leave-"

"It's dark out, you wouldn't want yourself to increase your fever now would you. I promise this tea will sooth all your pains away. Even the ones deep in your heart."

You arch a brow, narrowing your gaze. Even the ones deep in your heart. Your brush her off as a bluff, "You don't know what you're talking about." You push yourself up from the floor, stumbling from the sudden wave of nausea. Sweat beats run down your forehead as you attempt to stand up straight. Marigold clicks her tongue, her long fingers run through her long brown locks. "No. No. It seems that... I do know what I'm talking about. A Queen who's too good for her new kingdom, thrown, stuck and forced into a loveless marriage; suddenly thrown into the enchanted forest to find a heart that she will be forced to eat? Poor unfortunate girl, you were better off dead."

Her words cut deeply, anyone could figure that out though. She didn't know you, how could she possibly think she had your life figured out. You were a Princess made into a Queen; it wasn't that hard to understand. To create peace between your kingdoms you had to marry Bakugou.

"Darling... you are unhappy." She takes small sips of her tea, "I can help you escape.. you don't love him you don't even know him. Come with me, and I can help nourish you back to health. You won't even have to return, I'm quite lonely myself. Now, have some tea. Your cheeks are practically scarlet." Marigolds grin is sinister, she taps her nails slowly against the table; that's when you realize:

Her fingers and nails are sharp, green, and coated with old blood.

Her green eye sharpen with each passing second - her pupils are almost snake like. You gulp down the fear that rose in you, ignoring the raging pound against your chest. What do you do? You can tell she's growing impatient, if you run out now with no weapon you could kiss your life away. If you stayed... no. You needed a knife, your dagger, anything even a wooden stake would do fine. "I don't bite, sit down." Marigold says menacingly, your feet scuff the floor as you make your way to her. This is the time where you're supposed be strong, you guess.

Marigold lifts up her tea kettle, you notice her teeth for the first time.. how sharp they were.. separated and long.. how could she disguise herself as someone so beautiful?

"Remember.. they are tricksters. They are going to tell you things you wanna hear, they can be anyone and anything." Kirishima's words rang through your head, "Well wouldn't that make them a shape shifter? I've heard those are a thing too, how can I be certain?" You pout, how would you know. The creatures of the Enchanted Forest were so complex. He crosses his arm, "You'll know when they begin to turn.. back into the creature they were originally. Don't catch yourself entertaining, they'll slice your throat in a second."

Your breathing grows heavy, she's a goblin. She's what you've been looking for, her name wasn't Marigold - Marigold was a the woman who the face, the body belonged too. This thing... is morphing. You choose your words carefully, slowly reaching out for an empty tea cup and quietly asking her to fill it. If you could just lead her into the kitchen somehow you could possibly get a knife, "Well now that's the spirit my Queen. I promise this tea with sooth everything away, melting all the overwhelming emotions you may be feeling." The woman mutters before pulling back a hot tea kettle.

Hot.

Tea.

Kettle.

Boiling water is in there. Your heart prancing in joy, you have a chance. You had an opening, quickly, you stop her with your hand. "Actually, may I poor it? I-I sometimes like mines a little more full than usual." You smile nervously, "Oh why of course, here. Have as much as you'd like - it came right off the cauldron."

You nod, taking the handle away from her and carefully pouring the boiling tea into your cup. You make note of her wandering eyes, you've got to make this quick. You finish pouring, opening the kettle lid you ask aloud, "What kind of tea is this? It smells wonderful." You needed a distraction, a reason to open the lid.

"Lavender green tea with a speck of rose water-"

Your throw the boiling water over her head, her screams erupt in the as dining room; as her skin bubbles up. You throw the kettle at her head and knock back your chair, running towards the kitchen. "You wretched! Horrid- I'll slice your throat!" The Goblin screeches, you search the drawers and cabinets for something, anything! But to no avail you didn't find a single thing. Now you were completely done for.

Heavy footsteps and angered huffs make their way towards the kitchen - it's now or never. Throwing pots and pans you make sure to strike the goblin in the face, "After I saved your life! This is the thanks I get?" You hear, bending down to hide underneath the counter your eyes lock with a shining blade.

Your dagger!

Hidden behind the cauldron, you just needed a way to get back there. You needed a way to grab it, the goblins footsteps grow heavy. You silence your breathing with your palms, "I could've helped you, I could've been your escape. You greedy rat!" You hear tables being flipped over, cabinets being thrown open violently, "Wait till I get my hands on you.. I'll cut you open and gut you like a fish."

You attempt to keep calm, either way you were a goner if you hadn't left in that moment. When you hear the goblins footsteps move away in distance you shuffle onto your feet and zoom towards the cauldron. The crackling fire and boil contents bring you an idea. You hurry for the dagger, flipping it between your hands.

"There you are.." you hear a snarl from across the room, readying your blade to attack, you throw your hands up, "Thank you for the hospitality, but it looks like you have something I need." You point towards the goblins chest, the heart. A viable beating heart, only feet away. In mere seconds the goblin launches at you, reaching out to tackle you. You swiftly move out of the way throwing yourself to the ground, your palms throb in pain from the splinters lodged deep into your flesh - but that's the least of your worries. You scurry to your feet and push over the boiling cauldron over the goblin and stab your dagger deep into its head. Blood splatters your face in small droplets, staining your face and clothes.

You've never killed a "person" before.

Never did you think you could actually do it, but the small sigh of relief escaping your throat tells you that you are finally safe.

You proved what you had to prove. And for the night you had sanctuary.

Your mind races in adrenaline, you're alive.

Yet you had to kill in the process, does that make you one of them? No, you did what you had to do. It was a matter of kill or be killed. You pull your dagger away, out of its head, you didn't kill an innocent women. You killed a beast. Small gurgles and a moan fall from its mouth, the sound of death. You wipe away the blood on your forehead with your forearm and roll the dead corpse to the side.

The heart...

A token for the kingdom.

***

Blood stains your chest; dried up to the color brown as you stumble through the forest. Your eye lids feel heavy with every step you take yet you fight off the urge to fall to your knees and succumb to the dark black dots in your vision. It's tempting, yet you are so close to the finish.. you walked the full second day. With no breaks and no source of water on the way, your fever had returned full force as the sun blazed down your body.

You cough into your arm as your second hand clutches onto the heart you were meant to return. Fresh blood coats your hands from the animals you had to fight off for the heart, the trip back was just as worse, your eye lids flutter, opening and closing with each step you nearly fall to the floor.

You look like a dead girl walking.

Your feet shuffle and kick at the ground below.

Your back is sore and your throat feels dry from the cold of the night - the forest was ruthless. You can hear the tribal drums from afar, the sound edging closer and closer, increasing its volume with each step. You stumble to the ground, exhausted, thirsty, and sick. You consider staying down, to tired to even pull yourself up. You hear voices, they sound so close.

"I told you already, she'll be here."

Bakugou?

The king, your husband.

"Give her some more time."

It must be near afternoon then, you push yourself up when you heard Kirishima's voice agree with your husband. Providing you some more time to make it to the finish line - you assume the politicians want to speed up the process. You swore they must have something against you.

Your body feels sticky from the old, dried blood on your chest. Fingers still freshly coated in blood and dirt you push yourself off from a nearby tree - edging closer to the entrance of the Enchanted Forest. The setting suns sunlight peers through the small branches and leaves of the trees above, kissing your exposed shoulders, reddened from the sunburns that littered your skin. You wipe the sweat off your forehead; smearing a combination of dried and fresh blood all over your face. But you don't care, you just had a few more step till sanctuary.

The entrance is clear, open to the trail you followed.

You can see Kirishima from a distance, his rough shoulders tense in worry. Beside him, Bakugou stands with his arms crossed over his shoulders. An expression you couldn't make out contours his face.

You know you've finally made it out when a wave of heat smacks your face even harder - the setting sun beating on your body you stumble over to the King.

A smirk on your face as you hold up the heart, his eyes widen in surprise, taken aback you watch his lips move. But no sound comes out, it's all muffled around you. Black spots collect in your vision, "I-I did it.." you mumble, falling into his chest his hand reaches out to touch your forehead.

You lie passed out in his arms as he calls out to his guards, Kirishima collects the heart from your hand just before it could fall. "What do we do?" The dragon frantically says, Bakugou looks out for the Counsel men, his eyes fall onto the President. Glaring he announces, "We're taking her back to the Palace now!"

"You will do no such thing, your Majesty! She will be brought to the plaza hall, your people are waiting! Handmaidens, guards, take Queen Y/N, preserve the heart and bathe it in pigs blood. We are continuing the ceremony."

Your fever rose with each passing minute, and the exhaustion you'd expedited already was enough to kill. Bakugou breathes in heavily knowing he had no say in the ceremony. There was no way he could just simply override the parliament. Arms wrap around your body as the guards and handmaidens assist in take you.

They rip you away from Bakugou's arms.

"We'll take care of her after the ceremony-"

Kirishima interrupts the Counsel man, bearing his sharp teeth he growls, "I believe you will. I don't necessarily like the taste of humans." He threatens as they user you off. Bakugou stares in annoyance at the carriage that rushed you off to the plaza. Nightfall was close, and he could already feel the rumbling of ceremonial drums beneath his feet. A hand comes to pat his shoulder, the Counsels president, Hagoku Tekona, smiles. "You should probably head back to the plaza.. she might wanna see you as soon as we wake her up."

"You're just gonna wake her up?"

"We'll just drench her in pigs blood to wake her, she'll anyways have to. The tradition calls for the Queen to bathe in pigs blood as she intakes the heart to be fully part of the dragon clan-"

Bakugou, walks away, reaching out for Kirishima he taps his back.

"Make sure... they don't throw her around too much."

Nodding in agreement Kirishima fetches their horses, "I'll take care of her. Make sure she's conscious." The two jump onto their horses settling into the saddle, Bakugou mutters to himself, incoherent words bungled all in one sentence, he pulls back on his horse. Kirishima arches a brow in worry, eyeing his friend he doesn't know what to say neither what to do, the dragon mutters, "You seem surprised. Did you think she wasn't going to make it?"

Nodding Bakugou turns to face Kirishima, with notable surprise written on his face. "I thought I was going to have to find another wife..."

Chuckling Kirishima shakes his head before taking off with his horse, "Depending on how well tonight's ceremony goes.. it appears Bakugou that you have a wife beside your side."

"It appears.. so."

AUTHORS NOTES: Yooooooo! How are you guys, sorry for taking to long. This chapter was longer than the others so I’m happy with where this is going. I have been going through a few things, remember guys I’m just a teenager so it can be hard to fit things in on time. I just got a job, just waiting for the orientation, I have school work and I’m glad I have all A’s! Anyways I hope you liked it!!

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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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pavo-ocell-me · 3 years

Text

Baizhu x GN!Reader || NOT modern au, fluff

Warnings: alcohol, reader is drunk, use of darling, vomiting ment

Summary: It's not called Third-Round Knockout for nothing. Your coworker Baizhu picks you up from a wild night and walks you home. What a waste of a first date. Oops, did you say that out loud?

》 part of my June series

The moon was high in the sky by the time you managed to get Zhongli drunk, but it was so worth it. He was quite a collected man and often sighed when you and Hu Tao met up for your weekly drinking game. However, much to you and your friend's delight, you'd managed to rope him in this time.

"Another round!"

"Hu tao, I don't belive that's wise. I'm already— hic—far past where I would have liked to leave the night," Zhongli reasoned.

Completely ignoring him, Hu Tao paid the bartender and you slammed Zhongli's cup in front of him. You never forced him to drink, but you supposed he might have been too drunk to stop himself. Signaling the bartender, you cut Zhongli off. Best not to push it, you were happy to have gotten him this far.

Having taken care of your friend, you were free to turn your attention back to the small world around you. Third-Round Knockout was a very sleepy, respectable establishment during the day, but once the children were asleep, the owner broke out the booze. It was the go-to spot for drinking games, games you'd been winning for years now. You enjoyed the mindless confidence the liquid courage brought on.

"Next round on me!" You shouted, relishing in the energy of the cheer that went up.

》▪︎《

The moon was nearing the end of its journey across the sky when Baizhu awoke to a knock on his door.

"Yes?" he answered the caller sluggishly, eyes still bleary.

It was the owner of Third-Round Knockout, making his rounds to return the most wasted patrons to their homes. "Your surgeon normally holds their liquor quite well, but this time they ordered the strongest sake we have. They were with some friends, but they left together. Can you come pick them up? I'm a frail old man and I couldn't carry them here."

Baizhu sighed his agreement and got to work waking himself up.

》▪︎《

"Y/N," he called, gently massaging your shoulder to rouse you. "Y/N, it's time to wake up. You're lucky you don't have work tomorrow."

"Hnn?" You lifted your head from the table, eyes blinking slowly and unevenly. With a groan, you stood. "This is embarrassing, I'm so sorry you were woken on my account. Normally I can make it home myself."

"It's not a problem, I'd rather you be cared for. Can you look right at me please?"

"Don't doctor me right now, I just need someone to walk me home."

"Hmm, pity you're coming with me then. I'm not leaving you unsupervised. Can you walk?"

You tried walking alongside him, but unwittingly veered to the left, stumbling just a bit. Another groan.

"I haven't been buzzed since my mother died. Wow, did not mean to voice that," you whined, leaning into Baizhu for support.

He put his arm around you. "Don't apologize, I don't mind you oversharing. I especially can't blame you in this condition."

The walk to Bubu pharmacy was peaceful. The sun peeked over the sparkling sea of the harbor and the gulls called overhead.

Your body wasn't doing well. This was the third time you'd had to stop by the docks to empty the contents of your stomach. Baizhu's sympathetic expression morphed into one of shock at the words you uttered after cleaning your face with saltwater.

"Oh boy, I know this is a bit much for our first date."

Until then, Baizhu had been nothing more than a coworker at the pharmacy. One you had feelings for, but a coworker nonetheless. You didn't even realize what you'd said, nonchalantly resuming your uncoordinated journey to Baizhu's home.

He grabbed your wrist but reminded himself you were incoherent. "We'll speak about this in the morning," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He'd set you up in his bed despite your halfhearted protests, a bucket handy just over the edge of the mattress. You were softly snoring before he finished removing your second shoe.

Brushing your hair behind your ear, he breathed a laugh. "Rest well, darling. Perhaps I can take you out on a second date tomorrow, one you'll actually remember."

And with that, the house was silent, save for the delighted beating of two loving hearts.

#》▪︎pavo writes #baizhu x reader #baizhu #genshin x reader #genshin x reader headcanons #june series #genshin baizhu #genshin baizhu x reader

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years

Text

Real EMTs Share True Ghost Stories

Together Forever

“I’ve had a couple of weird calls. One was a major MVA-head on many, many years ago when we played M.E. as well. We had 2 DOA (husband and spouse) that were killed instantly in a head on collision. They had a 12-year-old daughter that was in between them and they actually took the impact, saving her life.

While en route, we noticed the husband’s arm had come loose so I went back to re-strap it. As I was doing that, the wife’s arm suddenly fell out as well, and her hand fell into her husband’s. My boss was watching in the rear view mirror and helped clear the way as I ran back into the front. It spooked both of us. Apparently the couple (mid 30’s), had just found out he was cancer free after his last treatment.”

Will I Go to Heaven?

“Had a young woman in full liver failure. She was orange in color and she was still conscious. She asked me what I thought it would be like to die. I told her I didn’t know but I hoped it wouldn’t be painful. She then asked me if I thought I would go to heaven. I told her that I believed I would. She asked me if I thought she would go to heaven, and I told her I wasn’t able to answer that question.

She then told me ‘I am going to heaven and I know it,’ and I asked her how she knew that and she told me something that I will never ever forget. She told me ‘I know I am because that man over there told me so.’ I asked what man and she said the man sitting on the end of the bench. I asked her what he looked like and she said ‘he looks just like the Jesus on the windows of my church.’

Well, to tell you I was pretty well affected by that statement. She then went on to say ‘And he says that you are going to go to heaven too.’

We then prayed and I will never forget that interaction between the two of us. About a week later she passed away. I hope she made it to heaven.”

Otherworldly Screams at the ER

“I have had fellow coworkers swear that strange things have occurred in the ER. Two people that I work with were charting at the nurses station when they both heard a scream followed by incoherent words come from one of our open bays. There were three patients in the room and they denied screaming or hearing anything. I have also had fellow coworkers talk about hearing strange voices especially after really bad codes and one person states she felt someone grabbing her shoulder after the doc pronounced a trauma code. These are all respectable people and I do not think they would lie.”

666

“We responded to a ‘sick call’ at about 4 a.m. Dispatch said he was a hospice patient with a history of cancer who had not eaten for a couple of days and had pulled out his medication port. We get there and it’s this poor guy in his early 40’s who is bald from chemo and sitting on his brother’s couch. His skin was blotchy, pale and purple, and he was hyperventilating and diaphoretic. His sis-in-law said he had been pacing from the bed to the couch all night, clearly agitated.

We went out to get the stretcher, and when we came back in he had crapped himself. He just kept saying, ‘Oh… ooooh. No. No. Oooh’ and looking around the room, flinching every now and then like he was waving away flies. We got him to sit on the stretcher, and he said, ‘No, not now!’ We assured him and rolled him out. The medic I was with asked me to get DNR papers, because, ‘He’s doing it right now.’

I walked up to his bro and sis-in law, got the papers, and returned just in time to see him cry a couple of big tears, sob a little, and then crumple. I had to tell his brother he had passed (not easy to see a man drop to his knees in a driveway and wail). Then I got in and prepared to drive to the ER. As I wondered if the man would go to Heaven, I got a bad feeling, like darkness was creeping all around us. I happened to look down at the volt-meter and I saw the number 666 flashing. This panel normally doesn’t flash at all, it just reads voltage. It went 666, then .1, then 666 then .1, then 666 then .1 and then it went back up to 1200 or so and stayed that way. The uneasy feeling went away, but I still prayed the whole way to the hospital. I felt sick as hell all that day, and had a violent vomiting spell later on.

The Haunted Ambulance Company

“This is a true story about an ongoing haunting that is occurring in Richmond, Virginia at a local ambulance company located just off Broad Street near the Willow Lawn Shopping Center. My 25-year-old son-in-law has been working at this company as an Emergency Medical Technician for approximately a year now and he comes home weekly with new haunting stories.

The small brick building was once a warehouse of some type, and during a fire many years ago several people were trapped inside and died. They were Hispanic migrant workers who apparently slept in the warehouse. It is now used as an ambulance company and during the 24 hour shifts, EMT people are required to spend the night in the building. There is also a dispatcher who is always on duty, even during the night hours.

When my son-in-law first went to work there, he wondered why the sleeping cots were set up in the smaller room rather than the larger bunk room. He was told that the larger room was haunted and if people tried to sleep there, they’d feel cold hands on them in the night. He didn’t know whether to believe this or not, but he did notice that whenever he worked a 24 hour shift and slept there, he had very bad nightmares and he’d wake up to a cold tingling feeling running up and down his spine.

They think there are at least two ghosts in the building. The first is an aggressive one who bangs the chain on the bay door, walks around the bay area, slams doors, and puts his cold hands on people. The other is a woman has also been seen in the office area. She was sighted recently when two ambulance workers walked by the office window and saw a short, dark-haired woman in the office. Not recognizing her, they went back to find out who she was but there was no one there.”

#Real EMTs Share True Ghost Stories #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and spirits #ghost and hauntings #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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sakiyo · 4 years

Text

━ # HAIKYUU BOYS AS YOUR COLLEGE ROOMATES PT. 1

+ pairings: atsumu miya/reader

+ tags: atsumu bring a messy dude </3, platonic-ish relationship, uni!au

+ warnings: very brief mentions of sex, weed and alcohol, partying

+ word count: a lot probably idk they’re headcanons

+ note: this is gonna be a series but atsumu’s was wayyy too long!! the rest will probably be much shorter [i was too attached to these hcs to shorten them so enjoy]. thank you @kiyoomae for helping me with these mwah ily beaut <3

ATSUMU MIYA

girl...RUN

he’s a great person sure

but he’s not the BEST roommate

not even osamu wants to room with him, but honestly he just wants cheap rent [like every other student alive]

so when he sees a ‘roommate wanted’ poster on campus, he basically believes that this a sign from god that he should go to your interview

one thing about atsumu:

HES A CATFISH!

he knows that first impressions are one of the most important things in life [mostly because of volleyball and what not]

so naturally he’s going to act the way you want him to !! toxic trait: subtle manipulation i’m telling you

and so when he shows up at your place, hes pretty much perfect. he looks put together and his fit is immaculate okay?

usually, you aren’t one to judge a book by its cover, but when it comes down to roommates….better safe than sorry babe

and the second atsumu mentions his gravitation towards volleyball and sports, you feel like you’ve won the lottery.

a clean and well put roommate who ALSO spends most of their time away from the apartment? what more could you ask for?

and as a quick bonus: HES HOT!! [so you can definitely brag to your friends about the attractive roommate you scored]

you’re quick to say yes, and as soon as you know it he’s added to the contract with your landlord!

atsumu keeps up his facade for another two weeks or so; washing dishes, keeping clean, never being too noisy and giving you your personal space

but when he finally shows his true colours?

you’re not sure if you want to strangle him or rip out your hair strand by strand

whew....he is messy.

atsumu [osamu too] is a momma’s boy, he’s never really had to do dishes or anything like that unless he has to

he never does his dishes. you ALWAYS end up washing them because you prefer a tidy kitchen

dont get me started on the cups

he uses YOUR cups and leaves them littered around the apartment like they’re easter eggs for you to hunt. one time, you found your favourite mug under a couch???

his room is no different either

you prefer to stay away from it, but you had caught a glimpse of it through his partially open bedroom door

....it’s a lot to process.

there are plates on his desk, disposable cups and crushed soda cans on his nightstand, clean laundry in different corners of the room and you swear you see a half full bottle of vodka that had gone missing from your own alcohol cabinet

but for some reason his room still manages to smell like lavender. and you hate that fact.

he NEVER has his house keys on him

he pretty much has you on speed dial because the amount of times this man has forgotten his keys inside the house is WILD

him: hey roomie...it’s me again...

you: atsumu it’s 11 pm and i’m out with friends, i’m not driving back just to open the door for you

him: then what am i going to do??

you: sit there and starve.

so he sits against your apartment door, playing games on his phone and texting his friends

he’s also getting clowned in the gc by suna and osamu PLS ATSUMU GO HOME [oh wait-]

when one of your neighbours pass by or see him sitting there he just gives that rlly awkward white person smile that’s like 😐

HIS PHONE DIES TOO FROM USING IT SO MUCH TOO RKDKGKJ

so basically he’s sitting there, hungry and bored.

when you come back, he’s almost asleep, a little bit of drool hanging on at the side of his mouth

“wake up, i brought you food.”

atsumu might be an annoying roomie, but you’re not heartless.

he 100% gets hair dye all over the bathroom, and he NEVER washes it out

so you’re not too happy when you have to replace your rug because there was a massive bleach stain on it

he uses your shampoo and conditioner, GENEROUSLY TOO

like atsumu...sir 🤣🤚 that shits like 20 dollars! stop using globs of it at once

istg you could buy a new bottle of shampoo/body wash and it’s already halfway through after a week or so

he promises that he’ll stop, but it just gets worse

NEVER let this man go grocery shopping for you by himself, you’ll get everything BUT what you asked for

okay, he does get you what you asked for, but not really

you ask for wheat bread and he gets white bread. you ask for vanilla ice cream and he gets you chocolate

why??

“i think it’s better than what you originally put down.”

you want a new roommate.

but as time passes by, you deduce that he has some redeeming qualities: like how fun he is when drunk, or how he can keep you entertained for hours about his surprisingly interesting days

you’ve met his friends too! they all love you

but they’re also quite sorry for you for having to put up with atsumu

sometimes, you’ll even join them with them when they’re all hanging in your living room

you never miss the small blush that creeps onto tsumus face whenever his old teammates tell you about the stories he deliberately left out to make himself look cooler [pls give this man love he needs it]

suna: wait i have a video of him getting pummeled in the face with a volleyball-

atsumu: ALRIGHT ITS TIME FOR YOU GUYS TO GO!!

atsumu: y/n has a test tomorrow!!

you: tomorrow’s saturday-

if you two have roommate rules, he definitely breaks some of them

no parties without you knowing??? like hell he’s following that

atsumu likes to party! he doesn’t mind hosting one or two every now and then

so he picks a day that he knows you’ll be out for the night, most likely studying because you won’t be back home until around 1 am

so the apartment is a mess and it’s partially trashed, there’s a lingering scent of weed and alcohol, someone probably vomited in your sink, and it’s loud.

so loud that you can hear it from the elevator.

you had decided to come home early and surprise atsumu with his favourite takeout, but you’re already met with tipsy and wasted bodies littered along the corridors, and it doesn’t take very long for you to put two and two together and realize it’s atsumu’s doing

long story short, you and atsumu have to go around the apartment to deliver personal apologies to your neighbours [this definitely isn’t your first or last warning]

in terms of hookups?

atsumu doesn’t care too much for sexual relationships, since his priority lies in volleyball and actually graduating, but he’ll have someone over every now and then

usually, it’s meant to be a time when you’re not around, because the walls are thin as fuck

but atsumu doesn’t really care in the heat of the moment

so yeah, you definitely want to neuter him when you hear incoherent moans and a headboard creaking

the morning after, you immediately chase his one night stand out of the apartment and go off on him for a second

after a few months, atsumu doesn’t get on your nerves as much

you could go as far as to call him a friend

during exam and midterm weeks, you both study together and even order takeout— which leads to the two of you passing out in your living room due to pure exhaustion

YOU HELP HIM DYE HIS HAIR

atsumu sometimes doesn’t get all of his spots because he can only do so much by himself

so after you hear his frustrated groans, you’re willing to help him dye his hair.

and from there it basically becomes a routine

you were also the one who introduced him to TONER!!

he swears that you changed his life

he also walks around in nothing but his boxers because it’s comfortable but gets flustered and ‘mad’ when you wear nothing but an old t-shirt

forces you to come to him games to cheer loudly for him

this man- he asks you to cheer for him when he does his serve routine and when you do his head gets so big

but he denies it when his teammates tease him about you

half of his clothes have made its way into your closet! but honestly, he does not mind

his cute roommate is wearing his sweats and a hoodie with his name at the back of it, why would he be mad?

you’ve hooked up with him at least twice.

#i couldn’t care less if this flopped i just need the world to know how i feel ab atsumu as a roommate #formatting this absolutely murdered me its too late for this istg #anyways this is just a bunch of word vomint idk if ppl actually wanna read this but idc #ATSUMU MIYA IS VERY BEAUTIFUL TO ME!!#look he'd be a terrible roomie but a fun one at the same time if you understand??#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu miya #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #atsumu miya headcanons #[🥢].my works

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iwaisa · 4 years

Text

request. trynna think of a request for u rn 🧏‍♀️ how ab tsukki w a best friend who’s so grade conscious bc ppl have high expectations of them n one day she breaks down bc she b afraid of failure n he’s like .......ok ill comfort them bc theyre my best friend but im also secretly in love w them trope😝 definitrly not because this reminds me of a certain someone who is not myself and i definitrly dont need to hear this😭 - @tsukisemi

a/n. sue you are a GENIUS I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BIG BRAIN. i absolutely adore best friends to lovers/childhood friends to lovers tropes they make me so happy ugh once again THANK YOU

► now playing...

- pairing. tsukishima x female reader (pronouns not specifically stated, but there is ma’am lol)

- warnings. make out session! lol oops. suggestive content

- word count. 1.8k+

it was a friday evening, and you found yourself studying at kei tsukishima’s house. again. no matter how many times you tried to convince him to do other things while hanging out in the warmth of his bedroom, he always insisted that academics came before baking and movies.

the two of you have been friends since your last year of junior high, after yamaguchi was too busy looking up at his tall companion to realize another figure was about to collide with him. the two of you made contact with the ground, before jumping up to apologize quickly.

tsukishima found himself instantly infatuated with you - you were gorgeous. your breathtaking eyes, the way your school uniform seemed to fit just perfectly, the way he imagined your smaller hands and fingers slotting in between his - he was absolutely intrigued. yamaguchi would say love at first sight, the taller male would call him ridiculous.

the three of you instantly clicked, with you and yamaguchi being the more talkative ones of the trio. tsukishima acted as a parental figure, scolding you two constantly for doing things you weren’t supposed to.

upon overhearing a conversation with sensei that you would be heading to karasuno for high school - the same place tsukishima and yamaguchi were planning on going - he let out a breath he never knew he was holding in. he continued listening to sensei urging you to plan on going somewhere more academic based - like shiratorizwa or fukurōdani. you put it simply that you would rather go somewhere more balanced. sensei was hesitant before he approved of your plans.

you had always been good at doing homework and classwork, but you weren’t so good at taking tests. they intimidated you, making you worry that you would end up receiving something lower than a B+. tsukishima and yamaguchi knew of course, since the two of you held frequent study sessions at each others’ houses. this tradition carried on even when the three of you made it into karasuno, just not as frequently due to the boys’ volleyball practices.

today, however, yamaguchi was helping yachi teach kageyama and hinata english since tsukishima blatantly refused. the two of you headed back to his house, and instantly began flipping through your textbooks. he was quietly scribbling words and numbers on his papers, seemingly flying through assignments. you were sat on his bed, stuck on one section in particular.

“why the hell is ap chemistry so hard?” you sighed, scratching your scalp. tsukishima turned his head to see you rubbing your eyes, which adorned deep blue bags underneath. he sighed, putting his pencil down as he walked to sit on the edge of the bed alongside you. he looked over your shoulder, reading the complex chemical equations. “you know this one, l/n. you got it.”

you shook your head quickly, “no, i don’t tsukki. i have no idea what i’m doing and sensei literally didn’t even teach us this. see, this is why i’m glad i didn’t end up going to an academy because this would be ten times harder. i hate that people are always assuming i can handle this with ease. i can’t.” you finished, blinking back tears.

tsukishima sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses before readjusting them to focus on the question. he began rubbing his finger over the numbers, slowly explaining each process. you were surprised he was being kind, but you didn’t want to take this soft moment for granted. you simply nodded your head, hurriedly scribbling down what he was saying in your notebook.

“tell you what,” he turned, looking into your eyes. “if you can do these next four questions by yourself, i’ll give you something i’ve been meaning to for a while.” you tilted your head, “tsukki, my birthday was months ago.” he chuckled, getting up to sit in his chair, which was now facing you. “i’m aware.” the two of you stared at each other for a while, before you turned your attention back to your textbook.

using tsukishima’s explanations and whatever strategies you learned from sensei, you flew through two of the questions with ease, getting stuck on the third one. tsukishima explained once more, telling you to use a different equation for the next two. you nodded, finally understanding.

the next two questions were hard to figure out, but you finally got through them. you placed your pencil in between the crease of the pages, looking up to tsukisima expectedly. when he didn’t move, you were confused. did he just trick you into doing homework?

tsukishima gulped, attempting to calm his erratic heart and shaky legs. was he ready for this? no, he wasn’t. but even as yamaguchi said; he’s been putting this off for long enough. he knew he liked you, but had no idea just what to do about it. he knew he would be jeopardizing your friendship in some way, but tsukishima couldn’t deny that he wanted some sort of affectionate skinship to happen between the two of you.

he released his lower lip from his teeth before shaking his head. he stood up, walking towards you with slight hesitation. he plopped himself next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other. tsukishima lifted his glasses off his nose before leaning forward, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened more than you believed they ever could. your face exploded with heat, and you began spewing out incoherent words. he stood up, returning to his seat. “tsukki?” you asked in disbelief. “yes?” he responded, seemingly unphased. “w-what was that?” he watched you run your middle and forefinger over your lips, “my gift.” your jaw dropped open once more, earning a rare chuckle from your blond friend. or maybe, not a friend anymore.

“if you finish the next four questions, i’ll give you another one. if you want,” his last words were muffled by the back of his hand. you smiled at the sight; tsukishima, the most stoic boy you’ve ever met, was embarrassed. nonetheless, you were going to earn another kiss from your friend, not to mention the boy you’ve been in love with for the past two years.

you were quick to pick up your pencil, reading the questions as quickly as possible. “and don’t rush either, idiot,” tsukishima jested. you stuck your tongue out at him, feeling your heart flutter as he let out a soft chuckle.

you made sure to complete each question thoroughly, wondering if you would get extra points for doing more work. tsukishima stood over your figure, eyes scanning over each question. he pointed at one, “the equation was right, but check your calculations again.” you sighed, turning back to the book.

tsukishima bent over, pressing a light kiss atop your head, making you jolt in surprise. he staggered back holding his chin, and you stood up waving your hands frantically. he held his hand up to stop your word-vomit, letting a light chuckle escape his lips.

you pressed your lips in a line, sitting back down. you began calculating the equation once more, finally coming up with the right answer. “there you go. see? you only have four questions left now.” you lifted your chin expectedly, watching him squat in front of you. you pursed your lips as he began to lean in, pressing teasing kisses to both of your cheeks. you groaned in annoyance, before sandwiching his face in between your palms. “stop teasing,” you muttered sternly. “yes ma’am,” he joked, finally closing the distance between you two.

this kiss was a tad bit more passionate, the two of you moving your lips together excitedly. it would’ve been a make out session, if tsukishima had not pulled away with a grin. “last four questions.” he smirked at you before standing up, returning to his chair once more.

these questions were possibly the worst. there were multiple equations in each separate question, and it left you wondering why someone would ever want to major in chemistry. tsukishima watched your face contort into borderline anger, your lower lip between your teeth. he swiftly stood up, placing himself next to you on the bed. he reached his arm around you, rubbing circles into your lower back as you continued writing the wrong equations.

“here,” he spoke up finally, removing the pencil from your grasp. he began writing in a clear fashion which numbers were to be plugged in where, and it finally clicked for you. he glanced at your profile, watching your mouth fall open. he smiled to himself as he watched you solve the equations with ease, his hand never leaving your back.

you finally finished, looking up at the blond with long-awaited anticipation. “you’re eager,” he whispered, his eyes becoming soft. his gaze flickered between yours and your plush lips - the one’s he’s been waiting to feel on his for so long. and the feeling wasn’t disappointing. they felt amazing, and he was on cloud nine. a little voice that sounded like yamaguchi resonated in tsukishima’s head saying, “finally.”

the two of you began moving forward at a slow pace, until you gripped onto his shirt pulling him into you to finally close the gap. this kiss was definitely not like the last ones. this one was ferocious; two pining friends finally earning exactly what they’ve been patiently waiting for.

tsukishima’s right hand made its way to your hip, prompting you to lay down. he hovered over you, not once pulling away. your tongue brushed against the seam of his lips, and he eagerly allowed your tongue to meet his. your hands began roaming, feeling tsukishima’s pecs. they slowly moved down to his abs, which were rock-solid, much to your surprise.

you gasped as he pulled away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jawline, moving down to your neck. your hands gripped his hair as he sucked on a particular spot that elicited a whine from your throat.

he pulled away, looking down at you with golden irises filled with lust. his gaze fell on the newly formed red spot on your neck, and he sat up pushing his glasses back to rest on the bridge of his nose. “sorry about that,” he whispered, his voice filled with nerves. “don’t be. i liked it,” you smiled, watching his gaze soften for the umpteenth time that day.

“do you like me?” he asked hesitantly. you paused, your eyebrows furrowing in mock confusion. “you know, for one of the smartest in the class, you’re pretty dumb.” he opened his mouth to protest, before you sat up to give him a quick kiss. “yes, i like you.”

his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing you back down onto his bed. “can we cuddle,” he said it as more of a statement than a question. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his back. “can you be my boyfriend,” you pretend to mock, causing his head to snap up. he nodded hastily before burrowing his face into your chest once more.

“i love you,” he said, his words muffled by your shirt. “i love you too, kei.” you smiled as you ran your hands through his golden locks, hearing a content sigh escape his lips.

#tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima #tsukishima kei #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #tsukishima x fem!reader

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

reid’s anatomy pt. 2

summary: after seeing spencer in the OR, you have no other choice but to wait and see if he makes it or not

word count: 1,827 reading time: 7 mins

masterlist

Pt. 1

My spine had succumbed to the soreness that had spread throughout my lower body as me and Morgan sat almost lifelessly together on cold hospital floors.

If Spencer was present at the moment, he would ramble about the billion strains of bacteria and viruses incomprehensible by the naked eye, at which our skin would be exposed to. But he wasn’t here, he’s laying placid under OR lights that were just as bright as Time Square’s streets at night and a scalpel just as sharp as the sushi chef in the japanese cuisine he took me out for our 2 year anniversary.

Morgan still continued to stroke my head, our tear ducts running dry as the minutes passed us. I sat up from his shoulder, facing him for the first time since he came to check up on me.

“What happened out there?” I asked disdainfully. It was evident in my tone that I held some sort of animosity, possibly blame towards the team for not protecting Spencer. But deep down I knew that no matter how many cautionary provisions they’ve taken, you can never dodge the inevitable.

He flinched at the presence on my voice, not anticipating that I would be so prominent in speaking. He shifted to face the ceiling, sighing as he dragged his hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I-i can’t even to begin to explain Y/N. I-i’m so sorry” He repented, his eyes beginning to water again. I prolonged my examination of him, egging him to continue his narrative.

He now bowed his head, laying them on his hands that were supported by his knees. “We were with the unsub right” He painted out the scenario, I nodded while following along with his recollection of the events. “We were in the middle of a standoff. We had about 3 additional agents with us and the police force, but me and Reid were hanging back behind the unsub, in case he had tried to escape...” He paused in the midst of his sentence, taking in a breath as he began to choke on a few words.

“It was supposed to be me” He confessed, earning a look of perplexity from me. “The unsub had a kid in hostage, and the kid got in the middle of me and the unsub. So naturally I went to take the kid away, but I made the stupid mistake of dropping my gun. Obviously, the unsub heard and turned around to shoot me and the kid since we were both defenseless. But...Reid, he-. He shoved both me and the kid, taking the shot himself”.

The words that came from Morgan’s lips were incoherent by the time he finished. He looked over to me, his eyes exhibiting a great deal of grief before searching my own for a response or clemency.

In contrast to the circumstances that were placed before us, a forced chuckle lunged out from my throat, acquiring Morgan’s attention. A morbid smile planted on my lips as I thought about Spencer.

“He would’ve been such a good father. Don’t you think?” I asked using the same tone from earlier. Morgan agreed apprehensively, sorrow still evident by the way his body responded to mine.

“He deserves children. Doesn’t he, Derek?”

“Y/N- I don’t understa-”

“Then he should be able to have them” I snapped, slamming my fist against the wall behind me. Morgan reached a comforting hand out, but I swatted his hand away. I gave him a crazed look, running my hand through my hair. “H-he should have a family, he deserves a future...Morgan, he should be...alive. That’s how it’s supposed to be” I choked out, word vomit spilling from my mouth as my thoughts swirled around my head at a thousand miles an hour, any sense of rationality I had depleting.

“Y/N- I-”

Soft sobs racked my entire body and defeated whimpers had crawled up my esophagus. I rocked myself back and forth, burying my head into my arms until all I saw was the artificial darkness I placed myself in. It was almost a cocoon that composed of me and my thoughts, regardless if Morgan was next to me.

My own heartbeat was ringing in my ears, drowning out any other noise around me, including Morgan. That wasn’t until I heard scurried footsteps, metal hitting metal, and the attending inside the OR yelling brutal commands at the staff.

It suddenly came clear to me when Morgans hand gripped mine and all that could be heard from the OR was, “his BP is down, he’s going into V-fib, we’re losing him”. At that moment, my heart stopped and my vision dwindled, I was too tired to react. Pain resurfaced as my mind grew dizzy, next followed the sensation in my arms, legs, and back. Finally, my consciousness inevitably followed in its footsteps as it withered away to the sound of the doctors frantically shifting around to save Spencer’s life.

Light began to be apparent again, my vision gradually retaining it’s efficiency as I noticed I was placed on a hospital chair. I rubbed my eyes, sitting up in the seat that I was slumped down on, scratching my head while my eyes examined the environment.

The first thing that had caught my attention was that I wasn’t in the hallway anymore, but in a post-op room. My eyes felt heavy from all the crying I’ve done previously and my forehead grew hot from the stress I’ve undergone.

The sound of voices pricked my ears, and in curiosity, I stood up to investigate. Getting closer to the noise, I noticed my legs were tender and that I had a great difficulty at maneuvering around.

How long was I out?

I finally got to my destination and was met with a privacy curtain that ran from the ceiling to the floor. I heard a multitude of voices that rang from the other side of the curtain.

Uneasiness set in my bones, not wanting to get my hopes up. I slowly pushed the fabric aside, letting my presence be known, and let me tell you, it was the best decision I’ve made.

To my fortune, there stood the attending that was operating on Spencer with the rest of the crew that surrounded a single bed. On that hospital bed laid the love of my live.

Spencer was the first one I locked eyes with, he was in the middle of speaking with his colleagues when we did, which halted his speech. In recognition of Spencer’s pause, all eyes were then relocated to me. Although I didn’t reciprocate anyone else’s glances, except Spencer.

“C-can we have a moment of privacy please?” Spencer requested, looking at his doctor for approval.

The attending nodded in agreement, shifting his focus to me and gave me a hopeful smile. The same smile I would give to my patients after a successful surgery. Everyone filed out after the doctor one by one, leaving Morgan to be the last one out.

As he exited the room, I stopped him by the shoulder and silently thanked him. He returned the gesture with a large smile, nudging me towards Spence. When the room was finally empty, I inched towards spencer with the brightest smile I can wear. His eyes shone nothing but love as he continued to gawk at me venturing towards him.

When I finally got to his side, he greeted me with an amiable ‘hello’ like it was the first time we met. He reached out for my hand, placing it on his chest for comfort and giving it an affectionate kiss.

I, then, proceeded to lovingly whack him upside the head in return, earning a playful wince from him.

“I swear to god Spencer Reid, if you ever, and I mean EVER, put me through anything like that again, I will personally go into the OR and cut your LVAD wire and kill you myself, bec-”

“Y/N, honey, I’m here no-”

“DON’T. Don’t you dare tell me to calm down Spence because I will have to be restrained and placed in a mental hospital when I lose my license for kicking the IQ out of you” I finished, heaving as I gathered my composure.

Spencer looked at me amused, gripping my hand in his and hauling me closer to the side of his bed. “Y/N Y/L/N, I’m sorry for putting you through everything you went through” He looked up at me with sincere eyes, melting all the disdain that swelled in my heart.

I sighed, leaning down to lay my head on his chest, in which he gave me permission to hop into his bed. I pulled him in closer, terrified that he might vanish from my grasp into thin air. “Spencer, I love you so much” I sniffled, muffling my words into his chest. “You have no idea Spence, I-i felt so lost and hopeless. I-i couldn’t do anything to save you, they-they wouldn’t let me” I sobbed, my throat tightening up as the words spilled actively from my lips.

Spencer quieted me down, stroking my hair as I spoke. “I don’t know where I’d be without you Spence”. I looked up at the man who held me, my heart beating in delight, in contrast to the emotion my face was probably expressing.

He leaned in pressing a long lasting kiss on my lips, then he proceeded to reciprocate the same gesture on my forehead. “You’re my absolute everything Y/N’ He sighed. “Before I- before everything became a blur, all I could think of was you. All I could think of was that I took out one less person that can harm you. I love you so much Y/N”.

A comforting silence followed after, creating an environment of serendipity. I toyed with the hospital gown that covered his body, thinking of all the events that had occured before, thanking the heavens for the outcome that was given to me and praying for the future.

“I want a baby” I professed without warning, feeling Spencer tense up in surprise.

“W-what did you say Y/N?”

“I want a baby, I want to start a family with you” I continued, adjusting my position to get a good look at his reaction. “I want to have a baby now” I declared, determination dripping from my confession.

Spencer chuckled, gesturing to the IV and the tubes that were wired into him. “I would be glad to Y/N, but I’m kind of a human experiment as this moment” He joked.

We both chuckled in glee, holding each other tight as we basked in the pleasant scene. “But I would love to have little Y/N’s and Spencers running around, especially with the one I’d want nothing more than to spend my lifetime with” He pulled me into another kiss, peering deeply into my eyes before shutting his own to get some rest.

“I love you so much, Y/N Y/L/N” He whispered through his breath.

“I love you more than you know, Spencer Reid”

A/N:

That’s a wrap, you know I was going to end this short story with Spencer dying, but I thought about how evil that was. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it and don’t be afraid to put in any requests :)

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @spideyreid @evelyn-4034

#spencer reid imagines #spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid icons #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines

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pips-fics · 3 years

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ask: Hi, I love your work sm! I was wondering if you could maybe do one where Minho gets sick (emeto) at the dorm without warning and the other members comfort him bc he’s embarrassed? Thanks 🥺

tw: vomit, nightmares

minho fell asleep feeling just a bit too warm and woke up sweating buckets. it was some kind of bad dream that woke him. his heart was racing, and he was panting and disoriented, the sense that something horrible was lingering just over his shoulder not having left him. he couldn’t even remember what it was - and maybe that made it even scarier.

it was, if nothing else, extremely disorienting. to be caught in between a dream world and that of real life, not recalling the first and unable to see anything in the darkness of the bedroom. somewhat like existing in a void.

maybe that as why minho had no idea he was sick until he was throwing up all over his bed.

he did attempt to get up and to bathroom, though by then quite a bit of damage had been done. the first wave of vomit had come quickly and intensely, and unfortunately the second was no better. what’s more, he only ended up creating a bigger mess, having not made it to the bathroom yet, his stomach contents now splattering onto the floor.

by the time it was over, minho’s head was spinning so badly, he couldn’t take another step. he sunk to the ground, lightheaded, still extremely nauseous, and now drowning in the awful stench on top of it all. he looked around, trying to make out if there was anyone else in the room, and saw no one. where were they?

at the studio, his brain supplied, and that wasn’t helpful at all because his heart started racing again. if chan and changbin were still at the studio at this hour, they might not be back until morning.

a dry sob ripped itself from minho’s ribcage, and tears burned his eyes. he knew he should call for help, but the stupid part of his pride stopped him, embarrassment demanding a moment of hesitation.

that was enough to take the choice away from him, because suddenly he was being sick again, gasping for air and terrified that he wouldn’t get it before he passed out. that would be even more embarrassing than being found like this when he was awake, so he clung to consciousness with everything he had.

changbin found him like that, swaying as if he had no bones in his body, sobbing, and shaking, and mumbling incoherently.

“what. the fuck.” changbin genuinely didn’t know what was going on and hadn’t intended to say anything, but the words felt appropriate even in hindsight. “hyung, what happened?”

“where were you?” minho whimpered between choked coughs. “i’m sorry…”

changbin, who had just returned from working and was still trying to grasp what was happening, put his hand on the other boy’s head and struggled not to gasp. “we have to get you some fever reducers or something, hyung, you’re burning up. let’s take off you shirt.”

minho didn’t so much as wiggle his eyebrows at that, and his lack of reaction spoke volumes for how badly he must have been feeling, though the tears were enough of an indicator on their own. that minho was crying was hard for changbin to wrap his mind around, so he chose to mostly ignore it and set to work on gently re-dressing the older man.

it was a process. there were things to be gathered - a trash can, first and foremost, clean clothes, but also wet washcloths because there was no way he was going to trust minho to shower or bathe. and then there was the actual act of putting minho’s clothing on. changbin hadn’t played with dolls since he was a kid, but wresting minho’s limp limbs into clean clothes really brought back the memories.

when he was finished, changbin gave minho a once over. he still looked a bit green, but the tears had stopped. changbin thought he’d be relieved by this. instead, his concern only increased. “hey,” he said quietly. “you okay, hyung?”

there was a split-second delay in which changbin could tell it took conscious effort for minho to get his eyes to focus so that he could look around the room. there was still vomit everywhere. changbin, in all his panic, had nearly forgotten about it, and now cringed. minho’s composure, if he’d had any, crumbled into whimpers and gasped apologies.

“i should’ve been more careful,” he said, voice shaking. “i’ll– i’ll clean the mess, just–” he swallowed thickly and shut his mouth.

“hyung,” changbin whined. “please don’t feel bad, you’re just–”

a heady belch interrupted him, and changbin pressed the trash can into minho’s hands just in time. a soupy mess splattered against the plastic and minho coughed through the more solid chunks of less-digested food. changbin sighed, steadying minho as he swayed through dry-heaves.

“you’re just sick, hyung, you can’t help it.”

for better or worse, minho seemed entirely out of energy by the end of this bought of sickness. changbin couldn’t tell if he’d actually been reassuring, or if minho was just too tired to cry.

“do you feel any better?” changbin asked, half-afraid of the answer.

“‘m tired,” minho sniffled, refusing to meet changbin’s eyes.

“okay, hyung, we can talk more when you’re feeling better. how about we get you to bed?”

minho glanced at the mess on his bed in disdain and changbin huffed a half-laugh, shaking his head. “we’ll get you in bed with one of the kids, alright? then i can clean up here and you can rest.”

minho looked hesitant, but his exhaustion won out and he nodded. changbin helped him to his feet and they walked to the younger members’ room together. the closest bed was hyunjin’s, and minho didn’t hesitate to fall onto it. hyunjin cracked a bleary eye open.

“minho-hyung?”

there was a tense moment where changbin wondered if they’d need to explain. then hyunjin offered a dopey smile. “you’re finally here to cuddle?”

as if summoned by the word itself, felix woke and stumbled to join the other two. “i want to,” he mumbled, and promptly fell asleep, sandwiching minho between him and hyunjin. changbin raised an eyebrow.

“is this okay?” he asked minho. the other two were, once again, out cold. minho shrugged.

“i don’t want to wake them.”

changbin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, because that was the most minho way of saying “yes, i’m happy to cuddle tonight” was he’d ever heard.

though he couldn’t say he enjoyed cleaning up the bedroom, changbin did so with a warmth in his chest. he hoped his group members would never lose the genuine kindness they had always shown each other. he also hoped that whatever minho had wasn’t contagious - but that was a problem for another day.

——

a very quick reader survey (specific to this fic!) to make me smile and help me plan/get hype for my next fic: https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/26HTVV8

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feel free to send more asks! / rules

#tw vomit #tw emeto #skz sickfic #tw throwing up #sick minho #sick lee know #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #lee know #i have no recollection of writing this fic actually #:')#stray kids sickfic #stray kids #kpop emeto #kpop sickfic #kpop

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demxters · 4 years

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In Love and War

theo raeken x reader

request: @bricksatanakinswindow hi bby can you do 15 from the angst prompt with either theo raeken or liam dunbar 💕

15. “I told you not to fall in love with me.”

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood

teen wolf masterlist

a/n: ty for the request bricks! i forgot how much i loved theo raeken in season 6 shoot. anyways, first time writing for theo so lemme know what y’all think!

***

They say all is fair in love and war. The first time you laid your eyes upon the mysterious new guy across the hall, you felt your heart skip a beat and your palms begin to sweat. You’re not sure what it was that drew you to him that day. Whether it was his closed off demeanor or the arrogant smirk that seemed to be etched onto his features. There was something about him that drew you to him. He warned you, they all did, and yet you didn’t listen. Your heart was too naive.

“Theo Raeken,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand for you to shake.

You skeptically look at the boy, taking his hand in yours, clearing your throat when you realize you’ve been holding his hand for a minute too long. “You new to Beacon Hills, Theo?”

“Not necessarily. I used to live here as a kid,” he replied, staring off into the distance as if he were reliving some kind of memory. “How about you? Surely I’d remember someone as gorgeous as you living here in Beacon Hills all your life.”

“I actually moved here in my freshmen year.” You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The bell rings pulling you out of the trance the boy had put you in. “I gotta get to class but maybe I’ll see you around?” you question him as you definitely did not cross your fingers behind your back in hopes to see him again.

“Oh most definitely,” he answers you. And with one last smile, he turns leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway like a grinning idiot. What the hell just happened?

He cared for you more than he wanted to admit. You weren’t part of his plan originally. He barely had any clue who you were until that day in the hallway when you accidentally bumped into him. He hadn’t thought of you much since then until he saw you talking to Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski after school. That’s when he knew he got lucky because now he had the perfect person to help him slither his way into the pack.

“You know Stiles is just being a little asshole again, right?” you whispered to him as the two of you laid down in the back of his truck, staring up at the night sky. “You’re not a bad person. You saved Lydia’s life for god's sake.”

Theo couldn’t shake the feelings that you gave him, and it scared him. For the first time in years, he finally had someone who didn’t see him as a mistake, as a failure. You saw him as the man he wanted to be, the Theo Raeken he wanted to be. With you, he could be the Theo that just went to high school and worried about winning over the girl he liked. With you, he felt as if all the weight on his shoulders were lifted. With you the world fell away. And that was all that mattered to him. But he couldn’t have you feeling the same way. Not with what was to come. And yet he couldn’t make himself pull away. Everything about you only drew him closer. “Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

He swallows harshly, grabbing your hand that laid next to his. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” you softly answer back.

“Promise you won’t fall in love with me,” his voice falters at the end, his heart breaking with every word.

But you just chuckle, not thinking much of it, and reply by taking your hand out from under his and sitting up with a smile. “That won’t be a problem, Raeken. That much is sure.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah I promise…”

You let out a quiet sob into your pillow, careful not to wake the others. His pleas and cries played in your head like a broken record. There was never a night where you weren’t there for him. His night terrors bothered him at night and you were the only one who could calm him down. Something about that fact always brought a small smile to your face. Crawling out of your sleeping bag, you carefully made your way through the sea of sleeping teens surrounding you, and quietly made your way to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup of water, you stand at the counter, staring at the moon from the window above your kitchen sink, thinking about the first time you realized you just might have broken your promise.

You’ve never seen him like this. Like such a mess. His cocky and confident demeanor was gone leaving him in his most vulnerable state. You weren’t sure if it was his whimpers or his sobs that woke you up first but the minute you heard the boy beside you make a noise, you found yourself wide awake and sitting up beside him. His body was shaking and he was whispering incoherent words under his breath. But something about the way his face was scrunched up made you realize he wasn’t just having a bad dream. “Theo,” you whisper, slightly shaking his shoulder.

You get no response. “Theo wake up,” you try again, louder this time and putting some more force into your shake. The boy is still shaking and sobbing in your bed, each sob getting louder and louder than the first. You don’t know what else to do so you wrap your arms around his waist, grabbing his hands that rested on his stomach, and squeeze him tight. You rest your forehead against his back, gently shushing him and rubbing circles onto his palms.

He awakens with a gasp, almost getting up in a panic, when your familiar scent fills his nostrils and the feeling of your hands pull him back to reality. He hears your shushes subside, guessing that you’ve realized he’s finally awake. “Y/N,” he whispers, into the dark hoping to hear your soft voice instead of the metal whirring that won’t stop ringing in his ears.

“I’m here, I’ve got you.”

And that’s all it took for Theo Raeken to fall apart. Turning around in your arms, he cupped your face in his hands and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in your presence. Neither of you say anything as he leans forward and delicately places his lips on yours. Kissing Theo was almost like a dream. Never would you have thought kissing him would feel like this. So soft, passionate, and most of all loving. That was the night you almost let those three words slip past your lips but by the way he kissed you, you knew he felt the same as he took the words right from your mouth before spitting it back out in every movement of his lips against yours.

They say love is a battlefield. Theo had the hardest time admitting to himself that he had fallen in love with you in the short time that the two of you spent together. You were supposed to just be a pawn in his little game he was playing with the McCall pack, but you became so much more so fast. He could’ve easily thrown you away when he was done with you. Yet, even after he claimed his spot in the pack as an ally, he found himself fighting for you harder than anything he’s ever fought for anything before.

“You stay away, do you hear me?” Stiles exclaims, slamming Theo into the locker behind him.

Theo puts his hands up, shaking his head with a breathy laugh. “What, you think this little threat is going to keep me away? Do you think Y/N is going let you keep me away?”

“Shut up,” Stiles says under his breath, his grip tightening on Theo’s collar. “You leave Y/N alone, do you understand me? You drag her into this and I will fight you myself.”

“Then bring it on, Stiles. Listen, you may not trust me, but trust me when I say this. I love Y/N. I would never do anything that would put her in danger. I would protect her with my life, and I know you would do the same.”

Stiles loosens his grip on Theo in shock at his confession. Letting Theo go, he shakes his head and says, “You better mean that because if you hurt her I swear I will break your face.” And with that, Stiles storms out of the locker room leaving Theo to deal with the fact that he just confessed his love for you to Stiles of all people. But he knew deep down that his words were true. He’d endure all the pain in the world if that meant keeping you safe.

So maybe you should have listened. You should have packed your things and ran away the moment Theo Raeken approached you in the school hallway. But something in your heart begged you to stay. Now you weren’t sure if that was the best or worst mistake you’ve ever made. Maybe if you just kept your heart locked away you wouldn’t be hurting as bad as you were now. Maybe you wouldn’t be wasting your tears on a boy named Theo Raeken. But no matter how badly you wanted to hate him, your heart felt the exact opposite. You loved him. You loved him with your entire being, even if he never loved you back.

“What the fuck?” you shout at the sight of Scott’s body, bloodied and crippled on the floor. You wanted to vomit and cry. You wanted to scream and shout. But nothing came out of your mouth. You saw the figure in front of you turn around, revealing themselves to be none other than Theo Raeken himself.

“Y/N…” he says softly, carefully making his way over to you.

You look down at his claws that were dripping crimson red. “I-is that Scott’s blood?”

“Y/N,” he states firmer this time, still making his way over to you.

You flinch when he calls your name again and you back away from him. “No! Theo, what did you do?”

“What had to be done,” he replies, not missing the way your eyes shined with tears.

“No, no this can’t be right. You’re on our side! You saved Lydia, you saved me! You can’t be, you can’t…”

Theo stands his ground, still keeping his distance between the two of you despite wanting nothing more than to take you in his arms. “If you just let me explain-”

“Explain what? How you lied to us? How you lied to me? How could you do this?”

He stays silent, his eyes still boring into yours as he waits for you to realize it yourself. You’ve always been a clever girl, he didn’t doubt that you couldn’t put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” you whisper after a moment, finally understanding what was going on. “How long? Huh? How long were you going to just string me along like some-some idiot?” Your heart aches as you look at him. “God, I fought my friends for you. I defended you! And all I was to you was some pawn in your little chess game.”

“That’s not true,” he defends himself.

You scoff, tears continuing to cloud your vision. “Is it not? You liar!” You move closer to him this time, shoving at his chest. He lets you hit him as he slightly stumbles back. “Did I even mean anything to you?” You step forward, shoving him again. “God, Theo I loved you!”

This seems to pull a reaction out of him. Lowering his gaze to the floor, he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. “I told you not to fall in love with me.”

“You think that was going to stop me? Theo, you made me feel things that no other guy has ever made me feel before. You made me feel safe, warm, and loved. But obviously this has always been a one sided thing.”

“Y/N-” I love you, he wanted to say, but the words never left his mouth. “You’re a fool for thinking I could ever love you.” Liar. “Like you said, you were just a pawn in my little game.” I’m sorry. He takes a step towards you and this time you don’t move. The two of you are almost chest to chest as he towers over you, looking down. “And you were naive enough to fall for my little act.” I still care about you.

That was the night Theo Raeken broke your heart. That was the night you swore to never love again.

Theo Raeken was a liar. A cheater. He used you and your heart. But as you layed back down in your bed, you couldn’t help but think maybe you should have seen it coming. Maybe heartbreak was inevitable. After all, all is fair in love and war.

taglist: @beth-winchester21 @ilover5r9 @sisterslytherinog @anonymous0writer @talksoprettyjjx @lunvella @pit-zuh @blueyedstarlight13 @justcallmemia @wasted-on-5sos @newhopenessie @mya-bleu @jjandreidsgirl @stfukie @boredmidnightbitch @bibliophilewednesday @pearce14

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfiction #theo raeken #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken fic #theo raeken fanfiction #theo raeken one shot #teen wolf one shot #my writing

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anakinthetrashking · 4 years

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BnHA One-Shot Fic Recs (pt1)

Making some fic-rec posts has been on my to-do list for a while and I’m finally doing it, yay! Currently I have 6 word doc pages full of just BnHA recs. So I’m splitting them up by length and completion, so first up is (part one of) one-shots! Let’s go!!!

Lets start with some classic Izuku and DadMight!

Pictures, Posters and Tender Beauty by ProPinkist (tumblr: @dazais-guardian-angel ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~4,400 words Summary: Izuku has virtually every All Might-themed item out there, and prides himself on all of it, as Toshinori is well aware. However, somehow, the boy still decided that there was something vital missing. This is fluffy and very cute. No one truly appreciates All Might as much as Izuku does, but 1A comes close. All Might deserves all the love, and this fic truly provides!!!

Dear Mr. All Might by QuizzicalCrow (tumblr: @quizzicalcrow ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,000 words Summary: As the #1 hero for decades, All Might has collected a lot of fan mail over the years. Toshinori tracks down a series of letters that only now, years later, does he appreciate for their significance. I always love the thought of All Might looking through his fan mail, even if he can’t get to all of it. This was a wonderful glimpse into that AND it was made to be so, so personal and sweet. Go have some heart-healing fluff.

Growing Pains by LordofLies (tumblr: @theangelofchildren ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,900 words Summary: Izuku finds himself changed by his encounter with the Hero Killer, but changes of a more physical kind are in store for him as he begins to truly accept One for All as his own. Once, he would have been thrilled to look more like All Might, but now those connections are as much a source of anxiety as they are of pride.Or, Izuku wakes up one morning and sees the world through different eyes. Izuku having anxiety and Toshi being there to help him through it and calm him down? Sign me UP. Its also a pretty cool take on how One for All is able to change things about it’s holder. Could this happen in cannon? Who knows.... Regardless, it was a great read!

I’ll Carry You Home by Renesvetta Rating: G Category: Gen ~2,700 words Summary: While training with All Might, it wasn’t uncommon for Izuku to be so exhausted at the end of the day that he unwittingly fell asleep without regard for where he was. It consequently became part of All Might’s routine to help his young protégé home. During that time, Izuku may have let loose more than one sleepy confession towards his mentor. Yes, it is as adorable as it sounds. Its tagged with “self indulgent Dad Might fluff” which is both accurate and appreciated. In other words: Superb you funky little writer!

Simple Gifts by QuizzicalCrow Rating: G Category: Gen ~6,700 words Summary: One year ago, Izuku received the greatest gift he could ever imagine. Now he’s determined to return the favor for the one responsible for it all with a gift of his own. First off, I love the idea of Izuku and Toshi quietly celebrating the anniversary of passing on OfA from All Might to Izuku. Even just taking the day to hang out with each other. It’s a really precious idea. But there’s not just fluff! Izuku finds himself in a fight, again. (cool villain quirk, too!) I love all of the small details that are in this fic (and in Crow’s other works, too!) anyway its exciting AND very heartwarming, so go read it!!!

Affectionate by Sevi007 (tumblr: @sevi007 ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~2,600 words Summary: Toshinori starts to show affection very easily around his students. The reactions he gets for that are not quite the ones he had anticipated - well, not all of them, at least. Toshi is LOVED, APPRECIATED, and 1A feels like HOME. how many times can i say “cute” and “heartwarming” on this post?? bc these are some amazing writers, whom I adore, and their writing makes my heart WARM. AND. FUZZY. i mean, even just the first few paragraphs of this one just, really sets the scene of what i like to believe the 1A dorm is (on a good day, lol). its a really nice read, so go treat yo’ self by reading it.

paint me in trust by dinomight Rating: G Category: Gen ~6,400 words Summary: The first mark Izuku gets is a slight brush of green across his temple. It’s the soft touch of a mother holding her son for the first time. Inko has one to match, the same shade of green staining the tips of her fingers. Hers is more noticeable; Izuku’s tends to blend into his hairline. He loves it anyways. He has to. It’s the only soulmate mark he has. (Or: how Izuku goes from just green to a rainbow, UA-style.) Ok, so this fic sort of plays off the idea of soulmates, and does not fit in with soulmates in the usual form of the trope. First off its completely platonic. Its categorized as Gen and sticks to that. Also it doesn’t seem to be as obligatory and permanent as you would think it would be. It seems to be more of the universe telling you who has the possibility of being important in your life. I really really loved this, it was so adorable and gives you that sweet, sweet Izuku angst, before healing your heart with the power of friendship and found family!!!

The Die Has Been Cast by ChiwiTheKiwi (tumblr: @chiwithekiwi ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,400 words Summary: “There’s something about that kid you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”When no answer meets him, Shouta tries again.“You know something about Midoriya’s quirk that you haven’t shared with me. Is that right?”(Or: A canon "What If" surrounding the latest manga events and focusing on Aizawa finally making a connection.) First off, this fic has spoilers for the manga, so dont read unless you’re past chp212! I loooooooove OfA reveal fics, especially when it’s Aizawa that finds out. He deserves to know!!! its kind of important!!!! This fic chooses a great moment to work off of, and does a great job with Aizawa’s character. I really enjoyed it and couldn’t keep myself from going back and reading it just now LOL

These last two are actually two-shots, but it makes it an even 10! also Izuku and dadmight, so we can continue the theme here...

Some Unspoken Thing by LittleKy Rating: G Category: Gen ~7,900 words (2chps) Green, Toshinori has always thought, is the color of life anew.(Or: It's time for Yagi Toshinori to finally accept that he has a son, now, in all but blood. It's time for Midoriya Hisashi to accept that as well.) YES ALL MIGHT! ADMIT THAT IZUKU IS YOUR SON! great portrayal of the characters and really hits the nail on the head for DadMight. and Izuku in this story is just the smallest green floof that you wish to give a hug. NEVER MIND ALL MIGHT, YOU TOOK TOO LONG SO IZUKU IS MY SON NOW AND IM NOT GIVING HIM BACK ( no but seriously i want to hug this fic its so cute TTuTT )

LAST BUT NOT LEAST! I See You by BirdAntlers (tumblr: @aarymk )

Rating: G Category: Gen ~15,400 words (2chps) Midoriya Izuku is a quirkless child, blind from birth. Yagi Toshinori is the most powerful man in the world, loved by millions. They could not be more different, and yet their loneliness is the same. (From a pair of AU posts on Tumblr that got way out of hand; I wanted to put it here because it turned into more of a fic than a "what-if." Basically a vessel for me to vomit as much Dadmight as I can.) Hey, you! Yeah! You! Do you want to cry? Do you want to start sobbing in a public space?? Do you just want to be destroyed with words and be left there kneeling at the feet of a writer who has torn out your heart and stomped on it before they gently wipe the tears from your face? Yeah?? y oU Wan NA D IE??? READ THIS AND GET REKT. you’ll thank me later

(under the cut is just me rambling, i kept all the important stuff up here, ur welcome)

Now that the actual recs are over I can rant here- look i really tried to slim my recs down, but i have almost 300 bnha fics bookmarked,some of them are “to read” or theyre in progress, etc but i managed to get this list sorta slimmed down? a little?(to only 58!!!) but as i was gathering this post together it felt like i dont have very many Dadmight recs on that list??? but i havent rechecked all the other fics i was just going through the oneshots. i... kinda read a lot more fics with AIzawa in it instead. it be that way. DadMight content is SO GOOD. but my fav is aizawa im sorryyyyy anyway i have another SEVENteeN oneshots to put in rec posts and that does NOT include the mulitchapter and friikin series and stuff... and like i said this is aaaaaaallllllllllllllll BnHA. batfam fic posts will come after, and then star wars, and then maybe star trek? we’ll see. i have a very specific taste in ST fics and that is Tarsus IV whump. which. i have not read in a while. when they say “that trope came from ST” for sooooooo many tropes, you WISH other fandoms had tarsus as a trope, holy crap it is TOP TIER angst fodder. if you love to write/read whump, angst, and h/c i would HIGHLY recommend that you take a bit of time and explore the content and stories there. heck maybe i will make a ficrec post for just tarsus angst. ok.

my INTENTION is to edit these posts later with little links to the other fic rec lists so that itll be easier to find. but., its me, so itll either happen in painful detail or not at all

asdjkdgh its 2:30am and i need to sleep and not be rambling incoherently again I WILL SAVE THIS AS A DRAFT.

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of wildfire relief, @aspiringmehood donated $50 and requested past John/Dean, in which Sam finds out in the bunker era. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

When they finally make it to where Michael actually has Dean trapped—a bar, of course a bar, with cheesy neon and cozy wood—Sam feels like he can't catch his breath. There's something snarled and massive and thorned, wrapped around his lungs, his chest full of it. Dean smiles at him, at Castiel, pouring a beer and no shadow at all to his eyes, and Sam drags in air and can't—for a second, physically can't—say a word.

They worked their way through layers and layers of memories. Drowning. Hell. Sam heard Dean laughing, warm and vile, and Castiel glanced at Sam and said, that was in Alastair's workroom, and they didn't look at that memory, like they hadn't looked at so many others. Sam always knew that Dean had been through a lot, just like he'd been through a lot himself. It felt different, hearing it. Seeing it, occasionally, when Cas couldn't tell if the real Dean was trapped in the memory or if it was just an echo, and so they had to check, and the loneliness and the mud and the pain just kept stacking up. A lot Sam had known about; a lot he hadn't. Too much, that he hadn't.

After, when Michael's trapped inside Dean's mind and Dean's shut himself into his room, to rest, Sam goes back out into the bunker and walks past Jack and the refugee hunters trying to clean up the mess, and he grabs Cas, and he says, not quietly enough, "Did you know?"

"Know what?" Cas says.

It's the kitchen. Someone might come in, any moment. Sam stares at Cas for a few seconds and then jerks his head, and Cas follows him, down the halls and down the stairs until they reach—Sam can't help but think of it as 'the Dean Cave.' The den. Armchairs, foosball, cheesy neon. His throat closes up again, seeing the daydream of another life, and he grips the back of the recliner Dean said was his very tightly, and tries to articulate the question better. It's incoherent in the back of his head. Revulsion, horror, anger. Worse than anger.

"You—when we were looking for Dean," Sam starts. Tries to start. Cas is silent, behind him. The neon glows cheerfully. "When we—we saw—"

Jesus. He can't say it.

Cas touches his shoulder and Sam flinches violently. When he turns, Cas's hand is still half-extended, his expression regretful. "I'm sorry, Sam," he says. "I always assumed that you knew."

Sam lets out a breath. That he knew. Like it was just—something that was part of the family, growing up.

Cas searches his face. "It was assumed," he says, more slowly. "That the unusual relationship between you and your brother was a—natural extension of what had happened in Dean's past."

The heat in Sam's chest floods red. He's not aware of swinging until it's too late, and then Cas's head snaps back, and then his hand hurts, and he's dragging in air, desperate, and then he covers his face with both hands. He should say sorry—he almost is sorry—but he's also not, and he's also—out of control, like he hasn't been in years. Years, when he's worked so hard to tamp down reactions like this. The fury's roiling up and he realizes his hands are shaking when Cas touches his forearm, and then his wrist, carefully.

"Sorry," Sam says. Cas pulls at his wrist and Sam drops his hands, taking a deep, chest-expanding breath. Everything still feels too tight.

"No, I am," Cas says. He really looks it, his mouth tight. "I shouldn't have—I know you both keep very secret. I didn't realize Dean had kept more of it a secret from you."

In the face of everything, it's impossible to feel weird that Cas apparently knows about him and Dean. He should've realized that they couldn't really have secrets from heaven. It feels secondary.

The memory. Dad's voice, stern, the words barely audible. Dean had yelped and Sam had frowned, not sure what he was hearing. Michael was obsessed with his own father—maybe he was keeping his vessel trapped with Dad. Sam nodded—Cas's eyes glowed—and then they were there, in a motel room, and it was night, and there was Dean—thirteen maybe—stripped naked and pale in the darkness, sitting in the middle of the bed with his head bowed, and Dad in the bathroom, saying like it was a lecture from any other bit of PT, you know you're supposed to be ready for me, and Dean licked his lips and dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, and he said, sorry, sir, I'll remember next time, and Sam had felt frozen, standing there a foot behind Cas's shoulder, his brain somehow not putting two and two together until Dad came out of the bathroom bare-chested, undoing his belt, saying, I know you will, and there was—on the bedside table—

It turned out that thought-projections couldn't vomit. KY is still the brand Dean buys.

He sits in his recliner. Feels like his legs won't hold him. Cas hovers uncertainly, for some time that passes without Sam realizing, because it feels like an hour or an instant before the door closes, and he's alone, watching the wall, going over it, in his head. He can't help it. All these years, he's been trained—find the evidence, make connections, build a case. Cas took him out of the memory and said not there and didn't sound the least bit surprised, and Sam had barely helped after that, all of him locked into thinking—no. No.

He sleeps in his own room, that night. They usually do, when other people are around. He doesn't expect to actually fall asleep, but he does, and is surprised to find it dreamless. It's after nine o'clock when he finally drags himself out of bed, and when he makes it to the kitchen there's Jack, reading something on a laptop at the kitchen table, and he looks up and smiles at Sam like sunshine, and there, over by the griddle, Dean.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Dean says, glancing at him. "What, did your alarm not go off or something?"

He's making pancakes. He looks tired. Sam smiles at him and knows it's half-assed, but a lot of shit has been happening and Dean lets him get away with it, just grunting and turning back to the griddle, and Jack says, "I made coffee!" and, christ, okay. Jack's coffee. Sam lets Jack pour him a mug and sits down at the table, too, and lets Jack tell him all about some potential hunt he's found in Jackson Hole, and Dean sits down next to Sam after a few minutes of excited babbling with two plates of pancakes, one of which he slides Sam's way. "Let the guy wake up a little, Jack," Dean says. His knee and hip and elbow brush Sam's side and Sam thinks, again, pointlessly: no. Dean says, "Eat, you look like crap," and Sam says, fulfilling his part, "You're one to talk," but Dean doesn't really smile like he ought to because there's an archangel inside him, and Sam can't—it's too much. He can't hold everything, all at once.

He eats a pancake. He drinks his coffee. He goes for a run, ten miles, the air cold but not cold enough to freeze the roil of feeling into stillness. When he comes back more of the refugees are gone until it's just Maggie, talking with Jack in the library, and Cas is sitting with them like some weird, awkward chaperone. Sam goes to take a shower, and leans his forearms against the wall and his head against his clenched fists while the hot water boils down, and he thinks about the times he'd be sent to stay with Bobby or with Pastor Jim or with Caleb for weeks at a time, and Dad and Dean were alone together, and the thing is that he can't remember. Nothing felt wrong. Maybe more correct to say that nothing felt any more wrong than anything else. When Sam and Dad would argue, Dean would take Dad's side more often than not, and if he didn't then he sat still on the far side of the motel room, and Sam had hated him for that, when he was a teenager. He'd thought, Dad's loyal lapdog. He'd thought, get a life, Dean, meanly, and when they had that last drag-out fight before Sam went to school, Dean had run outside to him, on the road outside that shitty ramshackle house, and he'd said, he doesn't mean it, Sam, and he'd said, don't go, and Sam had pushed away, had started walking right then, and Dean had watched him go, standing alone in the road, the house's dark windows looming behind his back.

A natural extension, Cas said. Sam shuts off the water, dries off. Wraps the towel around his waist and goes to his room, and when he opens the door Dean's sitting on his bed, with a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, waiting for him.

"Long shower," Dean says.

"Long run," Sam says. The corner of Dean's mouth turns up but it doesn't look happy. It's noon, or near enough, and Sam doesn't even fake an objection when Dean pours them two glasses from the bottle, and when Dean holds out to clink Sam does, slowly.

Dean looks at him, and drains his glass. Sam sips at his. "I asked Cas to take the kids on that hunt Jack was telling us about," Dean says, and refills his drink. "Got the bunker to ourselves."

Sam takes another swallow. He didn't eat enough and whiskey's blooming hot in his stomach.

"You want to talk to me about something, Sam?" Dean says.

A beat. Sam's mouth feels dry, despite the taste of peat.

"Dug through my head, right? To find me? Cas let me know. Guess it took a while." Dean holds his glass in front of his mouth like he's going to drain it again, but then puts it down on the bedside table, and sits forward. His shoulders are hunched, purple bruise-marks under his eyes, and for all that he's springing a trap he just looks—like Sam wants to pull him down to the bed, hold him, sleep for a week tangled together with their skin touching like a promise.

The silence stretches. Dean closes his eyes and looks even more exhausted than before. Sam goes to his wardrobe, tugs on jeans and a t-shirt at least. He holds the wet towel between his hands and can't think. It's still hot and raw inside him, because it's been—a day. Less than a day. How long, he thinks, for Dean, and without his brain attached to his mouth he says, "When," and then wishes immediately to be struck by lightning.

Dean snorts. Sam turns his head and finds Dean shifted around, so his back's to the headboard, one leg extended along Sam's bed. He tips his head back against the wall, eyes still closed. "Suck my dick and I'll tell you," he says, matter of fact, and Sam's stomach flips even if the tone was perfectly even.

"Jesus christ," Sam says, and collapses into his desk chair. He hunches, can't help it—elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair. He keeps seeing it. Dean had been—not scared, but nervous. Like he knew what was coming. The dark, other than the light coming in from the bathroom, and his knees tugged up shyly to hide his nakedness, and how he'd been big-eyed and soft-mouthed and his skin looked—bruiseable. And of course he'd had bruises, all the time—they both had—and Sam had never, never—

"You don't get to be pissed about this, Sam," Dean says. Sam looks up and finds Dean watching him, his eyes tight. "It's nothing to do with you."

"You think—" Sam says, and closes his mouth before he says something stupid. He sits back in the chair and takes a deep breath. Of course Dean thinks that. "I'm pissed," Sam says. "And yeah, I get to be. But—god, Dean, I'm not pissed at you." He pauses, with Dean just looking at him, steady. "Okay, that wasn't true. Yeah, I'm kinda pissed at you. Because you didn't—" He shakes his head. "But I'm pissed at him."

Everything he ever accused Dean of, in his head or out loud. Everything in his head, stained now, like blood seeping through layer after layer of cloth, changing things irrevocably. He thinks, out of nowhere, of Dean's birthday, when he turned twenty and Dad gave him the Impala, and he tossed Dean the keys and Dean whooped and hugged him, tight, and Dad's hand cupped the back of Dean's head, and Sam hadn't thought anything of it, then. He holds Dean's head like that, he thinks. When they're together. When Dean's on top of him, and smiling down in that soft way he'll smile sometimes, and Sam will cup the back of his head tenderly, and bring him down, and kiss him.

Dean's still looking at him. "That first time," Sam says. "You and me. Were you—was it still—"

"What, are you jealous?" Dean says. Laced, just lightly, with acid.

"Just tell me," Sam says, and his voice sounds weird, and Dean's eyes dip, and slant away.

"Yeah," he says.

Sam closes his eyes.

The first time. Sam was eighteen with an acceptance letter in his duffle, and it was June, and Dad had disappeared for a month on some weird hunt. Dean had let him get drunk and he'd been—terrified and happy, nervous and needing, and he'd leaned in laughing against Dean's shoulder, and Dean had thrown his arm around Sam's shoulders and said you're such a lightweight, bitch, and Sam had been so full and glad and it had felt right, to kiss Dean's throat, and when Dean had gasped to lean up and kiss his mouth. Sam still remembers how it felt. Soft and wet, mainly, but with his whole body thrumming like a struck bell. They hadn't fucked for real that night but Dean had gotten him off twice, and Sam had jerked Dean off awkwardly, leaning over him and watching his face, and in the middle of the night he'd said don't freak out, and Dean had been quiet and then curved into his body and said, softly, who's freaking out?, and it had been—okay. Sam thought. It was okay.

If Sam was eighteen, Dean was twenty-two, and if Dean was twenty-two that meant that if Dad had still—if they'd still been—Dean was an adult, and he could've got halfway across the country if he wanted, and he didn't. Now, Dean's forty and Sam's thirty-six, and they've had about fifty lifetimes between here and there, and still Sam feels, in this second, about twelve years old, looking at his big brother and wanting answers.

Dean tongues the inside of his cheek, and says, inexplicably quiet, "Sam, can you—" He works his jaw— "Could you come here. Please."

Dean doesn't say please. Sam gets up, and walks the two steps to the bed, and Dean looks at him with his face drawn and sore and tired, and Sam sits by his hip, and tips forward, and lands with his back twisted painfully with his face in Dean's shoulder. He breathes in Dean's smell, and feels the tug when Dean's hand fists into his t-shirt. It's familiar, from all their years together. His brain flashes to them in bed—to pushing into Dean, his face tucked into Dean's warm shoulder, held safe and close—and then, cruelly, he imagines—their dad—his bulk tucked into the same warm closeness of thighs, Dean holding his shoulders, cupping his head, arching under him just like he does with Sam—

"I was—" Dean starts, while Sam's breathing through the roil of sickness in his gut. He hears Dean swallow. "It doesn't matter, Sammy. I was—it wasn't—" A pause. Sam licks his lips, and goes to sit up, but Dean's hand lands on the back of his head, keeps him in place. His fingers tangle in Sam's hair. He says, again, "It doesn't matter," only of course it does.

"I wish I'd known," Sam says, muffled against Dean's shoulder.

"What good would that have done?" Dean says. It sounds flat, exhausted.

Sam doesn't know. Maybe it would have hurt more. There's so much he doesn't know that's torturing him, now. Things he should've known. Things other people would've hurt Dean with—Azazel, Alastair, Lilith. Ruby. Crowley. Castiel, and all the angels, and Michael, fuck, Michael, crowding up inside Dean, telling him—the same cruelties Lucifer had told Sam, every second, filling him to the brim and saying, always, you're weak, you let this happen, this is your fault, everything is your fault.

They're sick, the questions Sam wants to ask.

"I'm gonna tell you one thing," Dean says. Sam shifts against him and Dean drags his hand down to Sam's neck, warningly tight. "One. And you don't get to ask anything else."

Sam nods, against his neck. Shifts his hips, so he's less cramped, and takes a deep breath.

"It was when you left," Dean says. "He was drunk. I mean, he got drunk a lot, right around then. We were in Colorado, at a cabin, and he got trashed, and he wanted—" A swallow. Dean's thumb drags up Sam's neck, rests soft under his ear. "I wanted it, too. Didn't want to think. It was rough. You know he used to hit me, sometimes? He hit me, during, and I—made fun of him. Said it didn't hurt, wasn't hard enough. Drove him crazy. I'd had a few, too. Parts of it I don't remember. Blacked out, I guess. I guess somewhere in there he broke my nose, and I know I got him, too, because he disappeared for a day and when he came back he had a black eye. He brought back a real ice pack, like a medical-grade one, and he let me take a bath and he patched up my nose, and for dinner we had like honest-to-god steaks, from some restaurant down in Boulder, and he slept in my bed that night, to stay close, and I just kept thinking about you."

Sam's breathing hard. Dean squeezes his neck, comforting.

"I wanted you back," Dean says. "He knew it. We started hunting separate more often, after that. I couldn't stand it but, you know, what choice did I have."

"I wouldn't," Sam says. He pushes up, breaks Dean's hold. His heart feels turned inside-out. Dean's resigned, spent. "Dean, I—"

"You're freaked," Dean says.

"Yeah, no shit," Sam says. He cups Dean's face, feels him warm, hard. Sam's. "But I'm not leaving. Okay? I'm not leaving, I'm never leaving again."

Dean looks at him, and puts his hand on Sam's chest. "I know you won't," he says, after a little while, and Sam takes the chance and leans in and—and kisses him, very softly, just touching their lips together. It's Dean who deepens it, after a few seconds. Selfish, licking and gripping Sam's hair, almost desperate. Sam lets him—of course, he lets him—and it feels like an age before Dean pulls back, his forehead pressed against Sam's and his breath coming fast between them. Sam cups his head, ignoring the nastiness that flickers in his belly. The past doesn't get to ruin this.

"Sam, you know I love you, right?" Dean says.

Sam laughs, shakily. "Yeah, I know that," he says.

They never say it. Not like it's necessary. Dean cards his fingers through Sam's hair and holds on, tight, his body tense. Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders, not knowing what comfort to give.

"Good," is all Dean says. He leans his temple against Sam's and sighs. Their bones sit hard against each other, but Sam doesn't move. He can feel Dean's heartbeat, like a pounding drum.

#fffr #aspiringmehood #wincest #john/dean #the full house of wincest #my writing #--it's fun to imagine how lebanon would go #with this as the background

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starbornvalkyrie · 4 years

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what we could be | part four

A/N: I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to update this one! This part fought me hard, to be honest. It’s a little shorter than the previous parts, but I just had to get past it to move the story along. I’ll leave you with this: things have to get worse before they get better. Enjoy!

warnings: language, smut, alcohol.

to recap: part three | what we could be masterlist

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“What did you just say?

He heard a huff on the other end. “I know you’re not that dense, Rowan,” she growled, “You know exactly what I said.”

“But… but…” he stammered. So unlike him. “But how?”

“How? Hm, well, when a man and a woman both consent to it, they get naked, then the man takes his dick and--”

Rowan snapped. “Aelin, shut the fuck up, I’m not an idiot.”

“Coulda fooled me,” she mumbled, and Rowan let out a sigh.

“You’re pregnant.”

“About nine weeks, yes.”

Rowan paused. “And it’s mine?”

Aelin barked a laugh with no humor behind it. “Unless you’re also accusing me of cheating, then yes, it’s yours.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it all,” he retorted. Rowan’s head is spinning. It feels strange, not being able to control his emotions. He wants to suggest they start the conversation over, a little more calmly.

But of course, it’s Aelin. She’s a firecracker on a good day, and he had to assume she hadn’t had a good day in a long, long while. “What is there to make sense of? We fucked, you didn’t pull out, and now I have another life form growing in my stomach.”

He was about to correct her on the location of the baby when his brain caught onto her tone. “Hold on. Are you… mad at me?” he asked, rubbing his temples to chase away the impending headache that was forming.

“Yes! No… agh, I don’t know! Damn hormones…” She said that last part more to herself than to him, and he was starting to soften up to her mixed feelings when she yelled, “You got me pregnant!”

“Well, it takes two to tango, Aelin!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Gah, Aelin!”

“Rowan!” She screamed so loudly, Rowan could have sworn he felt the sonic boom from across the ocean.

He had to remember who he was talking to, had to think about what she’s going through. As calmly as he could, though there was still a slight bite to his words, he said, “I think… I think I need some time to process this. Can I call you later?”

There was a pause so long that Rowan had to check to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. After a minute, he heard her take a deep breath, something he knew she did whenever she was trying to prevent herself from saying something stupid. Or mean. Or all of the above.

“Later… Got it. Bye, Rowan.” And she hung up. Rowan wasn’t sure how long he stood there with his phone still to his ear, but he pulled it away and stared at it, willing all the answers he wished he knew to appear from out of nowhere. When did he even stand up?

Aelin is pregnant.

Aelin is pregnant with his child.

From the sounds of it, she’s going to keep it. Gods, they hadn’t even gotten that far in the conversation.

Aelin is pregnant.

Rowan is going to be a father.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

Deep breaths, Rowan.

Rowan waited until he was sure he wasn’t going to lose the sandwich he ate on the way home, then left to find Fenrys.

Fenrys will either know what to say or sit with him while he drowns himself in liquor. Either way, Rowan just needs his friend.

Rowan ran from his housing to Fenrys’ classroom on Mistward’s campus and got there just in time to see him flirting with one of his classmates.

“Moonbeam.”

Fenrys looked up at him and grinned. Rowan wasn't sure what his own face looked like, but he could see concern flash through Fenrys’ eyes.

“Hey, Whitethorn, why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Fenrys clapped Rowan on the shoulder, trying to lighten his mood.

“Aelin is pregnant.” Fenrys’ smile faltered, his grip tightened ever so slightly. He looked over his shoulder to tell his classmate he’ll catch up with her later then guided Rowan towards the edge of campus where the bars are. Rowan had never felt more grateful to have a friend like Fenrys.

They made their way to the hole-in-the-wall tavern they found their first week in Wendlyn. The bar food is subpar, but they have a top notch selection of beers on tap. Rowan, however, went straight for three shots of tequila then an old-fashioned to sip. Mixing tequila and whiskey at three in the afternoon probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but Rowan didn’t feel like being smart.

Fenrys waited until Rowan ordered his second old-fashioned before speaking. “So… Aelin is pregnant.” It wasn’t a question, but Rowan nodded. “Wow. Okay, um, how do you feel about that?”

Rowan took a long sip of his drink before answering. “I don’t know man, I haven’t really given myself time to process it. She called to tell me, we fought, we hung up. And now I’m here,” he lifted his glass. Drink. “Gods, I’m also pretty sure we broke up before I left for the program here.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘pretty sure’? Are you together or not? And what on earth did you have to fight about?” Rowan drank for every question Fenrys asked, finishing the glass. His brain was finally getting muddled, his racing thoughts becoming an ugly, incoherent blur. He signaled for another drink.

“I don't know, man. We fought before I left, and I told her we’d talk when I got back to Terrasen. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.” Rowan thought drinking with Fenrys would help him, but it actually might be pissing him off instead.

Before Fenrys could pester him some more, he tossed back the old-fashioned in one go, and stood up on shaky legs to leave. “Hey, let me help you get back, dude.”

“No, thanks, you’ve helped enough.” A hurt look flickered across Fenrys’ face, and Rowan felt guilty for a moment. It wasn’t his fault Rowan was in a shit mood, but he couldn’t do anything about it in this state. He made a mental note that he hoped he’ll remember to apologize and have an alcohol-free conversation with him later.

The walk back to his housing was a blur. Rowan had to stop multiple times to settle his stomach, but luckily he made it back without ruining the pristine Wendlyn sidewalks with his vomit. He had hardly sobered by the time he found his building.

Rowan’s feet took him in the opposite direction of his room, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He didn’t care to. Next thing he knew, Remelle opened the door to his incessant knocking for the second time that day. She looked like she was about to yell at him again, so Rowan grabbed the back of her head with one hand and her waist with the other and crashed his lips to hers. She didn’t protest.

He pushed her back into her room and slammed the door behind him. He led her towards her bed, clothes flying along the way. When she laid back against her pillows and spread her legs, he didn’t hesitate to climb on top of her and enter her roughly. There was no passion in their coupling, only the urge to release, to forget.

They stayed in bed through dinner, alternating between laying there, panting, and fucking each others’ brains out. It wasn’t until Rowan slid into Remelle for the third time that night that he let himself realize what he was doing--let himself realize that even though he was in bed with Remelle, he was imagining he was with a different blonde across the sea.

He pulled out of her abruptly, much to her dismay, and gathered his clothes. Not bothering to don his shirt, he ran back to his room.

In the privacy of his own quarters, in the silence with his thoughts, Rowan allowed himself to cry.

---

After Aelin’s conversation--if she could even call it that--with Rowan yesterday morning, she thought she’d panic. But instead, she felt hollow, alone. She didn’t know what she was supposed to expect. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up when Lysandra forced her to eat something and to take a bath where she stayed for two hours.

She’d wished that her mother was there to tell her what to do next, but then she cried thinking that her parents would never meet their grandchild. Her baby would only know about Evalin and Rhoe through stories, her memories. She’d always thought that if she did one day find herself pregnant, she’d have her mother there to guide her.

But her mother was dead, Rowan couldn’t even speak to her, and Aelin was alone.

Eventually, Lysandra got sick of Aelin’s wallowing, no matter how supportive she was trying to be. Aelin thanked the gods for keeping Lysandra with her. When they had dinner last night, Lysandra suggested she needed to go out and do something to distract herself from the pit Rowan left in her heart.

At the same exact moment, she’d received a text from Chaol asking if she was feeling better.

Lysandra took that as a sign and urged her to reach out and reschedule their coffee date.

So here she was, sitting at a table in UT’s campus coffee shop. Aelin sipped on her lemon-ginger tea--not her favorite, but it helped her stomach--as she waited for Chaol to get out of his class. She couldn’t stop checking her phone for any messages from Rowan, but there were none. Even a quick Instagram search revealed he hadn’t been active since yesterday morning. With a sigh, she silenced her phone and put it in her purse.

After a few minutes of people watching through the window, she spotted Chaol’s tall figure coming from the chemistry building. Aelin waved at him as he entered and watched as he went to order before joining her.

“Aelin! I’m so glad we could meet. You’re feeling better?” He sat down across the table from her, but the table was small and his legs were so long, his knee brushed hers. The subtle touch made her blush, and she tried to keep the color at bay.

She smiled at him. “A little. Enough to be out and about, not enough to scarf down a whole chocolate cake no matter how badly I wanted to.” He laughed and the sound made her heart flip. Damn pregnancy hormones.

“Well, when you feel like you can eat again, I’ll gladly buy one for you.” He moved to grab something from his backpack-- a stack of papers. “I know this is the last thing you’d want to think about right now, but before I forget, these are the notes and everything from the lectures you missed. You still have to make up a lab, but the professor said you have until the end of next week.”

Aelin took the papers and thanked him. She suddenly felt guilty for how sweet he was being to her without knowing the extent of the situation she’s found herself in. She likes Chaol a lot and didn’t feel that it was fair to string him along.

“Can I actually--”

“So, Aelin--” They both spoke then broke off at the same time, chuckling at their synchronicity. “You can go first,” he said.

She released a steadying breath through her nose. “Okay, there was a reason I wanted to meet with you today. I have something to tell you, but I’m not entirely sure how you’ll react.”

“It’s alright, Aelin. You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” Too sweet. Too damn sweet, this guy.

“Okay,” she repeated. “I- I’m pregnant.”

Aelin watched Chaol as he processed the bomb she just dropped. She noticed his eyes widen ever so slightly, his mouth gaped open. After a few agonizing moments, he shook his head to clear the daze. He was about to reply when the barista called his name to pick up his order.

With an apologetic glance, Chaol stepped away. Aelin closed her eyes, mourning whatever could have happened between the two of them. She opened them when she heard Chaol take his seat across from her once more.

“So, you’re pregnant.”

“I am.”

“And I’m assuming… Rowan is the father.” She nodded apprehensively, knowing his acquaintanceship with Rowan was tense, at best. The two men never clicked. They had only met once last semester when Aelin and Chaol had to work late for an inorganic chemistry lab, and whatever vibes they gave each other were not pleasant. Ever since, she tried to avoid the two of them ever crossing paths again, though Rowan frequently expressed his displeasure whenever she brought up their work in the lab.

“Wow. How are you really feeling then? You’ve been having morning sickness, I take it?” Aelin tried not to show how shocked she was by the genuine concern and automatic acceptance in his voice. Why couldn’t this have been Rowan’s reaction?

Nonetheless, she nodded. “It actually hit me for the first time when we originally planned our coffee date. I went straight to Lysandra’s house to take a test and had it confirmed at the doctor at the end of the week. I think I’m still processing it all, actually.”

“That’s understandable, Aelin, this is huge. And Rowan, does he know? He’s studying abroad in Wendlyn this semester, right?”

Aelin let out a humorless laugh. “Oh yeah. He knows. Not that he cares.”

Chaol narrowed his eyes, likely figuring out how their conversation had gone, but he didn’t pry for more details. Aelin was grateful for that. Grateful for him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, Aelin. I get it if you’re not looking to date anyone while you figure this out with Rowan, but I still want to be around you.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I like you a lot, I have for a while now, in all honesty, but a friendship with you is better than nothing.”

Aelin stared at their joined hands, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Chaol. Your support means more than you know.”

He leaned across the table to kiss her on the cheek, and Aelin couldn’t stop her blush this time. They steered the conversation to other topics, talking endlessly about everything they could think of.

Though Aelin was sad at the thought of what could have been, she felt hope reignite in her chest.

---

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be added to/taken off my general SJM tag list just send me an ask! i’m very good at losing them in the comments. love y’all!

@maddymelv || @lucy617 || @tillyrubes10 || @faerie-queen-fireheart || @tottenhamboys20 || @the-third-me || @superspiritfestival || @rolltide7 || @courtofjurdan || @sleeping-and-books || @aelinchocolatelover || @julemmaes || @sorrehnotsorryy || @courtofjurdan || @acourtofaelinbryceandfeyre || @darlinminds || @lucieisabooknerd || @queen-of-glass || @jlinez || @abookishfreak || @stardelia || @ladywitchling || @rockgirl321 || @sjmships || @thewayshedreamed || @mamakramer || @meowsekai || @sweetlyvillainous

#aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #fanfiction #throne of glass #sarah j maas #sfq meg writes #what we could be

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gohoubi · 3 years

Note

Zarah x Audrey

⚫ʃ

⚫ = being called soft things

ʃ = fingers running through sweaty hair

I was writing this super long drunk!Audrey fic and I realised I could spin it into this prompt. Have fun with it! Under the cut :))))

The attic room reeks of alcohol. Zarah doesn’t even know how that’s possible, unless Audrey’s been pouring it on the floor. The smell of Nightcar spirits cut through everything—potent and sharp. Zarah counts four bottles on the floor next to the couch and sighs inwardly. If Audrey’s not unconscious already, she will be virtually incoherent.

“Zarah,” Audrey announces, her words so slurred she’s barely understandable. “You’re home.”

“And you’re drunk,” Zarah says tiredly. She wonders what exactly spurred this on—a flashback, maybe? Depression? A bad dream Zarah doesn’t know about? Whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that Audrey’s sloshed. “Come to bed. You gotta sleep this off.”

“Noooo,” Audrey whines. “Don’t wanna sleep.”

Zarah sighs inwardly. Maybe she should just leave, go down to the bar and get Clay or someone else to deal with Audrey. God knows she doesn’t have the energy for this. “Come on,” she says tiredly, taking Audrey’s hand. “You gotta sleep.” Despite her protests, Audrey allows herself to be led to the mattress. She practically falls onto it, and falls asleep nearly immediately.

All that trouble for this, Zarah thinks. She pulls the blankets over Audrey and gets undressed. Audrey’s still in her clothes, but there’s not much to be done about it now. Zarah climbs in next to her and closes her eyes—no sense in delaying the inevitable messy morning that is coming.

Zarah wakes up so late she can hear the morning announcements faintly coming through the floor from the Nightcar. It’s overcast and snowing hard outside, as if foreshadowing the day to come. Audrey is still dead asleep, which gives Zarah some time to prepare for the inevitable hangover that’s coming. She gets up gently, so as not to jostle the mattress too much, and quickly gets dressed. The alcohol smell has not gone away, even after eight or so hours. As soon as Audrey’s up, Zarah thinks, I’m airing this place out.

Audrey stirs under the covers. She’s awake. “Morning,” Zarah says, kneeling on the mattress next to her. “How’re you feeling?”

Audrey moans, weakly pushing herself to a sitting position. “Like shit.” She pauses as if she’s trying to swallow—luckily Zarah is able to get the basin underneath her in time—and she violently vomits into it. Even for someone who goes on regular drunken benders, this hangover is something else. “Oh god,” Audrey says hoarsely, once the gagging tapers off. “What the hell is this?”

“You drank a lot last night,” Zarah says neutrally.

Audrey can’t answer that—her entire body shudders as she retches once, twice, three times more. Each time she can only bring up a thin stream of yellow bile, which pools thickly at the bottom of the basin. Despite Zarah’s annoyance, she feels a twinge of sympathy for her girlfriend—all that alcohol must really burn coming up. Audrey coughs a few times before she’s able to catch her breath. “You think you’re done?” Zarah asks.

“Yeah,” Audrey says, pushing the basin away. “Don’t think anything else is coming up.”

Audrey struggles to her feet, staggers to her mirror. “I don’t remember anything from last night,” she says. “What the hell happened?”

“You got super drunk.” Zarah points to the four empty bottles standing sentry by the couch. “See?”

Audrey takes a ragged breath, rubbing her eyes. “God, I feel awful.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so irresponsible,” Zarah snaps, “this wouldn’t be happening.”

“I didn’t ask you to look after me,” Audrey says angrily. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this—so you can stop acting like it’s so difficult for you.”

“Who else would, if it wasn’t for me?” Zarah asks. She’s going way too far, but it feels so good to let out all this resentment, everything that she’s had to keep back. “I’m the only one here. Every time.”

“Don’t throw that in my face, Zarah,” Audrey says, taking a step closer. “I won’t have it. This is your choice. I’m not forcing you to be here.”

“Well, I can either help you for the hundredth time, or leave you to drink yourself into a coma. That’s not much of a choice.” Zarah’s hands ball into fists, so hard she can feel her fingernails cutting into her palms. “I’m sick of coming home every goddamn night wondering if you’re going to be passed out drunk or high. I’m sick of having to put you back together all the time.”

“Oh, am I too broken for you?” Audrey’s breathing shallowly, probably to stop herself from puking again. “People have problems on this train, Zarah.”

“Not like this.”

“Try being Wilford’s pet since you were a teenager,” Audrey spits out, her agitation clearly growing. “Maybe you’ll understand then.”

It slips out before Zarah can stop herself: “Oh, for crying out lo— why can’t you just be normal for once?”

Audrey would normally have a witty comeback for that, or even just a fuck you, but her eyes fill with tears instead. All of Zarah’s anger immediately dissipates and is replaced with the strongest regret she’s ever felt in her life. It’s too late—she can’t take the words back. They’ll always be there, hanging between them. All at once, Audrey’s face crumples and she begins to cry. Zarah reaches out to her, an apology already on her lips, but Audrey storms out of the room and slams the door, jiggling the pictures on the wall. Zarah has never seen Audrey actually shed tears before. It’s almost perverse that she gets to see it—like Pandora’s box has opened and spilled out all of the vices and sins for the whole world to see. Zarah immediately wrenches open the door, about to go look for Audrey. There’s no real point in searching, she’ll almost certainly be in the experience room. If Audrey’s having a hard time, she’ll go and stay there until she’s calmed down. It feels safe, she’d said in a more lucid moment. Like nothing can get to me. Zarah even wonders, briefly, if she should go down there—she just said all those things, made Audrey cry. Would she really be solving anything by intruding? Then again, staying away might send the wrong message, like she really doesn’t care. A vision of Audrey struggling alone flits through Zarah’s mind. That’s all the impetus she needs before she’s off down the ladder and through the padded corridors. Zarah tests the handle of the experience room door; it’s unlocked, which means Audrey probably doesn’t want to keep her out. She forces herself to stay there a few seconds, take some deep breaths. It won’t help anybody if she breaks down as soon as she gets inside. Once Zarah’s sure she can do it, she pushes open the padded door. The entire room is bathed in blue; Audrey’s turned on the waves setting, the one she finds most relaxing. She’s curled up in a ball on the couch; Zarah watches the blue water undulating over her blank expression. “I had to throw up again,” Audrey says quietly. Despite her words, there’s no self-pity in her voice. “Worst hangover ever.”

Zarah feels another shot of guilt. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, but I’m not asking you. Considering you think it’s such a chore.”

Even with the low light in this room, Zarah can see how pale and tired Audrey looks. She’s struck by how old Audrey is—how much she’s been through, how much the train and Wilford and her life before departure have worn her down. She pads over to the couch, sits on it. Audrey’s stopped crying, but glistening tear tracks remain on her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to say any of that,” Zarah says.

“Yeah, you did. I can tell. You sounded pretty serious before.”

Zarah can’t even come up with a defence to that, because Audrey’s right. She is resentful, she does wish that Audrey would stop getting drunk all the time. “I could have said it better.”

“No.” Audrey lets out a sigh. “If I had maybe paid more attention…I’d have realised you were getting resentful. Could have tried to fix it before I pushed you too far.”

“You couldn’t have done anything about it, honey,” Zarah says softly. “I kept quiet on purpose.”

“Why? Because you didn’t think I could take it?” Audrey’s words are accusatory, but her tone is just tired. “Be honest,” she adds.

“Yeah. It just seems like every other day you’re struggling…I didn’t want to push you over the edge by telling you how I felt.”

“I wish you’d just told me earlier. Instead of just…waiting until you couldn’t hold it back any longer.” Audrey closes her eyes. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“No, listen. You were right, okay? You shouldn’t have to keep cleaning up my messes.” Audrey opens her eyes again. “I was just too scared to confront them on my own.” She shifts on the couch, and the long scar on her arm comes into view. It never fails to turn Zarah’s stomach. Just so she doesn’t have to think about it, she cards her fingers through Audrey’s sweaty hair. “Do you even want to be with me anymore?” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. Zarah can tell she’s trying not to cry, not to show how affected she is by this situation. “All those things you said…do you even still love me? Or are you just staying with me because you want to look after me?”

“I do still love you,” Zarah says, her voice cracking. “Just not the version of you I have to scrape off the floor every night.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Audrey says plaintively, like a small child. “I see him every night, in my dreams. He’s passing me the razor. The bath is filling with blood. I feel myself circling the drain, but I can’t stop it. I can’t pull myself out before I’m lost.” She rubs at her scar, the movement obviously unconscious. “It’s been seven years. Maybe he just permanently broke me. Maybe I was always broken. I just…I don’t know how to be a person anymore. Feels like he cracked me open and everything that was me is just…gone.”

“That’s not true,” Zarah says, shuffling along the couch and putting her arms around Audrey. She can feel Audrey’s heart racing, perhaps from the stress of confessing all this. “He didn’t break you. You’re still you, even without him.”

“You’re just saying that,” Audrey says tiredly. “Non-broken people don’t drink themselves into a stupor every night, just so they can feel something. Just so they don’t have to think about how fucked up they are.”

Zarah doesn’t bother asking if Audrey really thinks that. If she’s verbalising it, then it’s all true. “I hate seeing you like this,” she whispers as she rubs Audrey’s back gently. “It kills me to see you in so much pain. I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”

“You shouldn’t have to know,” Audrey says, her voice a little stronger. “It was never your responsibility to fix my problems.”

“But I love you. I don’t care if it’s my responsibility or not.”

Audrey looks up at Zarah then, her expression immeasurably sad. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? You were always the better person. Probably didn’t realise it until it was too late.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Zarah says, and then she dissolves into tears, crying into Audrey’s shoulder.

They stay together like that for a long time, long after the waves turn themselves off and the lights come up, long after Zarah loses the feeling in her legs from sitting so long. No more words are spoken—Audrey doesn’t seem to have much strength for talking, and Zarah doesn’t have anything else to say. There’s no rush to get out of the experience room, but they do anyway. It’s claustrophobic staying in there too long. They go back upstairs to the attic room, and Zarah is confronted for the third time by the smell. “God, that’s awful,” Audrey says, wrinkling her nose. “Was that me?”

“Yeah. Were you pouring it on the floor or something?”

“I don’t even remember.” Audrey gets back on the mattress, pulling the covers over her. “I wanna sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No. You can just leave me alone for a while.”

“I…” Zarah should leave, should do what Audrey asked of her, but she’s hesitant. ”I just…you might—“

“Might what?” Audrey gives Zarah a quizzical look, then her eyes darken in realisation. “I’m just going to take a nap for a while,” she says sadly. “Just go. I promise I won’t hurt myself.” Zarah feels so guilty for even bringing it up that she doesn’t argue, but she does take the empty bottles with her when she leaves. Just in case Audrey gets the idea to break them into sharp pieces or something.

There’s no experiences booked for today, and it’s mid-morning so the Nightcar is empty. Zarah considers finding Clay or someone else to talk to, but she doesn’t think she could bear their questioning looks, their judgement. Right now she just wants to be alone. She paces up and down the Chains for an hour, nervous energy buzzing along her extremities. Once the hour passes, Zarah judges it safe enough to go back to the attic room. Even without a hangover, Audrey was not a light sleeper. When she gets back, the sun has changed position in the sky. The bar of sunlight that previously fell on the couch is now shining on Audrey, sleeping soundly on the mattress. For lack of anything else to do, Zarah reads one of her books. It’s standard trashy romance fare out of Audrey’s bookshelf, but she can’t focus on it. What version of herself will Audrey wake up to be? Audrey shifts under the covers, stretches, yawns, sits up. “You’re here.”

“I left, but I came back. Couldn’t be bothered pacing around the Chains. Nobody else is here, so I just came back to read. How are you feeling now?” Zarah asks her, not sure if she wants to know the answer.

“I haven’t experienced a psychotic break, so that’s something,” Audrey says, almost sounding like her old self. She takes Zarah’s hand gently. “A little less empty on the inside. Now that the hangover’s wearing off.” The way her hand’s positioned, Zarah can feel the pulse thrumming through Audrey’s wrist. It’s such a delicate, human sensation. “I’m going to give you another chance,” Audrey continues softly. “Leave, if you want to. There are others. Others that you won’t have to put back together.”

“There aren’t many people on this train, Audrey.”

“You know what I mean. I want to change—I want to try and be the person you deserve, but you don’t have to stick around for that. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

“I will wait,” Zarah says, getting so close to Audrey they’re almost touching. “Despite everything that’s happened, you still matter to me. You’ll always matter to me.”

“You matter to me too, baby. Though I haven’t done the best job of showing it, have I?” Audrey leans forward and kisses Zarah gently. “So you think I’m still worth it?”

“Of course I do,” Zarah says, winding a lock of Audrey’s hair around her finger. “You’re always worth it.”

#snowpiercer #snowpiercer tnt #snowpiercer netflix #miss audrey #zarah ferami #ask #fic by gohoubi

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 3 years

Photo

Following a prompt by @frances-the-red here, who said she required “whump, a sexy bath scene and a sword fight”. All in one, you say? Why, yes.

Have “And the scars don’t write a song for me at all” (not a line from a Blind Guardian song, surprise!). It was quite easy because I already had an unused bath scene from an abandoned fic, that I just polished a bit and removed the smut. The rest is just the usual nonsense.

4300 words, mild Violence warning. Read it under the cut or on AO3.

Geralt awoke to find the bed was empty next to him. The room was dark, curtains still drawn. It was not unusual for Emhyr to rise with the sun's first rays, the early birdsong being his wake-up call. It was certainly very early; still, Geralt sensed it was not dawn yet. He got up, wrapping the blanket around his body. He'd made it a habit of sleeping naked in the palace – where not only the fireplace but also his husband regularly warmed him. Yet it was still winter, and the mornings were chilly. A quick tug on the curtains confirmed that there was time yet before dawn. The blackness of the night only slowly faded into a softer gray, illuminated at this hour only by a few lights from the city below.

Slowly he crossed the room, the coolness of the stone floor a sharp contrast to his body, still warm from sleep. The adjoining chamber door was open, and there he found Emhyr's silk robe hanging over a paravent. Behind it, unusually for the early hour, a bathtub was steaming with hot water. Emhyr's eyes were closed, but he seemed anything but relaxed: his arms were leaning on the edges of the tub, the fingers of his right hand playing an impatient little concert on the wood.

"You overdo it with cleanliness," Geralt remarked.

Emhyr opened his eyes, and Geralt was greeted by an amber glow so similar to his own. There were moments when Emyhr's eyes took on the color of ripe hazelnuts, but not now, not at this hour.

"I didn't want to wake you," he returned. "It helps me think."

"Contemplating before the sun rises? What's bothering you so much?"

"Come here," Emhyr said instead of an answer, and his hand underlined his words with a restless gesture.

That was a demand quickly obeyed. Geralt soon found himself pulled down, a firm hand on his neck and persuading lips on his own. After this passionate morning greeting, Geralt's voice sounded a bit rough.

"I'm not going to complain, but..."

"You know what I'm thinking about."

Geralt actually knew. The latest intelligence reports had led Emhyr to tighten security around Vizima. They seemed to be mere rumors for the time being, but their prolonged absence for the wedding in Nilfgaard seemed to make some local factions believe the emperor had developed a weakness. Not merely a weakness for a certain witcher, but perhaps a waning interest in strategy and political calculation, at least in the short term. In this, they were wrong, and Emhyr by no means took the flashing little skirmishes here and there lightly.

"Join me," Emhyr said, holding out his hand. "Make sure I don't think about it, if that's what you want."

The invitation sounded almost like an order, not to the witcher, but the husband. If it was, it was easy to follow, and Geralt stripped off the blanket. He bent over Emhyr in search of another kiss, and the firm grip on his neck resumed. Lips as hot as the rising steam met his, and for a while, the world shut down.

The steam seemed to cloud Geralt's senses – their lips parted, but Emhyr's face appeared to him as if he would look through a fog. He still felt his hand on his neck, and the grip seemed to get stronger. Then, he did not understand how it happened, the pressure became even harder, pushing his head under water. It was much less warm than expected, and the sudden immersion was a shock. Only reflexes and an immediate instinct prevented him from swallowing water. It was impenetrable to his eyes, far too dark, far too unreal. Some part of him refused to comprehend what was happening. His arm shot up, his hand searching for a hold but finding none.

It's a dream, he thought, a dream, a nightmare, and I will wake up soon.

But if this was a dream, why did he feel the air escaping from his lungs? Suddenly, the water dissolved into murky darkness. Now, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Was he floating or lying on the ground? Part of this felt like a memory that was slightly off. Slowly the darkness gave way to an unreal gray, and Geralt realized that his eyes were still (or again?) open. Sounds kicked in as if all of his senses suddenly remembered how to work. There were unfamiliar voices, smells, and feelings. No, not all of this was unfamiliar. There was something his mind needed a moment to recognize... a sensation, sharp and hot and throbbing.

Pain. A feeling he knew – and an excellent instrument to come back to reality. Then, light. Now his eyes were able to focus: there was a wooden ceiling above him, small golden reflections of sunlight dancing on it. A house, a hut, maybe. He focused on the pain. The cause was not hard to find: an arrow sticking out of his right thigh. Moreover, his gaze fell on shackles on his wrists. Handcuffs, not a simple rope. Someone wanted to make absolutely sure that he would not free himself so quickly. In two ways, because his quick inventory told him something else: the arrowhead had been soaked in poison, and that was still inside him. Poisoning a witcher wasn't easy, but apparently, whoever had done it knew what to do.

His accelerated heartbeat and temporarily decreased breathing – a feeling that had manifested itself in a dream or hallucination – were clear evidence. The memory had been buried under the poisoning effects, but now he remembered this morning clearly. The actual events had been much more pleasant. They had made love impetuously on the damp floor next to that tub. Later, the breakfast had been interrupted by a messenger, asking for the witcher's urgent help. Should that have made him suspicious? The forests around Vizima were usually spared from any monsters. According to the vague description, it could have been anything from wraiths to a lost troll. He had not become wary, had followed his damned sense of duty, and walked right into a trap.

That part was still a bit blurry, but a surprising noise, a handful of guys looking like vagabonds, and a sudden arrow in his thigh definitely had something to do with it. Here he was, once again, a tied-up package somewhere in the wilderness, a victim to his own good-naturedness. Or dumbness, he thought, observing the handcuffs closely. At that moment, a crooked door opened, letting in more light than was comfortable for Geralt's eyes.

"Oh well, look at that, our princess is no longer slumbering."

A sleazy guy entered, a whole head shorter than Geralt, from head to toe the type of obnoxious order-taker that Geralt was pretty sure lacked the intelligence to come up with such a bold plan. He was right. Pushing past the guy was a taller man, beefy and bald, with a rather ugly scar from his right ear to his shoulder. Did someone ever try to chop your head off? thought Geralt incoherently. Dark eyes under bushy eyebrows regarded the witcher with due suspicion. Far more conspicuous, however, was the sword scabbard at the man's hip. For Geralt would have recognized the weapon's handle in it anywhere - it was his own, the silver sword. Of the two they had taken from him, it was by far the more valuable, and Baldy must have decided to keep it.

"Faster than I thought," he said.

His companion appeared slightly nervous.

"We still have a bit of that stuff, shall we..."

"We don't want to kill him," the other cut him off. "I already thought he'd suffocate; that's too risky on me."

"If it somehow matters that I survive, it would be quite useful to remove this poisoned arrow," Geralt replied nonchalantly, if a bit hoarsely.

He noticed a sour taste in his mouth. Somewhere, sometime, he must have vomited up some of the poison, but it had not helped much. Apparently, they had made sure that he did not choke on it, which also indicated that they wanted him alive, at least for the moment. From then on, it was easy to put two and two together. Ridiculous that he had fallen for it, but not the first attempt of this kind.

"Let that linger as long as possible," Baldy said, deadpan. "If you ever get back to your pretty palace, someone can cut that thing out for you."

The "if" was striking.

"You've already calculated that there might be no ransom, but you still came up with the insane idea of kidnapping a witcher," Geralt said calmly. It wasn't even a question.

"But one that seems to mean quite a bit to our new ruler," the bald one returned. "And look, all it took was a well-aimed arrow and some poison."

In other words, an element of surprise that didn't come to many. Geralt knew how amazed people like this were when they found out that witchers also ended up bleeding like ordinary people. Maybe not as long and not as persistent, but the bastard was right: an arrow and a bit of poison had been enough. Of course, it wasn't always quite that simple, but chance and luck had played into these guys' hands.

"Well, we'll see if we can capitalize on our catch, won't we? The swords, the dagger, and what we found in your pockets are probably compensation enough, should that not be the case. And if I don't need you in the end, I'll pull that pretty ring off your finger and have it melted down in Mahakam."

With these words, Baldy turned back to the door, pushed his accomplice out, and both disappeared. Gotta give him credit for having guts, Geralt thought. A bit of a megalomaniac, perhaps, but what did he have to lose? For scum like him, peacetime had little to offer. So why not stack up a little? Quite possible that they weren't even looking for a ransom now that they had valuable witcher weapons, which would fetch quite a bit in shady auction houses. Perhaps they had also concluded that the matter was too big in the end. They certainly didn't want to risk the army getting on their trail. Even Baldy could not be so shrewd as to believe that he was slipping through the fingers of the emperor's expected wrath. Whatever they were up to, they made a typical mistake: underestimating a witcher was never a good idea. And firing an arrow in his leg and tying his hands was not nearly enough. Neither was Geralt the princess they took him for, nor did he need rescuing.

Trying to sit up, he felt a bit dizzy. There was still poison inside his system; there would be until the arrow was removed. It was tempting to do it right now, and he could have done it even with cuffed hands. But without any knife, it was a gruesome business, and a painful one. As he could get a closer look now, he noticed the tip stuck quite deep in his thigh. He would do too much damage if he just ripped it out, so he focused on the shackles first. Solid steel with a short chain. No big deal, Geralt had learned such things as a boy. Lambert, Eskel, and he had always tried to outdo each other in their numerous attempts to escape from handcuffs. Vesemir had had to rescue one of them time and again, chained to all sorts of objects. Lambert once almost strangled himself when he was desperate to prove that he could free himself by hanging one-handed from the stair railing in Kaer Morhen.

Geralt shook his head. Not the right moment for merry (or rather not) reminiscences. If they had tied his arms behind his back, things wouldn't have been quite so simple, but they hadn't bothered. So Geralt only had to patiently twist the chain's individual links into each other until they locked. When that happened, he braced himself against the inevitable pain and pulled his hands apart with all his might. As expected, the metal broke after a few seconds, and his hands were free. He had no way to remove the remains from his wrists, and Geralt could already vividly imagine Emhyr's comments on this. This only spurred him on, so he looked for a hold on the wall behind him to carefully prop himself up.

Finally, he stood, painful as it was, but now he was able to assess the little window. He peered out cautiously from the side. Outside, he saw a handful of horses, their reins thrown loosely over the rickety remains of a fence. Roach was not among them. Smart girl, he thought. Didn't let yourself get caught. The guys outside had no idea that the soldiers were probably already closer to them than they thought – Roach knew her way back, as any horse in danger would seek refuge in its home stable. Slowly, Geralt limped to the door and listened, letting his senses wander. Most likely, one of them was standing right next to the door. One last time, he glanced at the arrow in his leg. The wound was bleeding again, but there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was take advantage of the element of surprise, as they had done with him. Oh, they would be in for a surprise.

With a jerk, he wrenched open the door, gaining a split-second overview. There were only five. Four sleazebags with Baldy as their leader. To the right of the door stood the little guy who had come in first – apparently Baldy's right-hand man. He was carelessly playing around with a sword, weighing it in his hands, observing it. It was part of the loot, Geralt's steel sword. In an instant, it was back in his possession: he rammed his elbow into the guy's face, whereupon the jaw cracked. Completely surprised, the man was not even capable of a scream, and in one fluid motion, Geralt grabbed the sword before it went to the ground like the bandit.

A little commotion broke out among the remaining members of the small band of robbers, and already the bravest among them pounced on Geralt. He attacked with a dagger. Geralt felt a series of small nerve jolts, a tingling sensation that rose up inside him, hardening his muscles. It was anger, he realized. For this was his dagger, not just any weapon; a particularly beautiful piece, pure silver, decorated with a wolf's head on the handle. It was a gift from Emhyr, and the thought that this was the second time somebody tried to steal it from him only fueled his rage. To take this away from him, like they wanted to do with the ring, his fucking wedding ring... It made him forget how tedious and painful it was to move with the arrow still stuck in him. He dodged the attack with a single side step, and the sword drove through the flesh of the assailant as if he were flaying a rabbit.

The bald one still held back, staying in the background, Geralt's sword loosely in his hand. He would not make it easy for him, but he let his comrades run to their doom without hesitation. In the end, they were all the same. Their idea of witchers was vague, almost mystical, but they were all eager to find out if there were any human traits beneath the legends. But then, when they lay in their blood, they whimpered for their pitiful lives, as if to conjure up any humanity they had denied the witcher.

If they wanted animal instincts, they could have just that. As far as some things were concerned, Geralt had all too human traits, and he didn't hesitate to take his anger out on them, even if it was basically ridiculous, almost childish. He could nearly hear Emhyr's voice in his head, "Those are just objects," he would say. But they weren't, not for him. And he didn't kill the men, he wasn't vengeful and not half the monster they probably took him for.

Number three had his own (well, probably stolen) short sword, but Geralt made short work of him. Soon after, the fourth one also lay in the dust with his eyes wide open, clutching his shoulder with one hand, as if he still couldn't believe where the guy with the arrow in his thigh had gotten the speed and agility from. Geralt was running on pure adrenaline now, and while it would have been a waste to use any potions on these blokes – if he still had them – it wouldn't have hurt to have some now, as his movements seemed to ram the arrow only deeper into his flesh. The remnants of the poison still made him a bit dizzy, and every step was a sharp knife into his leg.

But now only Baldy was left, and he would soon realize, just like the others, what it meant to mess with a witcher. The guy was either stupid or pretty confident of himself because his nasty face showed no fear. He swung the sword loosely in his hand, a boastful swagger; however, it did not catch. Geralt just stood there, perfectly still, his body balanced so that he put as little weight as possible on his right leg, but ready to do so should it be necessary. They always underestimated one thing: that he was willing to fight through anything, even pain.

"It would be better just to leave now. There's still time," he said against his better judgment. "There's nothing more to gain here."

"But I don't have anything left to lose either, do I?"

A swift, deft advance followed the words. But Baldy tried a blow from above – powerful but predictable, even more so for an experienced swordsman. Geralt ignored the stinging pain in his leg as he took a small step to the right, parrying the blow with his sword held to the side. His quick counterattack was textbook, but in that case, Baldy was trained from it as well – he rolled off the inevitable blow and was back on his feet in no time.

The arrow still secreted a little poison; Geralt felt his body reacting to it. He was slower than usual, his reactions stiffer than necessary, but he doubted his opponent suspected that. He still seemed to think that his injury should stop the witcher. That he would have an easy time of it. But he was wrong. Lunge, feint, and thrust came in quick succession, forcing his opponent to dodge. Despite his rather massive stature, the man was not unskilled, and at some point in his miserable life, he must have learned not only how to hold a sword correctly but how to use it. He did not make the mistake of permanently hitting Geralt's sword, as many untrained fighters did. That only cost strength and brought a somewhat acceptable result only with equal opponents anyway.

Baldy searched for gaps in Geralt's defense (he found none), and when that proved fruitless, he began to try to disrupt his balance with powerful blows. Aiming for the legs seemed to be a reasonable tactic since it was clear that Geralt was dragging his leg. So he aimed at the left one to force him to put more weight on the injured right. It would have worked for anyone else, but not with a witcher. Instead, Geralt turned the tables and permanently shortened the distance between them. He parried the attacks with quick counterattacks, pushing Baldy back, coming closer and closer to him. And the latter reacted precisely like a stressed student who had mouthed off and dared to challenge the master.

The only thing left for him to do was to back away, yet all around the shabby old hut was nothing but forest. So if he didn't want to trip or run backwards into a tree, Baldy was forced to turn an attack into a counterattack. But he lacked the time and skill to do so, and that was his downfall. For a second, he frantically looked behind him to scan the surroundings. That was enough for Geralt to advance. Once again, a tremendous pain shot through his leg as he, both hands on the handle, performed an arcing motion. Once again, he ignored it, and what his attack lacked in apparent elegance, experience and instinct made up for. Strength alone was not the key. Baldy learned that like hundreds before him. Geralt's sword struck him just below the right shoulder, piercing the leather jerkin, causing the overzealous bandit to stumble. Even as he pulled out the blade, Geralt kicked him hard in the stomach. With a surprised gasp, the wannabe abductor went down.

Geralt grabbed the sword in Baldy's hand – his sword – and wrestled it out of his wrist after a brief struggle. He resisted the impulse to give the guy another kick and turned, shifting his weight back onto his left leg. The desire to get rid of the damned arrow became overwhelming. He looked at the horses - decent animals; he could just take one of them. Somehow he would get through the ride back. It occurred to him that he had no idea where he was. He glanced up to at least approximate the direction. The sky was clear, but thunder could be heard in the distance. Geralt blinked, almost disoriented for a moment. The adrenaline in his body stopped working. The last remnants of the poison had not yet disappeared, dizziness set in, and his leg almost gave way.

It was not thunder. Something, still far away, but on a direct course in their direction, was approaching. For a moment, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice that Baldy – amazingly still conscious, though losing copious amounts of blood – grabbed his ankle. Pure instinct ensured that he did not instantly go down and that he noticed the slender knife in the other's hand in time. A quick movement of his sword, which was still in his hand, was enough, and Baldy's pathetic little attack went into the dust with his knife.

He cursed, rage in his hate-filled eyes, and Geralt finally had enough. He turned his sword, the hilt pointing down, and took a short swing. But Baldy's hand was still on his ankle, and in a last desperate moment, he pulled hard. Weakened by everything that lay behind him, Geralt now actually began to falter. Bad luck for Baldy, because as he fell, his sword hilt hit the latter right at the wound Geralt had caused him, and he howled and rolled his eyes.

Then Geralt went down on his knees, and that in turn was his bad luck. The pain was so overwhelming that he nearly fainted on the spot. No longer able to keep his balance, he fell forward. Although he reflexively stretched out a hand, he could not prevent the new impact. The arrow bored deeper into his thigh than before. There wasn't even enough breath for a scream. The world turned into fire. But the red flames before his eyes changed to black almost instantly, and he went limp.

This time, he didn't open his eyes right away when the world returned – or rather, when he returned into it. His senses kicked in one by one, gently, as if he had been asleep for just a moment. He heard the soft crackling of a fireplace from somewhere, and beneath him, he perceived the familiar feeling of smooth sheets. The gentle smell that hit his nose – tart, a little juniper, a little oakwood – made it finally clear where he was. Still, his eyes remained closed just a little longer. There were cool fingers on his much too warm forehead. Something moist stroked over his brow and cheeks, and that felt nice.

"You drowned me in the bathtub, you know," he said, and he felt as if he could almost hear Emhyr's frown.

Now he opened his eyes, but if he had thought the dark eyes above him would look puzzled, he was disappointed.

"You're feverish, Geralt. Be still."

Now that was typical of Emhyr, to tell him off like that although he had almost killed him. Geralt frowned and tried to focus.

"No, that was before. This morning or whatever. You drowned me in the bathtub. Why would you do that?"

Emhyr looked worried for a moment, not sure how to respond. It was not too serious an injury, and the court sorceress had assured him that there was no residue left of the poison. Emhyr had experience with an injured, unconscious, and disoriented Geralt, but little with one who accused him of attempted murder in a fever. He set aside the cloth he had been using to cool Geralt's forehead, brushed a sweaty strand from his face, and gently replied, "I assure you, I have not and will never drown you."

Geralt grinned broadly.

"I thought you were going to say, at most, you'll drown me in your..."

"Don't you dare."

"... love?"

If that was possible, his grin only widened. Emhyr shook his head, let out a small sigh, and maybe the corners of his mouth turned up a very tiny bit.

"You won't remember it in a few hours anyway, but fine, on my account, I'll drown you in love. You're an idiot, you know."

"Yours?"

Emhyr sighed once again. Then he leaned forward, breathed a kiss on Geralt's hot forehead, and replied firmly, "Mine."

And that, Geralt thought before a much more restful sleep overcame him, is probably the most pleasant way to drown.

#writing #fanfiction #witcher 3 #emhyr x geralt #geralt x emhyr #Emralt #Emhyralt #Emhyr/Geralt #whump #bath scene #and a sword fight :)

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