#(think it could be different; he is a bright pupil picking at bones.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hauntedjpegcollection · 9 months ago

Text

terrible

wc: 8827 au: college au ch: benny, maran

Benny swiftly learns that college is nothing like the military.

Sometimes, he misses the rigidity. The ease of obedience that came with the Air Force, someone always there to tell him what to do even if the compromise to his person had always hurt. Sometimes, he still misses waking up at four in the morning, running PT drills until he threw up; a mans arm around his shoulders, someone laughing, him laughing, a Sergeant barking. Sometimes, he misses the organization and the routine as much as the frantic mania of a jet hanger. The noise that left him with a near permanent ring, at least in his left ear. He misses the smell of fuel and oil and the starchiness of his uniform.

Misses knowing exactly what he was doing.

He feels too old to be a freshmen; even if twenty-two is no where near old and his professors joke that a frontal lobe isn’t even finished until twenty-five. Benny had done his contracted five in the Air Force and then left and the military was paying for his Bachelors now, as they fucking should. They owed him.

And Benny loves college. Even if it’s scary. Even if he feels awkward and out of place and people mistake him for a few grades above—or worse, mistake him for a drug dealer so often he wonders if he should start actually dealing drugs. He loves the classes, loves learning, loves feeling exhausted all the time and living off coffee and cigarettes and most of all, Benny loves the parties.

They are the closest thing to a jet hanger he can get outside the military. Hectic and loud and rotten smelling—it’s these parties where he finds that he really does like drinking (even if he’d told himself he’d be different from—he’d be different, he’d avoid the alcohol for as long as he could). Beer goes down easy and he doesn’t get hungry and he finds himself a bottomless pit, endlessly able to drink and drink and drink. People think he’s funny, especially when he’s drinking and no one minds the stutter because they are all also drinking.

So he goes to the parties, as many as he can. Even the frat parties, where he obviously doesn’t belong.

“Pick a card,” Benny purrs playfully, two girls in front of him, giggling into their red solo cups. The music is almost too loud to hear what one of them says—she leans in close to try and tell it to his ear and he can smell her bright floral perfume. Benny imagines kissing her, imagines touching her waist and her shoulders and her throat. He’d really only started sleeping with women a few years ago that sometimes the attraction still felt startlingly new. He seeks them out at these parties especially, to feel his way around what he likes.

Benny fans the cards in his hands, performs a silly trick to shuffle them, listens to the girls laugh, feels almost just as intoxicated by their attention as he does the mostly rum and very little coke he’d just finished. The heavy, almost wet air inside the frat house presses and makes him sweaty, makes his hair as moppy and stringy as usual. The girl compliments the stupid shirt he has on, a graphic t-shirt he’d yanked from a thrift store without paying. He does another sleight of hand while they drink.

A heavy body presses up behind him—an instinct of pure fear makes Benny’s pupils dilate, something long remembered in a few broken bones scream at the surface of his not-fully-formed frontal lobe. His mouth dries as he twists his head to look over his shoulder.

Connor Alexander stands behind him, chest to Benny’s back, his eyes shiny with alcohol and cruel glee. Benny’s brain whirs like a computer, sorting Connor into categories; guy with two first names, lacrosse player, asshole, asshole, asshole.

“King of Spades,” Connor says, his breath smelling sharply of beer. Sour and tangy. Benny wants to get out from under him, but is trapped between Connor’s broad chest and the two girls in front of him. The girls seem excited with the lacrosse player there—Connor is big and pretty and popular and a senior, or super senior, whatever it means when someones been in college for far longer than they’re supposed to be.

Benny should hate Connor. Maybe he sort of does, maybe he hates Connor’s perfectly straight teeth (Benny has a crooked row, he smiles close lipped mostly so no one sees), hates his broad shoulders and his summer time tan and his big hands, one of which is closing around Benny’s shoulder. He should hate the way he smells, but he doesn’t, something boyish and pine and clean, even when he reeks of weed and alcohol too. Mostly, Benny hates himself for not hating Connor, who has always been an absolute prick to him.

“You’re n-not supposed to tell me the card,” Benny sneers, trying to shuffle his deck back together to keep it away from Connor. The last time he’d been at a party and some jock had zeroed in on him, the cards had been scattered everywhere for him to pick up. Near tears, cheeks burning, humiliated in a way he hadn’t felt since he was ten years old, while people laughed.

“This guy,” Connor says fondly, with a hint of condescension as his hand turns to an entire arm around Benny’s shoulder. “Man, it’s sweet you’re entertaining girls for me.”

Traitorously, they giggle.

“Someone h-has to,” Benny comments, shuffling the cards once more with ease of muscle memory. “I’m p-prepping them for the inevitable joy of yo-your presence and the endless discussion of sports, sports, yourself, sp-sp-sports again and then yourself. Here.” Benny finds the king of spades, holding it up between two fingers. The girls laugh, which makes Connor’s face go a dark red color. He has a pretty ‘Summer at Cape Cod’ sort of tan, so it’s more maroon than anything else. It was ruddy before from the drink, but now its worse and so is the glinting meanness to his eye.

Connor takes the card and licks it. Benny tries to ignore the strange stir in his stomach that mingles with the unwarranted violation against his property—then he reels when the card is slapped to his forehead. His feet sort of scramble against sticky hardwood floor, the heavy arm around his shoulders anchoring him to the humiliation. Benny’s lips pull back from his teeth, hands shoving at Connor’s chest to get away—the girls laugh and laugh and laugh.

When he finally does get free, the card flutters to the ground, lost to him, the deck now incomplete.

—

Benny drinks more.

He drinks so much that he is stumbling when he finds the bathroom. His hands sliding across the wall to keep himself mostly upright. Everything comes to him in tiny spurts of imagery. Wall, hand, bathroom door, open door, girl crying on the tub, girl leaving, him apologizing. Hands on the sink, holding himself upright. Mirror. Himself. His eyes, his creepy fucking eyes. He fishes into his pockets to try and find his sunglasses until he remembers why he’s in the bathroom.

The toilet is missing the entire lid and seat, so all he has to do is manhandle himself out his jeans and boxers—the release of pissing is long and satisfying. One hand holds the wall while he does, a drunken groan escaping him. His head feels clearer somehow, his sunglasses almost sliding off his nose to join the piss and toilet water. He stuffs himself back into his boxers, careens his way to the sink to wash his hands.

And the door to the bathroom bursts open.

“What the fuck?” Benny yelps, and then jumps back. He collides with the tub, falling down into it, head banging against the tile wall. Pain explodes viciously, white and blinding. A little kid inside himself cries at the pain, like it always does—he slips and slides against the sleek bathtub, legs floundering and kicking. Nausea rolls inside his stomach, alcohol splashing around his insides, no food to soak it up.

“Dude,” Connor laughs, his voice booming and echoing in such a small space. The music is a living heartbeat just outside the walls, a constant bum bum bum because it’s all house club techno something that Benny doesn’t like. He stares up, with giant and undeniably terrified eyes. The lock clicks behind Connor and Benny feels his insides churn. His heart jackrabbits, thunders against the calcium of his ribs until it crawls into his throat. Benny has been here before—no need to get jumped in a bathroom, to get hate crimed at a frat party—he thinks about the knife in his back pocket and if he can scare Connor away.

“Let me help.” Large hands wrap around his biceps and yank him up. Benny stumbles, the alcohol making everything inside him swimmy and unbalanced. His ear is ringing, like it usually is. His eyes dart everywhere, like little nuts and bolts on an axis, sliding around all oiled up.

“L-Leave me alone, man—let m-m-me go.” He hates how small and terrified that sounds. He wants to be big and intimidating and frightening, because he’s done being little. He’d just gotten tattoos over his forearms, because they looked scary and he liked that. The skin was still tender, still feeling bruised and sensitive.

“Relax, holy shit—dude, you’re geeked, did you take something?” Connor’s hands move from his biceps to his shoulders and one of them touches under his jaw. Benny feels stuttery and uneven, his chest moving rapidly. He wants to slap Connor’s hands away, to get out of the bathroom, to get back to his dorm, to fall asleep in his bed. His bed, how safe he felt, just in his bed alone. Something he owned, even if it belonged to the school, it was his. Benny’s sunglasses are pulled from his nose and set on the ceramic bathroom sink with a tiny tink sound.

“What th-the fuck?”

“Your eyes are so blue.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well,” Connor says, leaning back against the bathroom door. “It’s not a closet, but it works.”

“What?”

Big calloused hands take Benny’s face and pull. He stumbles into Connor, his own hands hands flattening on the bathroom door behind him. Their chests are warmly pressed together. His eyes stay open the entire time Connor kisses him, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He feels a tongue slipping into his mouth, tastes the burn of alcohol, the sweetness of spit. Benny’s eyes dart everywhere. He can see Connor’s blond eyelashes fluttering.

When they withdraw—or rather, Connor does because Benny had been yanked forward to begin with—warm breath fans his face. It makes him shiver, makes an uncomfortable part of his stomach burn. He clears his throat, resists licking his now wet lips.

“I thought you didn’t like me.” Benny is ashamed at how much of that is a whisper. His mouth feel bruised from how hard the kiss had been. Facial hair had scraped across his skin and now it burned.

“I don’t,” Connor snorts, eyes rolling. Benny is equally ashamed at the small hurt inside his heart at that; just the tiny crack that forms, knowing it’ll take so long to shove plaster in to seal it back up and keep it whole. Benny swallows and attempts to tug himself away, but Connor’s hands are still firmly attached to his face. He doesn’t go anywhere and the other man leans in once more. Benny shoves his hand up and across Connor’s mouth to keep them from kissing again.

“Man.” It’s drawled out in an annoyed tone, gorgeous hazel eyes rolling for a moment, hot air on Benny’s palm. “At least I’m being fucking honest with you. What, do you want me to lie? You’re weird. You’re hot but weird. You kind of creep me out sometimes and—”

He sputters a bit when Benny’s fingers slip past into his mouth to shut him up. Then his face slackens into something lusty. His tongue moves and Benny thinks this is not the first time Connor has done this—not this, finger sucking in a disgusting frat bathroom, college party, music in the background, drunk and high—but this as in, down low with someone who he knows wouldn’t say anything.

For a moment, Benny tries to pretend that’s empowering. It’s secretive and gross and isn’t that what he wants? This was easier, this was better even, this was like owning a part of Connor that he couldn’t ever deny.

You couldn’t unfuck someone.

So Benny pulls his hand away. And he leans in for them to kiss again.

—

When it’s over, they’re both quiet as they reassemble their clothes.

Benny struggles with his belt because he keeps missing a loop. The orgasm and alcohol make his hands awkward, his breathing still ragged, a tingly feeling across his entire body. He keeps leaning and nearly colliding with the bathroom wall, cursing under his breath as he fixes it over and over.

Connor reaches out and grasps his shoulder and smiles at him. It’s as gorgeous as ever, as untouchable by lower class as it can be, it’s the perfectly sculpted smile of a man who grew up with two rich parents that loved each other and got him braces at the first hint of a problem.

He says, “Thanks, I needed that.”

And Benny has no idea what to say back, so all he says is, “Sure.”

And then Connor leaves.

So Benny locks the door to the bathroom behind him and yanks his belt all the way off and throws it into the bathtub and leans his head against the wall. It’s cool to his feverish, drunk skin. After a moment of that, he takes his shirt off to wrap around his elbow. He slams it against the little window above the shower and luckily it doesn’t shatter—his elbow or the glass. It just pops out, like the caulking for it was crumbling anyway, not taken care of for years—it falls into the grass below the house and Benny finds it easy to shove himself through it. He’s still lean from the years of military service before this languid, hedonistic stint in school.

Ben lands on his back, a loud thump, a soft whoosh of air from his lungs and stares at the dark blanket of the sky above him as the music dulls even further. He’s glad to be away from it. The outside air makes him feel even more sober than the sex had. Grass tickles his bare torso, which reminds him he’s shirtless and when he sits up, he realizes he’s still very drunk. The entire world shifts and spins every which way, his head woozy and unstable. He manages to get the shirt back on and shove himself up from the grass. He only slides a few times.

Someone says his name off to the side and he waves.

He hits the sidewalk and stumbles. He tries to find his cigarettes and lighter in his pockets. Finds that he’d crushed the pack of cigarettes when he’d jumped from the fucking window, but one is still good enough to light and carry him home.

—

There are strings of Connor’s, because Benny never really stops going to the parties. As dirty as it feels, there’s something equally as intoxicating about it. Sometimes, when it starts to eat at him, Benny relies on the old familiar rationalization that has carried him so far in his life; his father would have fucking hated it.

His father would have killed him for it.

Good.

—

It doesn’t take very long for Benny to realize one degree isn’t enough. Something inside him is hungry and never satisfied and he can’t imagine a world that isn’t lectures and books and learning—so he reapplies and just keeps going. The military stops funding after four years (the irony that he’d given them five of his own, just for them to pay for only four is not lost on him), but he’s smart. Benny finds that he’s very smart, that cleverness takes him far. He gets scholarships and funding, he pinches pennies between meaningless jobs and his grades never slip.

Then he meets someone named Cael.

And for the first time in his entire life, Benny is suddenly dating someone. No more secret hook ups in bathrooms, closets, random strangers bedrooms. No more meeting people on easy dating apps for one night stands that are sometimes more than one night. No more Connor’s.

His grades still don’t slip.

Benny teaches them to ice skate because they’re from New Orleans and have never seen snow. They move into a place together and Cael decorates the kitchen and Benny admits to not knowing how to cook anything but minute rice. They sleep on the left side of the bed and he sleeps on the right. Cael sings in the shower. Benny picks up their favorite kind of beer on the way home and they watch shitty reality tv and eat pizza and both resolve to start working out because they’ve gained weight dating each other and it feels so normal. It feels so…wrong.

They last a little over a year, until Cael breaks up with him.

Spring makes Benny’s allergies atrocious, which explains the painful pressure behind his eyes. Cael tells him that he has an empty hole inside him that he keeps trying to fill with anything he can get his hands on, and that they don’t want to be shoved into some place dark and cold. Benny tells them to stop fucking therapy talking him—and they break up with him because he isn’t in touch with his emotions enough to justify dating anyone.

The irony is that he apartment hunts the day after and finds a place that some man named Jeb is renting under the table. He isn’t in touch with his emotions enough, but he can’t stand that they’ve left their fancy lavender soap in the shower. He can’t stand finding their hair ties everywhere. He can’t stomach the stain on his couch from where they’d dyed their hair and it had gotten little spots of bleach everywhere.

So he moves.

Then he meets Lark and Xavier.

—

And of course he fucks Xavier.

Not right away, because at first he thinks the two men are dating. They have an ease of affection that makes his skin itch. A polarity that keeps them spinning and revolving around each other, without a string of sex tied between them. Benny sort of hates them both for it, not that he’s without friendships. Few and far between friendships and occasionally they chafe with the desire to get close and he shoves them away and thinks of Cael telling him he’s got an empty black hole that he keeps trying to fill.

So of course he fucks Xavier, because Xavier is also incredibly beautiful and has big eyes that just scream ‘I’ll make you feel good’.

It’s fun—both of them sweaty and in his bed and covered in the little tell tale signs of mouths, biting and nipping and tasting. Xavier’s long body is bent over his mattress, hands grasping at sheets, pulling them free from the edges of the mattress. He has freckles everywhere, but they’re lighter on his lower back, where the sun must not kiss him nearly as often. His skin pinkens easily with enough pressure. Benny’s tattooed hands slide in appreciation over a tapered waist, over slim ribs.

When he bears forward, chest to back, Xavier makes a sound that veers too suddenly high and it causes Benny’s harsh thrusting to pause. His new room mate is more vocal than anything he was expecting or at all used to—it strokes a part of his ego that he wasn’t even aware of. It’d made everything more enthusiastic, more fast paced, this desire to get a louder sound on every slap of his hips forward, on every twist and different position he found Xavier easy to mold to.

Instead of continuing, he brushes sweat slicked red hair from Xavier’s temple.

“What?” he breathes. The sound is so breathy and sweet its almost distracting.

“Did that hurt?” Benny’s hand cups around the back of Xavier’s neck, massaging enough to watch pond colored eyes roll close.

“Uh,” Xavier pants, his cheeks flushed and shiny. A bead of sweat runs down from his temple to drip off his chin. He smiles that awfully pretty boy smile, eyes still closed. Benny feels warm affection blooming in his bloodstream that he isn’t entirely sure is purely sexual. “It’s—” Benny paws a hand forward, groping across Xavier’s chest and making him huff a laugh and a pleasurable little sound, grinding his forehead into the pillow. He places his mouth to a warm, slick shoulder.

“Tell me.”

“You’re sort of heavy,” Xavier admits.

“Are you calling m-me fat?”

Xavier starts to protest, but Benny leans himself back from the way he’d folded over Xavier. He hadn’t even realized that most of his weight was pressed down on the other man, that he’d truly pinned him to the bed like that—he liked the feeling of being bigger, of making someone else pliant beneath him but only if the other person liked it too. Benny shifts to one knee, the other raised and yanks Xavier’s hips back. This time, his sound is strangled, but deeply positive. His freckled back muscles flex and dance.

Benny pats him affectionately.

“Tell me wh-what you’re into, Xavier,” Benny says and for a moment, wonders if all this talk is making them both too soft to continue. Until his request for communication is met with an eagerness that drains them both to bone weary tiredness after all is said and done.

—

Over breakfast the next morning, they agree to not have sex again.

“Thanks,” Xavier says, sleepy eyed and smiling widely. He has a little bruise on his neck that’ll fade in a few days.

“One and done,” Benny replies, eating cereal like he’s never had a meal before, hunched over the table as if someone might try and take the Cheerio’s away from him.

“What’s one and done?” Lark asks, his athletic shorts making awful swishing sounds as he walks around the table to open the fridge. Xavier clears his throat and rubs knuckles against his cheek and his face goes so red it looks painful—and Benny doesn’t answer Lark, he just laughs manically and finishes his cereal.

—

It’s a year or so later when Maran is opening the door to his bedroom.

He looks surprised, as if he isn’t the one nosing around a strangers apartment. Lights from the party pour through the door frame, as does music and the loud energy of drunk people in a gathering. Somewhere between freshmen year (Connor) and the beginning of his Masters (Cael), Benny had stopped enjoying the parties. For some reason, they get thrown more often at his apartment; maybe because it’s bigger, or because the complex doesn’t complain or the cops never show up or because Lark is very popular.

Benny’s too tired to engage most of the time, and that night particularly, he’d been more concerned with cleaning his chemistry set.

“Oops,” Maran says, looking equally bewildered at himself for saying anything as he does for opening a random door. The light around him pools at his edges, his silhouette turning bright like he’s a drunk little angel. Benny can barely make out his features, but he’s seen them before. Knows those high cheek bones turn a pretty shade of red when he’s had too many fruit cocktails that Matilda or Xavier have made. Benny stares, sitting on his stolen lab stool, black gloves on his hands. He holds up tweezers that have a cotton swab pinched between them, as if he’s saying hello.

“I’ve only ever seen those in movies.” Maran dares to take another step into Benny’s room. He briefly wonders what his little sanctuary looks like in the eyes of a stranger. Messy, disorganized, refuge? From the party anyway. Was Maran looking for that? “It’s dark in here.”

“Mm,” Benny makes a humming, noncommittal sound.

They’ve not really been introduced, though they’ve technically met. They’ve been in the same room as each other once or twice, at least. Benny doesn’t like parties anymore, but he shows up for Matilda—because she was Matilda, so of course he does. And he’s seen Maran across the room, or in passing. He’s been on the receiving end of that big, pretty smile and felt his heart thump in ways it shouldn’t be thumping.

Maran came with Benji and Xavier was skittish about Benji (for reasons Benny could easily figure out), so no, Maran and Benny have not formally met.

And it’s starting to look like they’re not even meeting now, because Maran takes his step back. Looks like he might retreat into the party, back into the noise and alcohol and too many people. A prickling sensation crawls over Benny’s scalp, down the back of his neck. He tries to get his mouth working, but nothing happens, so instead he stands.

He points at the stool.

“Oh.” Maran steps toward it. “Are we about to do something fun?”

Benny ignores a very warm sensation that fills him from the stomach up. He clears his throat and points again—and Maran slowly lowers himself onto the stool. He sits just like Benny could imagine him sitting; hands around the front between his thighs, feet tucked behind on the stools bars. He swings his head back to look at Benny, who slowly removes his gloves. It could be a trick of the light (what little there is) that makes Maran’s eyes seem so shiny, watching the gloves get plucked away and tossed into bin.

Benny crouches in front of the mini fridge he has. He withdraws beakers filled with ominous looking liquid and returns to his desk and his chemistry set and the cute boy.

“Yunno—I’m sorry for barging in, like, intruding. On your—I’m assuming this is homework.” Maran seems to ramble when he’s nervous. Benny doesn’t mind, because his voice is nice. Very nice. Benny stands behind him and reaches over Maran’s shoulder to put the beaker down. It’s full of a dark brown, bubbly liquid. He puts another, full of clear, equally bubbly liquid down on the other side of him. For a moment, they’re touching. His biceps on Maran’s shoulders. Then he lets his arms drop.

“If y-you mix those, we’ll blow up.”

“Really?” He expects Maran to turn around, but instead he just drops his head back like it’s on a hinge. The top of his brightly dyed hair brushes Benny’s torso. His long, beautiful brown neck is exposed. Benny’s sweaty hands twitch at his sides. He feels like someone’s just walked through the library inside of him and selected a book, withdrew it just to blow dust off the pages and crack the spine.

“Highly to-toxic. Incredibly deadly. Drop a p-penny in and it’ll dissolve.”

“Which ones the penny again?” Maran asks, head falling forward to look at the two beakers. The nape of his neck is fuzzy with the smallest wisps of hair. His ears are pierced, the jewelry small but pretty. There’s a thin line of silver, a necklace that disappears underneath his shirt. Benny reaches over his shoulder once more and takes the one filled almost to the brim with black liquid.

When he lifts it to his mouth, Maran gasps. He turns his whole body on the stool, a sneakered foot pushing against the hardwood, and he reaches up. One hand touches Benny’s bare, tattooed forearm. He’s so warm. It’s dark in his room, the lighting soft and low because his eyes hate the light. Benny smiles as he gulps down the mysterious toxic liquid.

“Do you uh,” Maran’s throat bobs. “Do you drink the other one next and explode as a party trick?” It is so absolutely absurd that Benny sputters a laugh, tossing the beaker onto the desk. It rolls and rolls and rolls and clatters against the set. He puts both hands on Maran’s shoulders and leans so they’re looking at each other.

“It was root beer.”

“I can smell it.”

“What? Am I too close?” Benny grins, leaning in just a bit further. Maran doesn’t scoot back the way he expects, so they are too close right then. Instead, he smiles, his sweet drunk smile. It makes all the noise from the party disappear completely. Benny’s ears ring. Maybe not just from the jet damage. He fumbles a hand down Maran’s arm and then grasps the other mans palm and gives it a hard enough shake to jerk Maran back and forth.

“I’m Benny.”

And Maran says, “Hi, Ben.”

—

The beginning of Summer is unbearable. Heat comes quicker than the calendar predicts and the apartment becomes stuffy and disgusting with three men too hot to function. Windows are thrown open, fans are turned on, shirts discarded and tempers strung tight. It feels ominous to Benny, like there is something just on the horizon, a bubbling sort of storm that brews until it finally breaks the sky open.

He tries to keep to his room, where he has a window unit. Stands in front of it, hands on either side of the wall, lets the cool air hug around his torso. He never liked Summer.

The heat makes his hair worse, makes it clump together in strings. Makes him feel greasier than usual—he’s clean, he swears, he showers sometimes twice a day but it just sticks to him and now he’s just known for it. Being gross, being dirty. That’s Benny. Nasty. He swipes a tattooed palm down over his face and finds a shirt to throw on that’s big and comfortable, with a large rip at the collar. He contemplates staying in his darkly lit, air conditioned room, as he rips the collar further, tears the whole thing off and tosses it into the waste basket by his door.

But instead, he creeps his way to the living room, to the sounds of voices. Benny lingers for a moment, in the safety of the hallway, rocking back and forth on his heels, teeth indenting his lower lip. He holds his phone in front of himself, staring at the little text message that had pulled him out of hiding, out of air conditioning.

we got ice cream ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ i got ur favorite flavor!!

Above that text are three more, details of Maran’s day, with those small wiggly things included. A good morning text with too many exclamation marks that he’s suddenly started receiving every day like clockwork, a picture of the sloppy breakfast sandwich he’d gotten (Benny had noted with no small amount of happiness that he recognized that sandwich, that they’d gotten them together only a few days ago), and a text far later in the afternoon that finally proclaimed that he and Benji were coming over.

Benny locks the phone and shoves it into his pocket but stays in the hallway. He recognizes voices and knows its not just Benji and Maran. Xavier, obviously, because if Benji exists in a place, Xavier is already there too. Lark, whose laugh is distinct in its short, huskiness. And then…someone else.

It’s strange to be scared in that moment. Benny can sometimes fool himself into thinking that fear isn’t a regular part of his day anymore, that he’s largely moved on. He’s far past twelve years old, but some sort of trauma to the brain has made him like a freakish animal that cannot control it’s hair trigger response to flee. He pictures himself like a deer, stupid enough to stand in the middle of the road, but terrified enough to run head first into trees and snap its own neck.

When he turns the corner into the living room, four people turn to look at him.

Maran and Benji don’t seem to mind sitting so close even in the heat, and Benny has to wonder if that’s because they’d grown up with never an inch or more between each other. So they’re together on the couch, Maran with one leg drawn up (too much bare thigh revealed, those God damn shorts), and Benji slouched beside him, with booted feet kicked before him. Xavier, despite being the tallest, seems easily comfortable sitting on the floor, elbows on the shitty coffee table Benny had stolen from a thrift store.

Lark perches on the arm of the other recliner, opposite side of the couch. He’s the only one that looks mostly unbothered by the heat, one of Benny’s own baseball hats on and turned backward, a peek of blond hair at the front. He’s not sweat slicked like Xavier, who looks drowned by the weather, and he doesn’t tug at his shirt collar the way Maran is—distracting Benny’s attention more than once.

“You’re being loud,” he finally complains.

“He’s alive!” Xavier proclaims, hands thrown into the air, face tilted to the ceiling. It makes Maran laugh, because he finds Xavier funny. Benny thinks Xavier is funny when he’s making Maran laugh. He yanks the fan’s head toward himself as he settles into the misshapen recliner beside the couch. “No, hey—I’m hotter than you, stop it.”

“Pfft,” the lone stranger in the living room’s suggestive snort makes Benny stare.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Xavier says bashfully, a tucked hand behind his neck. His cheeks are pink. Benny presses a socked foot against his bare freckled shoulder and gives him a playful enough push that Xavier grins sweetly and the pink drains away.

—

His name is Rex—which is a dogs name. Or the shortened version of a dinosaurs name. It might be a nickname and he might have explained the story behind it but Benny doesn’t listen. Quickly tunes that voice out the second it starts talking and finds it easy, because the heat just depletes him into the recliner anyway. He is melted STEM major, a puddle of advanced Chemistry minor.

Benny fiddles with his silver zippo lighter, not daring to actually strike it and bring even more heat into the living room. The constant anxious turning of it over and over in his hands makes Maran stare at him more than a few times. His quick glances become a constant for a moment before conversation gets strung between Xavier and Lark and Maran, obviously and then Dog Dinosaur Boy.

It’s only a few hours before night finally sweeps through and no one wants to turn on a light, as if that might ruin the little bit of cold darkness.

“The ice cream,” Maran says, launching himself from the couch. His familiarity with the apartment makes some part of Benny feel tender, oddly vulnerable, weirdly sublime. It twists something inside his chest, and his eyes stay following him. Maran’s in those unbelievably cute shorts, a shirt that’s too big and his dirty converses.

Though he knows it’s one deeply strange, perverse thought, Benny imagines himself yanking Maran’s legs into his lap and unlacing those white converses and pulling them away—he envisions leaning in to kiss clusters of freckles on a knee, sometimes skinned by skateboarding. He imagines his hand wrapping around a brown calf and raising it higher to kiss the sharp bone of an ankle. It’s such a blatantly sexual and somehow intimate fantasy that his face heats and he fumbles for his sunglasses in his pocket, despite how dark it is in the living room.

When Maran returns, Xavier and Benji retreat with their pints—and that’s nothing new. They often do, even though Xavier has nothing but fans in his bedroom and he runs hot like his blood is a degree warmer. Benji seems stalwart against heat, though and Xavier is so head over heels stupid in love he’d do just about anything for him (besides ask him out). Only, Maran doesn’t take the couch back, he perches beside Benny, handing down a pint and a spoon. It’s cool to his fingertips, but his shoulder brushes Maran twice and then nothing feels anything but warm after that.

“Salted caramel,” Maran says, slapping his own spoon directly onto the top of Benny’s ice cream. It makes a tiny pap sound. “You know—I figured you’d be a mint sort of man, Ben.”

“Gross,” Lark interjects.

“Agreed,” Rex chimes.

“Why’s that?” Benny asks, his eyes only on Maran, who also seems to only be looking at him. Benny can’t tell if that’s wishful thinking or not—for a while he’s assumed Maran has a crush on him. The sort of awkward, first crush a man gets on another man and isn’t sure if it’s real or not. Benny is too scared to find out, but he takes a slow bite of ice cream and Maran’s eyes skate away and to the ceiling and then down to the floor, his own spoon tap, tap, tapping against his lips.

“Y’don’t like sweets, really. Mint’s more refreshing, right?”

“Mint makes my skin itch,” Lark complains, with his shitty plain vanilla bean ice cream. Benny tries not to be annoyed with him, because Lark is still the only person in their entire circle who hasn’t noticed Xavier and Benji are moony over each other—and while he has no doubts Lark has a queer radar that never stops, he has so obviously not picked up on whatever small tension bubbles between Benny and Maran.

“They didn’t ha-have blue raspbe—berry?” As Benny asks, Maran looks down at his ice cream, tongue sliding across his lower lip to catch some. He shrugs. Something about the gesture is bashful, rounds his shoulders in a youthful way. See, I know your favorite too, Benny thinks, with smug satisfaction. He contemplates touching Maran’s thigh with his now cold hand, just to get a reaction from him, some sort of laugh or a squeak. He wishes they were alone, like Xavier and Benji.

“Cherry suits you, Maran,” Rex says smoothly.

It makes Benny snort, cool eyes on the other track star Lark’s dragged into their home. He’s very handsome. When he sweats, it looks misted and natural. Not greasy. Trailer park trashy. When Benny glances up to Maran, he expects the same level of petty annoyance at these awkward, bumbling flirtations. Like it would be an inside joke between them, something they could laugh about, in his room, in his room with the air conditioning, in the dark together—can you believe this guy? What a fucking loser?

Only Maran smiles. That chin tucked, big eyes looking from under his lashes, teeth indenting his lower lip smile. He uses his thumb to wipe away some of the ice cream on his mouth, his tongue touching the pad of his finger to clean it. Rex comes alive under that smile. He leans forward in excitement for that smile, elbows to his knees, spoon in his mouth, corners of his lips turned up. Benny can only imagine rows of straight, white teeth in that mouth.

He stands quick enough that Maran stumbles from the arm of the recliner. His dirty sneakers squeak on the hardwood as Benny retreats to the kitchen. It’s a good thing Benny’s ears are ringing, so he doesn’t have to hear whatever snide comment is made as he leaves.

—

You’re terrible at sharing, Isaac says. He’s smiling. It makes his eyes narrow and mischievous.

I don’t own much, Jonny rationalizes, his voice cracking around puberty painfully. I don’t want to lose anything.

—

Shame makes it too impossible to leave the kitchen, so he pretends that he wants to be there. Sits at the pub table, paperback spine cracked and folded so he can read with one hand. Lucky enough he’d left it on the counter when he’d come home from class to begin with—lucky more so that Xavier hadn’t neurotically cleaned the entire space hours earlier. Benny isn’t really reading. His eyes are skimming sentences, but they skip words. Nothing sticks. He isn’t thinking of anything even remotely related to the book.

Of course he’s aware of the presence inching into the kitchen behind him. Maran’s converses scuff on the tiled kitchen floor. Benny licks his finger tip and turns a page.

“Hi.”

He doesn’t answer.

There’s another scuffing sound. Cool air brushes against him as the freezer is opened. Then Maran is shuffling around the table. For a moment, it seems like he might sit down across from Benny, but then he simply stops and stands beside him. His hands keep moving from in front of him, fiddling with a gold bracelet that is strikingly beautiful against his dark skin, and then down behind his lower back. His knees switch and bend with weight shifting side to side.

“Haven’t seen you dip out all day,” Maran comments. Benny feels a brief surge of anxiety at how awkward he sounds—his voice pitched a little higher with worry. It makes Benny’s hand indent the slim paperback even harder. He doesn’t look up. “Benji get’s pretty bent up if he hasn’t had at least one, so—I mean cigarettes.”

“I’m trying to quit,” Benny mumbles, staring at his book.

“Yeah?” The one word sounds more like please than anything else. It feels rotten, Maran shuffling beside him, trying to ply him for attention. What does he want? Is that it? Just someone looking at him? Benny scrubs a hand down his face, sweat sliding down his throat. He’s disgusted by himself, thinking like that. Knowing Maran better than that. Two different emotions keep fighting for the most attention in his brain. Petulance and worry. It makes him nasty.

Benny finally pushes himself away from the table and stands. He means to answer with some sort of bite, but can’t say anything at all when Maran looks at him. It’s a quick flick, because he has his phone out.

“Wh-What are you looking at?”

“I got this weather app,” Maran explains, brows tilted upward. He looks nervous, even though he’s smiling. It mingles into something that twists Benny’s insides around like an angry fist is punching into him. “It—Well, it’s really fucking cool, Ben, actually. Can I show you?”

Maran, I would let you do anything, Benny thinks, even though all he does is continue staring. He slowly runs a hand down his own throat, wicking away sweat thats pooled in the hollow of his neck, at the top of a dagger tattoo. Maran’s eyes stay there longer than he’s ever stared at any part of Benny. Usually he is fast about trying to avert his gaze. Benny lifts a finger and taps his phone.

“It talks about cloud density—and light pollution near you—and uh, weather patterns. Right. I’ve been checking on it, today and—”

Their bodies bump together as Benny gets closer to look at his phone. The background is a pretty starry sky graphic. The font is cute and bubbly, pleasing to the eye in a way that Benny does not find pleasing at all. A small round planet with an adorable face that resembles those wiggly things Maran uses in his text messages has a dialogue box that says PERFECT WEATHER CONDITIONS FOR STAR SIGHT ❤

Lark and Rex talk in the living room, but they sound distant. Benny turns his head, his chin touching Maran’s shoulder.

“I wanted to look at—you told me about that constellation! That’s bright! And out there,” Maran waves his hand at the ceiling. The little planet on the phone screen blinks. It bounces slightly, in a constant, happy animation.

“Lyra,” Benny says quietly.

“Right, but you said it’s hard to see in a city. Because of—”

“Why do y-you wanna look at Lyra?”

“Because you told me about it.”

Oh God, he wants to kiss him. Benny wants to slam him into the refrigerator and kiss him. He wants to shove their bodies together and taste his tongue and hold him and squeeze him and bite him. He wants their faces so close they’re just breathing each others carbon dioxide until they’re stupid. And then he wants to kiss more. Instead, Benny just keeps staring at Maran.

“Do you want to,” Maran hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling. “Balcony?”

“Yes,” Benny says darkly.

—

Maran wasn’t wrong. He’s probably being such a bastard because this is just his second cigarette of the day—he’d not left the living room that entire evening as it bled into night. Like some strange sentry, he’d merely sat there, feeling tethered to this man in red shorts, as he leans against the balcony ledge. Maran stares up into the night sky. The wind makes his shirt billow slightly, around his boxy form. Benny lights a cigarette with little fanfare and sinks into the lawn chair on the balcony.

The nicotine thins his bloodstream immediately, makes him relax.

“I like when you do it like that,” Maran comments, chin tucked over his shoulder. His hands wrap around the metal railing. His toes brush the concrete of the balcony, drawing himself up on the strength in his considerable biceps. “Blow the smoke out and breathe it in like that. Looks like a trick.”

“I’m so impressive,” Benny sighs, kicking his socked feet out in front of him. He inhales hard on his cigarette, taps his cheek as he breathes out, blows rings that make Maran snort and roll his eyes.

“I think I can see it,” Maran says, pointing up above the awning of the balcony.

“Maybe.”

“No, really. I looked it up, to see it online first. I swear, it’s up there.”

“Of course sh-she is. But the city—Maran, stop it.”

Benny stands when Maran begins shimmying up the railing. One of his hands stay wrapped around the rail, the other with his phone open to his camera app, held up high.

“No, I swear, it’s just on the other side.”

“Maran, ge-get off the fucking railing.”

“C’mon, Ben, I just want a picture.”

“Maran.”

Benny shoves himself from the lawn chair. The cigarette drops from his mouth, drops the whole eight floors to the parking lot below. The cherry becomes tinier and tinier, sort of like a star blinking up in the sky. Benny wraps arms around Maran’s torso as he wiggles himself onto the railing.

His heart thunders in his ears, along with the ringing. His arms tighten harder, pushing Maran’s torso into his chest. He wears a little locket, a heart shaped trinket with the word ANGEL written on it. He smells so good, the scent of his sweat and body and the shirt he wears. Laundry and some sort of body spray. His muscles tense and flex underneath Benny’s grip.

His cheek presses to Maran’s chest, his own heaving with anxious breathes as Maran hefts himself up a little to get his picture. A warm hand wraps around the back of his neck for support. Fingers brush along sweaty skin, making Benny’s teeth gnash. He squeezes that much harder.

“Oh, I got it!” Ben pivots on his heels and tosses Maran down into the lawn chair. It skids backward just a bit. Maran’s smiling, cheeks dimpled, until Benny hunches forward. His hands wrap around the arms of the lawn chair, their faces inches apart.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Benny seethes through clenched teeth. His blood races in his ears, tingles along his entire circular system. He feels so nervous that his stomach hurts with it. He pictures Maran having slipped, falling, one sneaker caught on the railing, all that’s left of him. Benny’s fingers grasp the lawn chair harder. “Do you hear me? Don’t ever fucking do that again, Maran.”

They’re so close, he can feel breathing against his lips.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Maran whispers, his eyes roaming. They hit every point on Benny’s face. His eyes, his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth and up again. “I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize,” Benny snaps. He closes his eyes and leans forward just enough to touch their foreheads together before drawing away. “Just—Don’t f-fucking scare me like that.”

Maran’s repeated ‘okay’ is smaller. It’s not reprimanded small, it’s not scared small. There is, undeniably, some sort of sheen to his eyes, and a half smile to his plush lips. He puts knuckles to his mouth, looking down at his phone. His face falls immediately and he sags back into the chair. Only then does Benny realize he’s still leaning over him and move away. The heat all over his skin feels so much less like summer and more just Maran.

“What?”

“My picture turned out shite,” Maran complains. His lip juts. His brows knit. He looks so unbelievably adorable.

“You were leaning off a balcony.” The smile turns shy. Benny rolls his eyes and gestures for the balcony door.

“C’mon.”

—

Once back inside, they see brightly dyed orange hair and soft pastel blue hair. Matilda’s facial expression at Rex as she passes to the couch where Lark has laid himself out says everything Benny needs to know. He’ll delight in talking to her later about Lark’s terrible friends outside their circle.

“Do you like movies?” Rex asks Nomi as they pass to the front door of the apartment.

“Do people not like movies?” Nomi replies, in such a confused voice that it makes Benny smile.

—

Up on the roof, even in the middle of night as it is, it’s still just as hot. Benny finally gives in and strips off his shirt and tosses it to the side, where more lawn chairs are scattered. An empty cooler and a skateboard lounge beside the chairs. There’s a mattress that Xavier had dragged up his first year living there. The sheets are always somehow fresh—neat little freak. Benny flops himself down onto it, briefly starfished and happy.

Then Maran’s weight joins beside him. He’s trying very hard not to look at Benny, who tries very hard not to take that as a compliment. He shuffles over to give the other man more room to lay down as well. Then when he finally does, Benny lifts a hard and points.

“Oh,” Maran whispers. His voice is so sweet. So awe inspired and gentle. Benny is not even remotely looking up at his favorite constellation. He stares directly at Maran. His side profile is lovely. His full lips, his strong nose, defined brow. His hair is just starting to grow out a little. It’s been dyed recently. There’s always a bit of a lingering smell, chemicals and shampoo. Benny would give anything to put his nose right to Maran’s temple. To kiss him, underneath Lyra.

“There you go,” Benny says instead. “No suicide necessary.”

“I was not jumping!” Maran’s elbow nudges Benny’s bare ribs. He smiles and closes his eyes. “You had me, anyway. Wouldn’t fall. Not with—you were holding pretty tight.” He can feel the vibration of those words. He can read through them. Benny lays with his hands on his stomach, comfortable and hot.

“Maran,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“You’re st-still life guarding at th-hat shitty country club pool, right?”

“Green Acres? Yeah. Why?”

“Do you want t-to break into the pool with me to-tomorrow?”

The mattress wiggles. Maran himself, wiggles. He gets onto his side and Benny is forced to open his eyes and stare at those beautiful eyes, thick black lashes making them look so God damn fucking pretty. He has a freckly on the inside corner of his eyelid. Oh fuck him. He hurts. He makes Benny boil inside.

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Wicked,” Maran laughs. The stolen word from Xavier’s vocabulary makes Benny love him. They drift back into silence as Maran rolls back onto his back. The little app on his phone hadn’t been lying. The sky is completely clear of clouds. It is just one titan of a blanket, laying over them.

“Nomi wants to know if she can have the rest of your ice cream.”

Benny smiles ear to ear. He thinks of her blue hair curling around her ears, her perplexed look at dino-dog-boy. He thinks of the tiny mole she has right next to her left eye.

“Sure.”

“She also—uhm. She wants to know if she can come hang out.”

Benny rolls his head to the side and finds Maran no longer looking at the sky. They’re staring directly at one another now. Benny can see a flush rising on Maran’s cheeks, not weather warmed, but something else. He’s seen Maran with Nomi, the way he moves like an orbiting little meteor around her glow. Benny laughs, shaking his head.

“Tell her to come up s-so she can meet Lyra too.”

#writing #college au #jlb #mgc #jlb x mgc

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red-letter-imagines · 3 years ago

Note

heyy there!! can you do another part of the “reaction when you suck on their tongue but with Mikey, Rindou and mitsuya?

You have no idea how happy I am that my work's so well-received! So there's been more than one request for a part 2, but for different characters. This little dove, however, is the first one so I'll be doing this, then the other characters in later parts, alright? Alright.

Now *cracks knuckles* let's begin!

Reaction When You Suck on Their Tongue Part 2 (Sano Manjiro, Haitani Rindou & Mitsuya Takashi)

Sano "Mikey" Manjiro: (Bonten! Mikey)

You sure you don't need a chaser with that? Sanzu snickers from across you, pupils already blown wide from the pills he'd taken half an hour ago. The pure vodka sears your esophagus, a pool of liquid fire in your abdomen. Tears are springing up your eyes and you wince. Truly, it had been a horrible idea on your side to make bets with Sanzu, of all people. That man has had every drug imaginable enter his system and three overdoses later, is still standing. You should've known better than to order Spirytus, but Sanzu has a way of getting under anyone's skin, especially yours.

He knew you had more than several bones to pick with him after he coaxed Mikey into accepting a million-dollar drug deal with some shady Western cartel. Throughout Bonten's history, it was one of the more careless business trades you'd ever gone through, one that put Mikey in a precarious position. The cartel demanded Mikey's audience for the deal to be done, and while Sanzu reassured you that nothing would happen to their "King", that never stopped you from worrying your head off.

A part of you wanted the drugs and alcohol put him into a coma; you just had to hold your liquor until then. Yet this poisonous bastard is still standing, while you barely have the confidence to stand up straight. He's fucking crazy.

You eye the remaining shot glass. It's rim and ridges bounce the bright glow of the chandeliers above you, its crystal clear contents an elegant deception to those unaware. You suck air through your nose and grab it. Before you could down the last drink of your life, a slender hand slides to your shoulder.

You turn to face Mikey's lilac-rimmed gaze, the darkness swimming within sucking you in like a vacuum. Once he sees the flares of red across your cheeks and down your neck, his lips curl a little. Mikey hates alcohol with a passion; he told you early on that he abhorred its bitterness and how it hazed your mind.

Instantly, you cave under his disappointment, and none-too-gracefully drop your shot glass back on the counter. You barely had time to utter his name before he cups your cheek and kisses you. It's gentle, caring yet the pressure of his pecks stamp his dominance into your very soul.

He plunges his tongue into your booze-laced cavern, and you eagerly latch onto it like a hungry pup. He tasted of red bean paste, its sweetness a balm to your burning senses. He keeps a hand on your neck while you have your fill, biting your lower lip when you part.

You're panting, eyes glazed with wanton need. He strokes a thumb under your ear, and you smile.

You could drink all the alcohol you wanted, but nothing could make you drunker than Sano Manjiro's affection.

Haitani Rindou:

You frown to yourself as you waited outside the heavy steel gates of Roppongi's juvenile detention center. It's been six months since the Haitani brothers had been arrested because of Tenjiku. Along with the other Heavenly King named Mucho, they also scored a reduced sentence, and today will be their first taste of freedom in half a year.

You'd been forced to stay behind when the battle happened; Rindou told you that he didn't want to have to look after you while fighting. A cover-up for his worry, of course. The younger Haitani isn't known for being as emotionally apt as his older brother, yet somehow that rigidness of his is one of the things you love most about him. To this day, Ran still loves to give you both shit for it.

Rindou knew that you'd be pissed beyond belief once you got the news; he promised not to leave you alone again like last time. You didn't come to his trial nor see him when he got permitted for visitations. Ran is in a different cell, and he had nothing but time.

Of course, other than being absolutely furious with him, there were other reasons you couldn't come see your bone breaker of a boyfriend. With them detained, no one is left to defend their title as the Kings of Roppongi. No one except you, that is.

You're quite the force of nature yourself, even before meeting Ran and Rindou. Roppongi had been your stomping grounds since you were ten, and when they started making a name for themselves you refused to submit. Thinking back, it was quite a comical scene: a scruffy-looking little girl baring her teeth at two brothers who'd basically killed a man not too long ago. Despite how ruthless they truly are, they never stooped so low as to hit a girl, much less gang up on one to prove a point. Instead you became friends, and later on fell in love with the younger Haitani, and he with you. Together you ruled over Roppongi, and the rest is history.

So while your man stared at white walls in the slammer, you splattered blood across brick walls as warnings to those who thought they could conquer the city. All on your own, you reigned over Roppongi the entirety of their sentence, and now it's time for the kings to reclaim their throne.

You hear them before you see them; Ran's whimsical tones against Rindou's monotone rebuttals. They're wearing casual clothes instead of the jumpsuits, Ran's hair is in braids as always, but Rindou...

The extra inches of hair does something to you. It flowed around his face like a lion's mane, faded blue streaks shining in the noon sun. He's wearing contacts instead of his frames, and his jaw is sharper than you ever remembered it. Fresh out of prison, and he looks every bit the king of carnage you adore.

Licking your lips, you saunter over to them. The clacking of your heels turn their heads, and they smirk at you. You could see Rindou tense for a split second before reigning himself back in. Once you get close enough, you rear a hand back and slam it against his cheek hard.

Then you grab him by the collar and smooch him right in front of the jail gates. His recovery is quick, and he pulls you close in a vice-grip. You press a thumb down his chin and take his tongue right from his mouth. The light graze of your teeth against the flat of it earns a growl from Rindou. You left me again, you fucking asshole you hiss as you pull away. You doubted he really heard you though, because he dived right to your neck after your liplock. You sigh, meeting eyes with a disgusted Ran.

This man is going to be the death of you one day.

Mitsuya Takashi:

Throughout your relationship, Mitsuya is nothing but gentle. It almost gave you whiplash how different he is when he's with you and when he's with Toman. He's more than happy to bash some scumbag's face in, yet he couldn't look you in the eye if he shows up to school bruised the next day. You're one of the reasons he got so good at dodging blows in the first place-all of this just to keep you from remembering just how dangerously he lives.

His carefulness translated through his affections, most of all. He didn't hold you, he cradled you. When he kissed you, you could practically feel the repressed passion just burning beneath the surface. He treats you as if you were a dandelion on a windy day.

And while you thought his unspoken sentiments are nothing short of chivalrous and sweet, you also found it quite stupid. You knew what you were getting into when he sheepishly confessed, knew about him being a captain of Toman's second division. So naturally, you'd braced yourself for all sorts of chaos. Plus, only having to witness one side of him irked something inside of you that you couldn't quite explain. You'd made it perfectly clear that you loved him, bruises and all. Yet when he looked at you with such adoring lavender eyes, you couldn't bear to chide him for wanting to treasure you.

So, you decided to show him through other means.

You're waiting for him to finish inside the sewing club room. He's finishing the hemline of a kimono-a birthday present he's preparing for Draken early on. His eyelids hang low, but his gaze is as intense as ever. Nothing is said between the two of you, but you can't help staring at his pursed lips, now bitten red from his habit when focusing. You internally proclaimed your love for him yet again, unable to stop yourself from wandering over to his hunched form.

Just as he looks up from the sewing machine, you dive in with a kiss that, even you had to admit, is a little too intense to be this sudden. Yet you couldn't help it; even the simplest things he did could turn you into quite the sap.

He doesn't fail to reciprocate it, though. His lips, a little rough and a bit wet, switch from caressing your top and bottom lip each time you return to each other. Somehow, it ended up with you sandwiched between him and his desk, thighs on either side of his hips. His hands never stay in one place, smoothing down your uniform and rubbing your back. He never strays too far down your waist, and that tang of frustration sours your sweet little moment yet again.

Bracing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his jaw, you grind down hard against him. His mouth drops open in a barely contained moan, and you close your lips around his tongue. The noise he made when you licked at it could've put BL voice actors to shame. His fingers rake against the sides of your hips, jolting you out of your sultry scenario and into a bout of giggles. And while you sit there steaming in your embarrassment at ruining such a delicious moment, he simply gapes at what just happened, his face stained a pretty crimson.

Well, that was awkward...but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

#tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo manji gang #bonten mikey #sano manjiro x reader #mikey tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #haitani rindou imagines #haitani x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya scenarios #mitsuya takashi x reader

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havin-a-wee · 4 years ago

Text

Dreamer

warnings: smut, thigh riding

word count: 1.7k

His sleepy eyes opened at a slow pace, his eyelids falling back down at each attempt to open them. He persisted however until his eyelids stayed open and the blurriness of his vision cleared up. He was quite surprised at himself for being so adamant about waking up, but something in his subconscious was telling him that he needed to be awake.

A hushed groan slipped out of his pink lips, the warm air from his mouth hitting the tiny strands of facial hair that he hadn’t gotten around to shaving. As the sound of his groan died out, a small whimper echoed through the dark room.

His eyelids snapped open, no longer heavy. Although it took him another few seconds, this new wave of awareness allowed him to decipher the reason he had woken up from his deep slumber in the first place.

The source of the whimper was obvious now. It was his best friend Y/N, with whom he had been cuddling when he fell asleep.

Y/N and Harry were the closest two people could be without being in a relationship. They spent almost every waking and sleeping second with each other, and they knew one another like the back of their hand. Harry sometimes thought that he may know Y/N better than himself. Of course, with a friendship like that people thought they were dating, especially the media. But they always denied it, of course, assuring people that they were just friends. Only friends.

Only friends that were both in love with each other but too scared to say it because they are afraid to ruin the friendship.

You know, regular best friend things.

As Harry’s brain fluttered out of the hazy state it was in, he realized what was going on, and why Y/N’s mouth was dropped open, her lips glistening from the moisture of her own saliva.

He snaked his hands under the covers to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t.

Y/N’s legs were actually wrapped around his muscular thigh, and her hips were rolling on top of it as soft mewls escaped her small lips. The shock of it all rattled through his body and he blinked his eyes harshly in disbelief, just taking an extra precaution to ensure that he most definitely was not dreaming.

His darling girl was grinding her hips against his thigh in her sleep.

She must have been having some sort of wet dream, and Harry internally prayed that she was dreaming about him. It was a bit of an awkward situation because he didn’t want her to stop, but he felt weird just lying there until she finished.

His cock was already painfully hard in his boxers, and he cursed himself for choosing the pair with thin fabric.

Harry had dreamed about this happening many times, but now that it was he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He kept his eyes locked on her face, eyes squeezed shut and lips pursed, as he felt the thin lace of her panties rolling against his thigh.

The plan was to avoid touching her, to save her from any unnecessary embarrassment she might feel. But a particularly arousing whimper poured from her lips, and Harry couldn’t help himself anymore. He lifted his hand and caressed her soft cheek, a little shock leaving a slight tinge of pain on his fingertips. She clearly felt it as well because her bright eyes fluttered open quickly in response.

Her eyes darted around for a moment until she suddenly stopped the movement of her hips. Her teeth sank down on her wet bottom lip and her eyes met Harry’s, welling with embarrassment.

“Harry I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

He could sense the fear and embarrassment in her face, so he made an adrenaline-induced decision to cut off her rambling by placing his finger gently on her lips.

“Shhh s’ok love, keep going.” His hands touched around beneath the blanket until they met her hip bones.

The encouragement from Harry convinced her to keep seeking her release, albeit hesitantly. But once she found her rhythm again the large hands on her hips moved with her, pushing her down onto his thigh. He assisted her movements, assuring that her clit rubbed harshly against his thigh each time. She clenched her eyelids shut again, relishing in the euphoric feeling that was running through her veins.

Harry could tell she was close as her grinding became more frenzied and needy, curses and moans spewing from her lips.

“I’m close Harry” Her words were slurred and incoherent, but they just motivated Harry even more.

“C’mon baby, finish on my thigh.”

Within seconds she reached her release, white spots clouding her vision. He rode her through her orgasm, slowing his movements until fully coming to a stop.

Watching her face as she came down made Harry think he might just cum in his boxers.

They both inhaled a big breath before sighing it out, her eyes closed in bliss and his glued on her. When she finally looked at him, he was a bit red in the face, his gaze searing with lust. She watched them trail down to stare at her lips, and in a moment of confidence she blurted out.

“Kiss me, Harry. Please.”

He needed nothing more. Their soft lips met and they melted against each other, scratching the itch that they both had developed for one another. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she accepted it gratefully, taking the opportunity to tug on his bottom lip with her teeth.

He growled at the sensation, sending vibrations through Y/N’s mouth. In one swift motion, Harry had Y/N on her back and he was on top of her. Their lips fit so well together, almost as if they were made to be together.

Although he never wanted the kiss to end, he needed to know that she was alright, and what she wanted to happen. He pulled his lips away from a kiss, eliciting a small groan from Y/N.

“I need to know what y’want Y/N” He stared down at her dilated pupils and swollen lips.

“I want your cock Harry, I want it so bad.” She writhed underneath him, her body aching for another release. He chuckled at her needy response, even though he needed just as much as she did.

“Are you sure?” She nodded frantically. “Do you have any condoms?”

She shook her head. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”

“I am too.”

“Can we do it without a condom? I wanna feel you.” She bit her lip in anticipation of his response.

“Fuck..” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the blanket away from her body, revealing her exposed breasts and black lace panties. He had never been so grateful that both of them preferred to sleep naked, and that they were comfortable enough around each other to do it.

He reached for her nipple, squeezing and tugging on it slightly before bringing his attention to her bottom half. Her legs were clenched together tightly, but Harry pried them apart, tugging of the panties that covered her core. He sat up on his knees and looked at her for a moment. She is the most gorgeous person in the entire world to him, and he was in disbelief that she was actually lying naked in front of him.

“Harryyy” Her whines pulled him out of his trance, and he made quick work peeling the thin boxers off of his body. His cock sprung free and he pumped himself a few times before moving back to being on top of her.

“Y’ready darling?” She nodded and made eye contact with him, assuring him that she wanted this.

He ran his tip through her folds, collected the moisture that was pooling in her core. Lining himself up with her entrance, he slipped himself in, shouting curses along with her.

“God baby y’so bloody tight, such a good girl f’me”

“All for you Harry, I’m all yours” He let out a gutted moan at her words, and finally began to move. He pulled himself all the way out of her then thrust right back in.

“Fuck Harry!” Both of them were on a different plane of existence, the pleasure they were feeling was immeasurable. He found a steady pace as he rammed into her. The pad of his thumb found her swollen clit and began rubbing quick circles on it. She arched her back at his attack on her bundle of nerves and she let out a string of curses and moans.

“So good Harry, keep going” she rasped. Her words fueled his ego and he picked up the pace, determined to make her feel good.

“Such a good girl fo me, such a pretty little cunt.”

The sounds of their bodies collided filled the room, and both of them lost themselves in the immense sensations that were wracking through their bodies. After a few more thrusts, Harry felt her clench around him and he knew she was close to reaching her second climax.

“Come f’me darlin, wanna feel y’come on my cock” And with that she was climaxing, the knot in her stomach fell apart and the wave of pleasure flowed through her fucked out body.

His climax came only a few thrusts later, white ropes of cum painting her walls. They eased each other out of their orgasms, both of them red in the face. Harry slipped out of her core and plopped down next to her on the bed, both of them just staring at the ceiling, attempting to process what had just happened.

He turned his face to hers, something that she had already done. They stared at each other in their post-orgasmic states, neither of them knowing what to do next. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N quickly hushed him. “Let’s just enjoy this right now. I just wanna be next to you.”

He smiled at her and she returned it, grabbing his waist and pulling herself into his chest.

They both drifted off to sleep, just like they had earlier that night. But this time was different because they both knew that their feelings were reciprocated, even if they hadn’t verbally expressed it.

But that was enough for both of them.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #one direction smut #fine line #request #smut #tumblr #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction

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maybanksbitch · 5 years ago

Text

The Bathroom || JJ Maybank

* this is not my gif; all credit goes to the owner.

pairing: jj x reader

prompt: jj follows you to the bathroom after seeing some random try and pick you up. he reminds you who you belong to.

requested: no

warnings: jealousy, absolutely filthy smut, choking, spanking, hair pulling, biting, daddy kink, unprotected sex (10/10 wouldn’t recommend; wrap it before you tap it).

a/n: i’m not kidding y’all, this is FILTHY and very graphic. i’m warning you. it’s also pretty long, sorry.

You let out a hum and raised your eyebrows in mock amusement at something the boy in front of you said. You weren’t really paying attention to what he was saying. You were just entertaining him for the moment.

“So, uh, what do you say we- we uh, get out of here?” the guy, Jason, maybe, tried to ask confidently. He was failing miserably, deep down knowing you were uninterested.

You let out a small laugh as you stood up and patted him on the shoulder. At least he tried. “Sorry buddy, better luck with the next one,” you smiled before turning and walking away in search of the bathroom. You just wanted to clear your head for a minute and escape the rooms packed with Kooks.

There was a line outside the one downstairs so you quickly climbed the winding staircase to use Sarah’s. This was her party after all, and she made you and your friends come. You knew she wouldn’t mind you using her bathroom, anyone else would be a different story.

You didn’t hear the footsteps that followed you up the stairs or down the hallway. As you opened the door and flipped on the light, a body pushed you into the room and then slammed you against the closed door. You nearly punched them straight in the face until you recognized the grey cut off tank and the shark tooth necklace hanging around the person’s neck.

“God JJ, you scared me,” you breathed and leaned your head back against the door to look up at him.

Blonde curls hung around his face as his hands kept you pinned to the door. His usually bright blue eyes were now a darker shade. His jaw was clenched, making his cheekbones jut out the slightest bit.

“Did you think that was cute?” JJ’s voice was deep and taunting, causing a chill to run up your spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

Your breath hitched when you felt the cold rings on his fingers against your throat. His fingertips squeezed just slightly, causing heat to flood throughout your body. “Was it fun flirting with that guy, knowing I was right across the room? Did you think that was cute?” he repeated the same question as before, voice coming out almost growl like.

His fingers squeezed a bit harder, demanding an answer but also just trying to rile you up. JJ knew all your kinks. He knew how to turn you on in all of the best ways.

“No,” you whimpered, squirming under his grip against the door.

JJ brought his other hand up quickly, fingers tangling in the hair on the back of your head. He pulled, forcing your head back and exposing more of your skin to him. It didn’t hurt. Quite the opposite, actually. Everything he was doing went straight to your most intimate spot.

“No what?”

“No sir,” you whispered, lips trembling as they parted and you sucked in a breath.

“That’s my good girl,” JJ muttered with a smirk, hand leaving your hair and your neck to grab your hips instead.

You slid your hands under the front of his shirt, fingertips tracing the defined muscles of abs. His lips came down against yours hard and hungry. His teeth dragged against your bottom lip as he tugged on it. When your lips parted in a gasp, he wasted no time, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

He got a hint of strawberry, from the punch you’d been drinking. He tasted of beer and weed with a hint of mint, something you were so used to but couldn’t get enough of. It was like you were drunk just from kissing each other. You’d both never felt anything like it before.

Your hands left the soft skin of JJ’s chest, sliding up his muscular biceps and into his blonde hair. Your nails brushed his scalp as you tugged on the strands, pulling a strangled moan from the tall male’s throat.

You were spun around quickly, in a daze you caught a glimpse JJ’s crazed eyes in the mirror. You looked at yourself instead. Your hair was disheveled, pupils blown, lips puffy and brighter from the kissing. JJ smirked in the reflection and brushed your hair to the opposite side, fingers trailing from your jaw down to your collar bone. You could see that your nipples had hardened and were peaking through the bikini and crop top you were wearing.

“Look at you, all worked up,” JJ whispered in your ear, wet lips dragging down the side of your neck. He sucked at a spot where your neck met your shoulder and bit down somewhat harshly. After a moment he pulled back and admired the red mark he’d left that would be purple tomorrow.

You felt his large hand in between your shoulder blades and you were pushed forward, bending over the counter. JJ pressed his hips against your ass and you could feel his erection, hard and prodding between your cheeks.

“You want it don’t you? Want me to fuck you over this counter, right here just like this?” he slid his hand down your spine and landed a loud slap to your exposed ass where your shorts had ridden up.

A whimper left your lips as you pressed back against the blonde, grinding your backside against his bulge. “Yes, daddy. Please fuck me. I need your cock,” you whined, looking over your shoulder. JJ’s eyes locked on yours and he lost all control.

Your shorts were ripped off without warning, bikini bottoms following quickly after. You kicked you bottoms off the best you from your compromised position and shivered as the chilly bathroom air met your wet core. JJ kicked your legs apart and you watched in the mirror as his hand disappeared behind you.

You gasped as you felt his calloused pointer finger and middle finger slide through your folds, teasing your clit with soft and slow circles. His mouth fell open a bit when he felt how wet you were. He slipped both fingers into your entrance with little to no resistance.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” JJ said huskily, pulling his fingers out and wrapping his arm around your front. He met your eyes in the mirror and held his fingers right in front of your face. His pupils were blown so wide you almost couldn’t see any of his crystal blue irises.

“Suck,” he commanded, dimples becoming prominent as he smirked when your mouth dropped open.

You took JJ’s fingers into your mouth, his eyes glued on your lips the whole time. You put on a show for him as your tongue swirled around the digits and you let him push them down your throat to the last knuckle.

You don’t know when he got his pants undone or how with one hand for that matter. You moaned loudly around JJ’s fingers, nearly bitting down, when you felt the head of his length slip into you, the rest of it entering swiftly after. The blonde’s jaw dropped, face scrunching in pleasure when he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Ah, shit,” JJ hissed, ripping his fingers from you’re your mouth and gripping onto your hips. “You’re always so fucking tight.”

His rhythm was slow as he started fucking you, pulling back slowly until just the head of his cock was missing and equally slowly pressing back in. For a minute, JJ watched himself thrust into you. The way your juices glistened on his shaft made his mouth water.

He looked back up to see you watching him in the mirror, lip tight between your teeth. He sent you a quick wink and slammed into you forcefully. It was like the moan you let out was forced out by his dick. His pace turned borderline brutal at that point. You didn’t know someone’s hips could move that fast. The vulgar sound of skin slapping on skin filled the bathroom, as well as your loud moans. JJ let out a few grunts but tried to remain quiet, just wanting to hear you.

Your head fell forward at some point. The cold porcelain felt good against your hot skin, sweat already collecting at the hairline on your forehead. You knew the feeling all too well, the feeling of JJ wrapping your hair around his fist in a make-shift ponytail. All he had to do was pull his wrist back the slightest bit to lift your head.

“Head up. I wanna see you. I wanna see how good I make you feel,” JJ’s voice was stern but tense. No matter how many times you had sex, it was just as good as the last, if not better. He felt like a virgin again, trying not to cum from the slightest touch.

You felt out of control of your own body. You couldn��t stop the noises leaving you. You couldn’t close your mouth or cease the shaking of your thighs. You couldn’t help it when your hands reached back and held desperately to the blonde’s forearms, like it would ground you to the world in some way.

A shout left your lips as JJ’s cock brushed your g-spot. Your nails dug into his skin as he continued his assault against it. If anyone was outside of that bathroom door, they would likely think there was a porno being shot inside.

“Yes, fuck, JJ- Right there,” you gasped out.

JJ’s hips stilled, pelvis pressing into your ass. You knew your hips would be bruised from the edge of the counter. He let out a growl and pulled you up by your hair, your head and back arching almost unnaturally. His chest was now pressed against your shoulder blades, mouth right next to your ear.

“What’s my name?” he growled in your ear, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“Daddy. Daddy, I’m sorry. Please, I wanna cum. Make me cum, daddy, please,” you begged the boy behind you.

JJ kept you in that position as he started pounding into you once again. Hearing those words leave your lips almost made him cum right then and there. He was pressing into your g-spot with every thrust. He pulled on your hair with each movement he made. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock, babygirl? Hm? Who’s pussy is this? Who’s the only one who can fuck you this good?” JJ’s voice was low in your ear, a groan slipping out here and there. His hand slipped down your stomach, the other still holding tightly to your hair. His fingers slowly circled your clit. It was so light your knees nearly gave out, a very different contrast to the animalistic thrusting of his hips.

“Yours! It’s all yours. N-No one can fuck me like you. Please!” you practically sobbed, overcome with pleasure as you tried not to cum before allowed. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you pleaded through the mirror for JJ to let you have your release.

“Go ahead baby,” JJ muttered before his mouth latched onto your neck.

His fingers made quick work against your clit now, a wet noise coming from down below. Your hands flew up to his hair and his neck, wherever you could reach. You gripped onto whatever you could as your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Your orgasm hit you so hard your vision went white, eyes squeezing shut. A loud, broken moan left your lips, tearing up your throat. Your legs shook so violently you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, you were relying on him to do that for you.

Your pussy gripped JJ like a vice as you came. You became so tight around him he almost thought he might not be able to pull out. He stuttered out a few more thrusts before muttering, “Fuck, m’gonna cum.”

He forced you to your knees with little effort. Your legs were jelly at that point anyway. He held you by the hair as his hand gripped his cock and stroked fast. You obediently opened your mouth, tongue out and all as you waited.

“Oh-Oh shit- Fuck,” JJ gasped when your eyes opened, wide, wet and innocent, staring up at him.

The groan he let out could probably be heard over the music downstairs as he let go. JJ’s cum shot out so hard he missed your mouth at first, the thick white substance ending up on your forehead and down your cheek, thankfully not in your eye.

You waited until he milked himself dry, licking up the little drop at the end of his tip before swallowing what made it in your mouth.

JJ fell back against the wall, head back and eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath. You grabbed a washcloth from under the sink and cleaned your face off the best you could without looking. You didn’t trust yourself to try and stand yet.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” JJ breathed out through pants, finally opening his eyes to look down at you then his thighs. He grinned slightly as he noticed his leg hair was stuck to the skin of his thighs. “Didn’t know you were a squirter.”

A blush spread across your cheeks and down your neck, hands covering your face. You weren’t embarrassed, just equally surprised. When you finally felt the heat subside, you looked up at the blonde and smiled lazily.

“I think that was the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Think?! Oh, I know that wa-” JJ went silent when there was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” you whispered and rushed to your feet.

You hurried to put back on your bikini bottoms and shorts, ignoring the numbness in your legs. JJ pulled up his underwear and secured his pants in record time. He fixed your top for you as you buttoned your shorts and cleared your throat.

When you finally opened the door a smidge, you smiled sweetly at Sarah who was on the other side. She furrowed her brow as she noticed your messy hair, until she saw JJ in the mirror.

“Oh, God.. You didn’t,” was all she said. She slapped a hand over her eyes when you opened the door wider and she saw that both of you were covered in sweat. The bathroom absolutely reaked of sex. “In my bathroom?!”

“It was his idea!” you quickly put all blame on the blonde behind you.

JJ put his hand over his chest in mock offense but quickly dropped it. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and hooked his chin over your shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarah,” he mumbled and pouted playfully at your friend.

Sarah scoffed but laughed slightly anyway, turning around and walking back towards the stairs. “You are both totally bleaching that whole bathroom tomorrow!” she called to you, only half joking.

JJ pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek and hummed softly in thought. He then nuzzled his nose against the spot and whispered, “Totally worth it.”

masterlist

#outer banks #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #jj maybank #outer banks imagine #jj x reader #jj imagine #obx jj #jj maybank imagine #jj fanfiction #jj fluff #jj maybank fluff #jj angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader #obx imagine #jj smut #jj maybank smut

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dangaer · 2 months ago

Text

alice doesn't completely see him as a villain, he understands, features remaining impassive as she hugs her knees closer to her chest ( eyes yet to leave him, as much as he may try to shake them off; if there's one thing they have in common it's ignoring the others wishes like a bad smell. ) or at least, she finds it difficult to now that she know's how he lived. perhaps it's easier, in that sense, for him to pretend to be the opposite ━━ a monster or demon, chest pulled open and heart ripped out, kindness left to rot between the hollowness of his bones, the hardening of his skull; lustful boy, heartless boy, leaving trauma in the aftermath of dripping red fangs sustaining themselves with the only form of temporary love he has the opportunity to claim in a way that shouldn't make them feel pity / make them want to stay by his side / make them want to wish for something better including him and it feels both exhilarating and harrowing that his well made plans come to a scramble at the feet of one caring, bright eyed girl. ' i suppose there's no difference ' she comments, and he can taste the despondency, the awareness; she must feel a certain level of expectancy from his outburst, and only find dissapointment in his own lack of awareness.

❛ a tyrant? you wouldn't be the first~. ❜ faux pleasantries, though it is not glee but rather guilt he buries beneath the falsities of his words; he wonders what it'd be like, if she'd have picked herself a better partner all those nights before / wonders if it'd be better if she'd never have met them after all. ❛ nfu~ there's nothing shameful in having a limit to having these kinds of things. i don't even think you could say it's a solely 'human' trait! oh well ... ❜ hand reaches upon own chin, something of a thoughtful hum escaping him, thoughtful in it's own right and yet there is a consideration he chooses to pause for before he sits down himself, chooses to rest his arms on those knees by half wrapping himself around them and watches her, appraisingly, curiously, one last matchstick to add to an ever burning pile with a: ❛ it'd just be nicer if the person you asked it of chose to listen, wouldn't you agree? ❜

something in his chest churns and stirs at such an outburst, the idea of the cruelty embedded in his words or the thoughtfulness of his actions leaving a guilt similar to the boy who resides in his memories is enough to cause unfiltered excitement and unspoken dread in the same breath. knowing she will both love and hate no one more than him is a thought that manifests so suddenly and yet it does nothing more than guide; the way his pupils dilate, the way his lips part, fingers fidgeting ever so slightly to match what could have been considered a heartbeat all those years ago. he should want her to feel this pain / he wants to apologise in equal measure, he wants to sink his fangs back into her throat and his lips to brush over her skin in a show of something revered, something he never was and never has the chance to be ━ but so rarely does he divulge in what he truly needs, lamenting on scenarios that have yet to take place beyond the confines of his head with the understanding that for tonight it cannot be either ( no love / no hatred, just apathy, apathy, apathy ... ) by the time the curtains fall on this act of his play tonight. he has never been a rabbit to fawn after / she won't ever give him the mercy of disgust.

the hands on her knees drop lower, down back to scrape his knuckles back upon the floor and to the unease that has nestled itself in his stomach, the disquietude that follows in the shadows of his gaze, to the tiredness that wraps itself around her frame, cold and resolute, to alice herself ━━ can he only attempt some form of a smirk. something gentle and yet deranged, his cruelty a virus and her grief the victim, white blood cells beginning to fight back; his expression has long since mismatched to the depth of his gaze, both pleasure and sadness mixed in one macabre solution.

but that should be okay, right?

after all, he's beginning to translate the same from her.

❛ the tragedy is that nothing ever changes, no matter how much you hope for it to. ❜ such a gentle, serious tone escapes him, fingers twitching with the traces of warmth from her skin. ❛ that no girl in the last hundreds of years of my existence has made me feel the same way you do right now, and yet ... i treat you the same, interchangeably, because that's the only way i know how to love. the only way i've ever learnt how to hate. ❜ a giggle, carefree, perturbed, slips past the cracks of his pursed lips, the reality of such an admittance towards those pretty, pretty eyes is just as daunting as he'd imagined it'd be, isn't it? ━━ something like that, something for that. a careful sigh escapes such a cheerful interlude, more subtle signs of joy taking care of him in it's place.

❛ satisfaction never bothered me, not in the same way as love. not the way i could feel for hate. this apathy ... it stings when it comes from you, alice-chan. i could fix it with a few charming words in the past, but when it comes to you ... ❜ there's something slightly pitiful in the usual lilt of his words, reluctance mirrored against his features; he hurts her, as he's always done, but only she can strike back harder, crueller in his minds eye ━━ but maybe that's just how he's used to it, how his game of love has always been played. after all, what is love without a little bit of pain, right? ❛ you're right, at the end of the day. i wouldn't blame you if you up and left by now. ❜

danger lurks! around every corner. and with laito in the equation, she understood that he was someone who happily rip through her heart. that he'd eat her heart raw and declare her the fool for ever believing that he could be anything aside from the monster he proclaimed himself to be, the one that fucked his way across the girls of this school, before he DRAINED THEM EMPTY, and left a trail of broken hearts behind him. she was simply another fool who thought herself different, and she sees it now, her name in shattered lights for this. would alice be made a cautionary tale? instead of simply the girl who went chasing after her fairytale, in new places thanks to the fact that she was forever chasing after her cheshire cat, her winding, wayward guide. and for what did they expect from her with him? chest tight with the unexpected emotion that came with being near to him, and knowing full well the things he sought to bury within her.

why would he work so hard to play to the image made of him by a woman he hardly seemed to care for? no. it's worse in that he cares too much, looking to understand the utmost that came from a boy who's SOILED CHILDHOOD continued to stain all that it touched. all that he became. all that he accepts. which can't be true, because... because laito didn't have to choke on the fact that his mother was there in the shadow of every girl he was with. a haunting presence that ruined his perception of forever. and he'll never tell her the details, won't ever allow her to colour within the lines of his trauma, but she thinks she's seen enough of him to know where it all begins to spill over in the worst of ways. the poor boy made a victim to a woman who was as mad as to take all heads and watch them roll. a kind of terror that would affect him forever, and perhaps the kind of insane that would refuse laito the willingness to talk out the problems that he carried along with him, unlike the others who haunted this house.

funny thing, that. that the one that presented himself as the most CAREFREE was the one that suffered the most. him doing his best to bury his secrets amongst the bones left behind by his brothers, but he wasn't so keen enough as to avoid her. alice, who had made a habit of setting up within the worst of their actions, as they did now, as laito took full advantage of her and her rage, her and her hummingbird heart left to buzz within her chest as he fed on her along classroom floors, pressing her body into cold tile, oblivious to care when it came to the way her own figure grew more still, more weak, in places like this. she thinks that he likes it, to watch her squirm and suffer, to test the goodness of her heart... so that he might brush it off and strip it of its worthiness. he wants to watch her fail, to dirty her blessed appearance, and above all else, to proclaim and prove that there'd never been any truth to her saving him at all.

because if she'd meant it...

why had she waited until now to do just that?

so. did she? see it, that was. the pathetic nature of humanity, as laito so eloquently puts it, did she see it, did it crush her? she wants to tell him that humanity never could, but he was trying to make a point out of being worse than all of it. the biggest challenge, the one beyond redemption, beyond saving. because maybe, he didn't want to be saved. that the boy that raged EVER ONWARDS within him made for more of who he was then the potential of what he could be without that baggage hanging on about his neck. alice could try to save him... and god knows, she wants to. she wants to make it better, to hold his hand, to find his freedom. "i suppose if there's no difference between me and any of the other girls in class, then you'll let me free then? no more dark bride to take home, i don't have to be anything different than the others. i can go find a home in someone else. i can disappear, after all. because i won't matter compared to anybody else you put into the position."

that leathery composure, unyielding in her spine. if they'd reduce her to nothing, she could yank back herself. knowing that they loved to say one thing, then act completely contrarian to it all. that he'd position himself as so completely irresistible to her is not at all unexpected, acting as if he did HER the favour of choosing to hold himself at arm's length. forget the ache, forget what lessons have been learned! he's not ready for that degree of nearness from her just yet, even as he yearns for the warmth of her palms, and the steady plucking of her heartbeat against his chest. it's knowing that he'd be so spitefully in denial about it that puts alice back on her feet, holding her hand back, against her chest, at the suggestion of him. "i don't think you should, then." to just confuse her, didn't he know that she was already so fragile a thing, hanging on but by the skins of her very teeth to this world? arms wrapping warm, around him in the center of her chest. "the tragedy was that i couldn't manage to move your heart at all."

he looks to confuse, to bewilder her! when really, he's already dug in and poisoned the well, unsure if she ought to find this disappointing, or predictable behaviour out of him. expression DRAWN GRIM, she knows that perhaps the only thing that will sting would be if she were to chose someone else to fawn over - that jealousy more thick strung then most would expect of it, alice left to brush off her proverbial scars at the jump to play as if to impress him, rather than the proper consideration was provided regarding what next. kneeling with her arms fastened straight about her legs, hugging them nearer, the impossible girl no longer chasing after errant white rabbits, but rather pouring out her attention on him, however recklessly he chose to handle things. already having made the commitment to go back together, but she'd gaze at him, her expression halfway someplace, knowing she knocks his stability over, and frightfully so, as if punishment for leaving her as he had for so long. "... i wish we were on better terms. i'd ask you if things would be good, and maybe i could even trust the answer. but right now, i feel you'd be a tyrant, and i'm afraid whatever you come up with, will be of terrible news. do you feel more satisfied with me thinking that?"

- @dangaer

#redemptioninterlude #❛ 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 ⧽ — ic.#long post /#diabolik lovers /#manipulation /#ask to tag /

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

--/--

Part 1:

You’re not sure what you’re looking at.

He’s covered head to toe in soot, knocked out cold and hardly moving against the railing of your balcony. There’s an unsettling slump to him, and his costume creases as heaving, rattling breaths leave his lips. There’s blood soaking his clothes, dripping from his nose and onto the concrete. When you call out to him, his eyes flutter briefly beneath his eyelids, but other than that he’s entirely unresponsive.

You know who he is. Dynamite. Bakugou Katsuki. He’s a burgeoning pro-hero, just hardly starting out, but he’s already climbing the ranks. Anyone with a TV had been watching his highlights for years now.

What you don’t know, is what villian sent him hurtling onto your balcony; or if that villain was still hanging around- either way, you realize you’ve got to get him inside. The mid-winter cold was already biting at your skin, and you figured he couldn’t have been doing much better. 2 AM was certainly not a optimum time for finding yourself unconscious, after all.

Shivering slightly, you loop your arms under his and begin to tug him inside your apartment. You find very quickly that his dead-weight and ridiculous muscle mass make the job a lot harder than it needs to be. It feels like you’re deadlifting an elephant, and when you finally shut the door behind the both of you, your thighs burn from the effort.

A part of you wonders if all the exertion was even worth it, but that quickly fades with one look at his costume. You briefly wonder if you’ll get a medal for saving one of Japan’s beloved heroes- after all that heavy lifting, you sort of feel like you deserve it.

You begin adjusting his limbs, pressing him flat against the floor and tipping his head back. The bleeding in his nose seems to be slowing, but you don’t want to take any chances. You tip his head a little further to the side, hoping it’ll be enough to not let him choke on the blood. The nerves begin to settle in; you’re not sure what to do now. You were hoping he’d wake up on the way in and direct you from there, but hat didn’t happen.

As it looks now, Dynamite wouldn’t be directing a single thing any time soon.

Your fingers itch. The familiar burning begins, and you flex them in your gloves, wondering just how bad of an idea using your quirk would be.

Bakugou did look pretty hurt, and even without all your years studying medicine, anybody could tell several of his bones were broken. Not just that, but one of his ankles was lolling grotesquely. When you get a closer look, you find tiny bits of bone threatening to burst through the thin skin- his ankle has shattered completely and you’re sure he’s got to be in shock. Pain like that would take just about anyone out. Even a pro-hero.

You sign in frustration, kneeling next to him as you try to make a decision. The itch in your hands is telling you to use your quirk- to help him, but it’s not that easy. Your quirk is all encompassing, and exceedingly powerful, but it doesn’t discriminate. It will try to lessen all of his hurt, physical and mental, and you don’t want to pry into his business. If you try to help him now, you won’t only feel aftershocks of his broken bones, but you’ll get flashes of his memories too. It’s invasive, uncomfortable, and damn near uncontrollable; you really don’t want to have to resort to that.

Sighing once more, you slide your phone out of your pocket. You’re not really sure who to call, but you figure the Hero Public Safety Commission is a good start. You’ve barely been connected to the main line, before you feel a hand drop heavy onto your thigh.

“Fuckin’- stop. Fuckin’ phone. Stop.” He grunts, half-lucid and slurring. His face screws up in pain as he lifts his arm to bat at your phone. “That’s a- fuckin’ order.”

“It’s alright, I’m calling for help.” You soothe calmly, suddenly glad for all of your emergency aid training. You lean back, phone held out of his reach as the operator tells you to hold. “You’re alright. I’m getting you help. You’ll be okay.”

“No- fuckin’ stupid! You don’t get it! Stop. Don’t call them.”

Then he’s surging upwards, and all you can see is his pupils blown wide and his angry expression. His palms are cackling and you’re shrinking away instinctively, but he’s not after you. Bakugou grabs the phone out of your hands, running off of nothing but fumes and adrenaline, and chucks it across the room. Then he grunts in pain, coughing as he flops back, boneless onto the ground.

“Why- what the hell? Oh my god-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou bites out, his breath rattling in his chest. His voice is weak and raspy, but his eyes are steely and intense. He looks pissed. “Jesus fucking christ. I told you. So shut up, you fuckin’ dolt, it’s your own damn fault.”

You first instinct is to scream, to yell and screech and berate him for shattering your phone. The rage boils thickly under your skin, only boosted by his irritated sigh, but then you remember your training. People in shock were generally disoriented, and it wouldn’t necessarily be a stretch to assume they could be irrationally angry.

All it takes is one look at Bakugou’s blown pupils and rising goosebumps, and then you sigh. He’s in shock. You’ll decide to give him a pass.

“S-stop fuckin’ starin’. What the fuck, are you even-” He slurs suddenly, words hardly forming around teeth suddenly beginning to chatter. “Why the hell is it so cold? Hah?!”

“Not cold. You’re in shock.” You say calmly, doing your best not to make any sudden movements. “But it’s alright. I’m a nurse. I can help you.”

Your words seem to miss him completely, and he just tracks your movement with wide eyes and quick breaths. His legs are twitching and you watch him try to move his ankle, see the panic rise in his eyes when it’s unresponsive. He tries again, scrambling up on his forearms as his chest heaves. He’s spiraling, quick, and you need to help him calm down. Soon. Or he was going to pass out again.

With gentle hands, you press against his shoulders until he’s flat against the wood again. Bakugou tries to fight at first, gasping for air, but you’re stronger. He tips his head back to look up at you, near terror clouding his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re alright. I’m a nurse.” You reassure him once more, before slipping your jacket off your shoulders slowly. “This is just to keep you warm, alright? Just a jacket. I have to try stabilizing your temperature before anything else.”

“Can’t- I can’t,” His voice is rising, words bitten out and angry as his eyes dart around the room. “Where the fuck did you take me? This isn’t- let me go! I’ll fuckin’ blow you to hell, bitch!”

Bakugou’s words are scary and harsh, his palms crackling wildly at his sides. He’s very injured, nearly paralyzed by all his broken bones, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping his quirk. You didn’t want to use your own quirk, but at this point it’s seemingly the only option. You need to get him to calm down, to bring him out of his shock before he blows your entire place up.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, allowing your hands to fall on his arm. Normally you’d try to activate your quirk directly on an injury, but as it stood now Bakugou was just one giant broken bone. You could feel him trying to shake you off, so you just hold on tighter as you focus.

You begin to shiver, all your bones vibrating in your skin as you take on his pain. It starts in your toes, an almost inconceivable pain that runs searing trails of lava through your marrow before it settles behind your temples. His physical pain manifests as a room-blurring, white-hot migraine, but his mental pain hits you a million times harder.

You’re seeing flashes behind your eyelids- flashes of yelling and screaming and bright orange-red explosions, every snap-shot moving so fast that it nearly rips the breath from your lungs. You screw your eyes shut, groaning in pain, as your head falls forward. There’s rage boiling your blood, and suddenly it feels like you’re on fire. Like you’ve always been on fire and all you can do is yell and scream and itch at your skin until it peels away. Until the broiling heat is released and your don’t ribs feel like a prison anymore. Until every breath stops feeling like it’s eating away at your throat.

The itch in your fingers starts again, but this time it’s different. It has you balling your hands into fists and shaking as the anger suffocates you. All you can see is red, red, red.

Then it stops. Everything stops and your fists uncurl, and suddenly you’re scared. You’re terrified like you’ve never been before, heart seizing in your chest. It skips a beat. Picks up. Skips a beat, picks up.

You’ve never felt anything like this before. This isn’t shock, you’ve felt that before, and it isn’t concussion fog either. It’s something dormant, pulsating strong and steady beneath all his current afflictions. The feeling is dark and smothering and intense like nothing you’ve ever known before. He’s miserable. Bakugou is utterly miserable and angry, and you’re sure you weren’t supposed to feel that.

You tear your hands away from Bakugou, falling backwards onto the floor without grace. Your heart hardly begins to slow, hardly begins to settle, before you hear him groaning next to you. When you look at him, his eyes are more alert and his teeth, thankfully, have stopped chattering. Unfortunately, his pupils are still blown and he looks just as freaked out as before. You’re starting to think that maybe he also has a concussion.

“What the fuck did ya do to me? Hah?” He gasps out. “What kinda fuckin’ quirk-“

“I call it Alleviate.”

“I don’t give a shit what you call it! Felt you in my fuckin’ head! Who the fuck said you could pull that-“

“I’m sorry.” You cringe at his yelling, rubbing at your temples as you sit up. The headache from earlier early fades, but it leaves bone-deep exhaustion behind. “My quirk targets and lessens all pain- physical and mental. I can’t choose which one. I was just trying to help.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask for your help!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Again.” You wince, scrunching your eyes shut. You felt woozy and weak, just like you always did after using your quirk. “It’s just- you were in shock. You were gonna blow my whole apartment up. I had to.”

You answer washes over Bakugou like a bucket of cold water. You watch him still where he lies, fingers twitching at his sides. A beat passes and then he’s shifting again, nostrils flaring in annoyance when he can hardly sit up.

You watch his face contort in pain once more, and suddenly you’re not tired anymore. The feeling reminds you of working at the hospital, and you find the urge to help him much outweighs your own exhaustion. You’d push through it- just like a graveyard shift at work.

“Now, I’m going to need you to take a deep breath for me, and try your best to relax.” You say in an even tone, holding steady eye contact. “You’ve got a lot of injuries, and you need to lay back down. You’ll just exacerbate them if you keep moving.”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do- I’m fine! I’ll be good, jus’ need a few fuckin’ minutes,” He huffs, but then he falls back again once more. You guide him with you hands gently, intent on making the impact as painless as possible. “Now get out of my fuckin’ face.”

“If I thought you would be fine by yourself, I would.” You snort, leaving his side to gather your phone and some pillows from your couch. You slide one pillow under his head and the other under his ankle gently, doing your best to be delicate. “But you aren’t, and you need help. I know what I’m doing. I’m a nurse, and I’ve done this many times, so trust me and try to relax, alright?”

“Relax? I can’t fuckin’ move!”

“I know. All I can do is help with the pain, I can’t heal you, but-”

“That’s a shitty fuckin’ quirk.”

“It actually isn’t; not in my line of work, at least.” You say indulgently, before pressing two fingers under his jaw. His heart is still beating wildly, way too quickly. “Now, did you crash land with a phone on you? Any identification?”

“You don’t know who I am? How stupid are you?”

“Not stupid. I know who you are- but all those things are important for when an ambulance gets here. You have way too many broken bones to walk it off, so I’m gonna call you an ambulance, alright?”

“You’re not calling shit!”

“I have to call somebody for you. I’ve done all I can.” You push on calmly, schooling your features even as exhaustion ebbs at your mind. “Now, if not the hero commission, who do you want me to call for you?”

He seems to resist for a moment, but then his eyebrows settle. He clenches a fist at his side, sighs, and begins to rattle off a number.

“Put it on fuckin’ speaker.” Bakugou demands, scrunching his face up as you type in the number.

You roll your eyes at his tone, but comply anyway. The phone rings four times before somebody picks up.

“Uh, hello?” The voice asks groggily, thick sleep clouding his voice. “Who’s, uh, who’s this?”

“Oi- Shitty Hair. Clear your fuckin’ throat. Sound disgusting as shit.” Bakugou grits out. “And wake the hell up, I need you to do something.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Shut up about it.”

“I didn’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou barks. Then he blinks, pauses a second before adding an afterthought. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

On the other side of the phone, the man sighs something existentially exhausted and put-upon. You think that’s probably an accurate description of what associating with Bakugou is like. At least, that’s what you’ve gathered from this first impression.

“Just- you’re gonna get an address texted to you. Go to it.” Bakugou orders, turning his head to look at you. He squints his eyes, daring you to put up a fuss about his plans. “And bring your fuckin’ car. Do not take the subway.”

“My car? Dude, you hurt or something?”

“Yeah. He is.” You say, holding a finger out to Bakugou so he doesn’t say otherwise. “Pretty badly, too. He doesn’t want me to call an ambulance, but he definitely won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“What? Oh my god. Is he-“

“He’s alright. Don’t worry.” You assure. “I’ve stabilized him, for now, but he definitely needs more help than I can give hi-“

“Yeah! Fuckin’ nurse, my ass, she didn’t do shit for me!” Bakugou interrupts, lips pulled back into a snarl. “Useless quirk bitch!”

You roll your eyes again. If he wasn’t in so much pain, and you hadn’t been used to hearing so much worse at the hospital, you’d kick his ass.

“Sorry. About him.” The man on the phone apologizes, as he sucks in a breath. “Send me the address, and I’ll get there as soon as possible. Alright?”

“Yep. You got it.”

The call cuts, and you send your location to him over text. When you look down at Bakugou, his face is screwed up once more, and he’s heaving shallow breaths all over again. Your quirk must be wearing off.

“Scale 1-10, how much pain are you in?” You ask him.

“Stupid- stupid fuckin’ question.” He seethes through teeth clenched shut. “Not funny. Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. It’s a question to gauge whether or not I should use my quirk on you. It won’t be good for either of us if you pass out from the pain again.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. If you say so.” You say, leaning back on your hands. The exhaustion seeps in again, but you blink away the fog. “But seriously, if it gets unbearable, I need you to tell me.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“Maybe not, but this is pretty much my job, alright? I’m gonna try and make this as painless for you as I can.” You try to soothe, voice light and unassuming. “But, I will need you to keep talking, alright? You have to try and stay lucid.”

Bakugou glares at you, presses his mouth into a thin line. His defiance is written clear across his face, and you’re sure he’d be crossing his arms across his chest if he could. Maybe even stomping his foot if he could stand. All in all, he reminds you of the pouting children you so often give flu-shots to. The thought makes you smile a bit.

“Fuck you smiling about?” He grumbles suddenly, but his voice is off. When you look down at him, he’s clenching his teeth as his eyes flutter closed.

“No. Stop. You need to keep them open.” You wave a hand in front of his face. “I’m not sure, but you might have a concussion so I need you to stay awake just in case.”

He just wrenches his eyes shut again, before blinking them wide open. When he looks up at you, his eyes are mostly pupil and there’s something stuttered about the way he tracks your movements. You’re suddenly glad all the lights in your apartment are off, you’re almost entirely sure he has a concussion. And not just a mild one, either.

“Can you remember what happened? Before you were thrown onto my balcony?” You ask, trying your best to keep your voice quiet.

“Yes. Fuckin’ obviously. I-” His eyebrows lift, and his eyes flicker around the room. There’s a frustrated sigh from Bakugou, and then he just sinks his head further into the pillow. “No.”

“Okay. That’s okay. That’s just the concussion symptoms, no need to panic. Are you feeling okay, right now? Any nausea? Dizziness?”

“What the fuck are ya? Fuckin’ doctor or somethin’?”

You’re sure now. He’s concussed. Pretty badly too, considering he doesn’t remember the multiples times you’d already told him you were a nurse. You’re briefly impressed that he even managed to remember his friend’s number, but then again you reason, that could’ve been just an unexpected benefit from using your quirk.

“Nurse. I’m a nurse.” You repeat, before re-adjusting the jacket you had previously spread over him. You pull it up to his shoulders. “Now, I’m sure your friend’ll get here soon, so I need you to just sit tight, alright?”

“Not a fuckin’ kid. Don’t need to be babied.” He slurs, eyes once again shuttering. “Knock it- knock it off.”

You just ignore his comment, focusing instead on trying to keep his eyes open. There’s not much you could do without disturbing his injuries, so you take to patting his cheeks gently. Anything to keep him from falling asleep- you don’t have the equipment necessary to evaluate his brain injury, and you don’t want to be blindsided by a potential seizure.

“Don’t fall asleep. C’mon Bakugou, open your eyes. I know it hurts, and you’re probably really drowsy, but this is important.” You say again, a little louder this time. “I need you to stay awake.”

When he blinks his eyes open again, he’s hardly there. The effects of your quirk have seemingly completely worn off, and Bakugou’s feeling the full effects of his head injury. He looks confused and disoriented, and when he tries to lift a barely-sizzling palm towards you, his face seizes up in pain all over again.

“It’s okay. You’re good. No need to blow me up.” You smile gently, pressing his hand flat against the ground. Bakugou resists for a moment, before his arm goes slack. “All you need to do is keep your eyes open.”

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door, and you turn away from Bakugou. You watch him wince at the loud sound as you open the door.

The first thing you notice about Bakugou’s friend is his bright red hair, and his shark teeth. He’s Red Riot, Kirishima Eijiro, and you know exactly who he is too. You breathe a relieved sigh, thankful that you could hand him off to someone you knew was capable.

“Holy shit.” The man at the door says, suddenly gasping. “Bakugou!”

Scratch that. Kirishima just screamed bloody murder at a concussed person. Maybe not so capable.

“Be quiet!” You shush, ushering Kirishima in as you shut the door gently behind him. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a concussion, so I need you to be quiet. Too much noise is just gonna cause him more pain.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay, got it. I understand.”

“Thanks.” You whisper.

You lead him over to the sliding balcony door, and Bakugou is right where you left him. He’s almost completely still, looking up at the both of you through lidded eyes.

“Okay. So, I’m not sure where to send him, but he needs to go to a hospital. He’s got a shattered ankle, a severe concussion, probably a broken nose, and several broken bones, at least. Probably a few cracked ribs too.” You report tactfully. “The good news is, I haven’t seen any symptoms of internal bleeding. That’s great so far, but I can’t be entirely rule it out, so we need to get him to someone who can.”

Kirishima doesn’t say anything, just gulps nervously back at you.

“It’s alright.” You soothe. “He’ll be just fine, as long as we get him help soon. Now, I’m not sure where heroes go for treatment, and Bakugou isn’t in any position to tell me, so I need you to tell me. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s- we’ve got a med-wing back at the hero complex.”

“Okay. Good. Do they have ambulances that can get here? We really shouldn’t be moving him without a stretcher to stabilize him, and I don’t have one.”

“Yeah. They do. I’ll give them a call.”

“Good.”

Kirishima takes his phone out, as you settle back on the floor next to Bakugou. Bakugou’s barely lucid, but he’s sniffing and then you realize his nose is bleeding again. Upon closer inspection, his nose is definitely broken. There’s nothing you could do about that for the time being, but the blood seeping onto your floors was fixable.

“Hey, can you make sure he keeps his eyes open for just a minute or so?” You ask Kirishima, nodding towards Bakugou. “I think he’ll probably be fine, but I need to be sure. I’m just gonna step away and get a wet rag. Try to clean up some of the blood as best as I can.”

Kirishima just nods, taking your spot and dialing a number on his phone. You can hear his voice as you move into your kitchen.

You fingers itch again. It’s irritating because you’re just tired, not spent, and you could be helping Bakugou a lot more if he’d let you. If he just let you, then you could alleviate his pain and his concussion symptoms all in one go, and waiting for the ambulance would be child’s play.

But you can’t. Your quirk was invasive enough as a surprise- you wouldn’t purposefully dig into someone’s mind against their wishes.

It felt a little useless to only be wiping away blood when you could be doing so much more, but you ignore the feeling. It takes only a minute or so before you’re walking back to your living room, a few damp dish towels in hand.

“Is he still okay?” Kirishima asks, and you can see the panic in his eyes.

You quickly come to the conclusion that Bakugou must not be someone who let’s himself get gravely injured a lot. Kirishima doesn’t seem to be used to seeing his friend hurt at all.

“Yeah. Well, just as okay as he was before I left.” You reassure, settling on your knees at Bakugou’s side. Red eyes lazily slide over to you, and you try to smile something reassuring at him. “Bakugou’ll be just fine. How long until an ambulance gets here?”

“Soon. Should be soon.”

“Okay.”

Quiet settles over the three of you, as you wad up a dish towel. You dab it over Bakugou’s face, rubbing away the dried blood that dripped down his mouth and neck. You hope it’ll make him a little more comfortable. As much of an asshole as he’d proven himself to be so far, you still wanted to help him. You’re sure he couldn’t be feeling anything other than absolutely miserable as he was.

“Stop.” Bakugou slurs with barely any heat, scrunching his eyes as you work at the blood that somehow dripped around his ear. “Don’t fuckin’ need it.”

“Shh. It’s okay. Just cleaning up some of the blood.” You say indulgently, smothering a crackling palm with another damp dish towel. “Just breathe, alright? Help’s almost here. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Fuckin’ course I am. Bitch.”

You snort, dabbing at the bits of dried blood in his hair. Bakugou just blinks at you, confused and disoriented, but still blessedly awake. You press his hair back to get at the skin of his forehead, and you might be imagining it, but you think Bakugou leans into the light touch.

“He always like this?” You ask Kirishima, laughing slightly in pure disbelief. “He always so angry and prickly?”

“Only on his best days.”

“It’s- that was funny. Good one.”

Kirishima’s phone lights up suddenly, and then he’s walking to the other side of the room, taking the call quietly. He faces you with a wobbly smile when he turns back.

“They’ll be here in a minute or so. I told them to just walk up- shit, I probably should’ve asked, right?” He relays nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “Is that okay? I gave them your apartment number.”

“Just fine. I don’t feel comfortable moving him, so I’m perfectly okay leaving it up to them. Thanks for your help.”

“No, thank you. I- well, I’m sure he wasn’t exactly cooperative for you.”

“He wasn’t.” You huff a sardonic laugh. “That’s alright though, he’s still far from the rudest patient I’ve ever had. Surprisingly.”

Kirishima just smiles at that, and then perks up at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He lets the paramedics in, and they’re crowding Bakugou as you step away.

It’s quick work, and Bakugou is stabilized on a stretcher in just a few minutes. A part of you wants to help, even more so when you see the blonde mumbling in pain, but you stay back.

Just as everyone is filing out the door, you suddenly find yourself grabbing a hold of Kirishima’s arm.

“If it’s not too much to ask, do you think you could give me an update on him? When he wakes up and is lucid, I mean.” You ask unsurely. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine, but the affirmation would be nice, you know?”

You’re not sure what compels you to ask, especially not when Bakugou had been so prickly to you earlier, but you ask anyway. You tell yourself that it’s just residual nurturing urges from caring for him, but even you’re not sure that feels right.

A part of you knows it’s because of what you felt in his head. How miserable he was and all the pain festering there- but an even larger part of you won’t admit it.

“Yeah. For sure. I’ve got your number.” Kirishima says, a small smile edging at his lips. “I’ll let you know in the morning. And thanks. Again.”

“Of course. Tell him I hope he feels better.”

Kirishima nods, and then leaves, closing the door behind him. Suddenly you’re alone in your apartment, and the silence is near deafening. You hadn’t realized just how loud a presence Bakugou was until he was gone.

Sighing, you finally let the tiredness seep into your bones. You feel it there, thick and suffocating, dragging your feet as you collapse on your couch. There’s still bloody rags sitting on the floor, and you’re sure you’ve got some on your clothes, but you can’t be bothered to get up.

You’re out before you know it, the memory of red eyes and white-hot anger playing behind your eyelids.

--/--

hope u enjoyed!!! yay!! new series!!

also, a few people have asked me to put a taglist together for my writing, and i’m planning on doing that. feel free to leave a comment if u’d like to be added to the list as well!!

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou ka #bakugou x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha fic #mha fic #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic

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hawksugarbaby · 3 years ago

Text

Kirishima x reader- Magnum

Smut

Chapter includes: Temp play (cold), blow job, sex in a small Space, slight praise.

After an hour or so in the freezer you were sufficiently cooled down, the hot summers day had gone cold as the sun lowered and you had spent your time teasing kiri. You had also ran out of ice lollies.

But it was time to get out of the freezer. Because you were surprisingly getting cold, there was only so much your quirk could do especially since you were keeping two people warm, it was more work with the air cooling down. "Can you help me back out?" You asked, flailing your arms over the side of the freezer, It was a little too tall.

Kiri on the other hand wasn't paying attention. His mind had been wandering for far too long. Popsicles. How dare they make you look so enticing. He couldn't stop the thoughts plaguing his head, and he felt a little guilty thinking such lewd thoughts about you.

He looked up for a moment, he hadn't realised you were trying to get out the freezer until now when you were in a rather compromising position. You were bent over the side of the freezer your arms dangling and you continued to try to hop over the side. "W-what are you doing?" His face burned red and hot, images getting more vivid the longer he stared. "Trying to get out of this freezer, its getting kinda cold"

Suddenly his confidence grew 3x what it was, he stood up and you sighed thankfully expecting him to help you out. Instead he grabbed your hips pulling you back into the freezer and sat down again "I could warm you up?" He whispered lowly into your ear sending shivers down your spine that you knew weren't from the cold.

"H-how do you plan on that?" Despite your best efforts of sounding alluring it came out a mess. You chewed on your lip, your ragged breaths coming out foggy and your heart hammered in your chest. He shifted you so you were straddling his lap and your face erupted in flames feeling the hard tent in his jeans. How hadn't you noticed that before? It should have been VERY obvious.

He hadn't spoke, he kept his lips clamped shut he tilted your chin up, Your (e/c) eyes met his, the black pupils swallowed the crimson making him look more shark like than ever. He leaned in meeting your soft, warm lips with his icy cold ones. He swiped his tongue (which was even cooler) over your bottom lip asking for entrance and as if under some spell you granted.

Why were his lips so cold?

You shivered and he pulled away with a grin holding an ice cube between his pointy teeth, it was melting fast and you looked away "where did you even get that? How did I not notice you put that in your mouth?" He shifted, and a bag of ice cubes was propping him up, you had thought the freezer was empty, guess you were wrong but how was he not absolutely frozen.

Your thoughts didn't seem to matter since he shrugged and pulled you forward locking your lips again, the icy cold cube melting against your tongue, trickling down your throat. You moaned into the kiss as he pulled you deeper under his spell, your hair stood on end, and you had goosebumps all up your arms. He pulled away from your lips and traced kisses down your jaw leaving drops of biting cold water off of his lips on their place.

"K-kiri what are you doing" you shuddered, his lips travelled further down your neck the ice cube starting to melt rapidly the closer it got to your chest where your fire was stored. It was a strange sensation, the freezing cold felt… good? It was different, very different, but it wasn't at all bad. "Your enjoying this a lot more than i thought you would" he murmured against your neck, he was right about that much You didn't expect this reaction in the slightest!

His shark teeth nibbled along your neck down to your collar bone, occasionally they would accidentally pierce your skin and a pearl of blood would stain the vest he had given you. Hot purple marks littered up your throat and neck, down your shoulders across your chest, competing with the cold kiri was dragging across yor skin.

"Slow down kiri, i can't be the only one getting attenton" you giggled, so innocent sounding for such a sinful situation. You grinded against him making him groan, the obvious tent in his shorts getting more obvious "is that your quirk at play or are you just happy to see me?" You teased, he rolled his eyes as if he's heard that joke a hundred times before and looks down at you. There's no innocence left in his eyes, they burn with desire and lust while he watches you unbuckle his leather belt and unbutton his constraints.

"No underwear huh? And in shorts too? How brave" you tease when his cock springs out of his shorts, laying flat against his stomach. Your only thoughts are 'Big… Very Big!' Almost on instinct you reach out and wrap your hand around the base of his shaft making him moan out, "i haven't even done anything yet!" You shout, both your faces are bright red and hot, the tips of your ears are burning like someone was holding a lighter to them. Kiri's eyes were squeezed shut as tight as possible, his fists were balled and the bag of ice crunched every time he moved.

You moved your hand up and down slowly, watching his reddening face intensely. It looked like you were doing everything right, it definitely sounded like you were doing everything right from the tiny grunts escaping his mouth. You picked up your pace drawing a long moan from his throat, and you chuckled "Y-(y/n)" he groaned. Your name sounded so salacious coming from him right now, you weren't sure you could ever fill in another form without hearing kiri in the back of your mind and you wanted desperately to hear more like that.

You would ignore the heat bubbling in your stomach, your thighs rubbing together for friction, and your now soaked underwear until you could satisfy kiri. You stopped your hand movements eliciting an annoyed growl and you shuffled forward again and sat on your calfs between his thighs. "Kneel" you instructed and he did as he was told. "Y-you don't have to if you don't want to (y/n), we can stop any time just say the word and its done" he said. You grinned contemplating how in the space of an afternoon you went from friends stuck in a freezer to, in a relationship while fucking in the freezer, either way you were glad to have someone so caring now.

"I know" you grinned. You reached behind him and grabbed an ice cube popping it in your mouth and in an instant it was just cold water sitting on your tongue "just like a popsicle right?" You laughed nervously while kiri laughed genuinely. How in the hell did he find that remotely funny.

You scooted closer wrapping your hand around the base and wrapped your lips around the head. he let out a high pitched moan, one you would never expect from him and you looked up at him through your eyelashes. His nails were scratching at the silver 'walls' of the freezer and his eyes rolled back the red on his cheeks, impossibility dark and his mouth hung open. "C-cold" he said barely above a whisper.

You bobbed your head up and down using your hand to get what you couldn't fit. Nothing like a popsicle. “Holy shit” he whispered and without thinking gripped your hair pushing you further down his cock without thinking, making you choke and gag. Your waterline filled with tears a few running down your face leaving red trails “s-sorry” he grunted, you hummed accepting his apology the vibrations driving him crazy.

You drew your head back watching his face for miniscule reactions, his nose twitching, his lip quivering, his hands tugging your hair and knotting it. You hollow your cheeks as you went taking as much as possible in his mouth when his member twitched, you looked up through your eyelashes "it hasn't even been that long" you said, though it was muffled but he could clearly hear what you were saying "shouldn't you be glad, your the one doing it" he rubbed his hands over the purple map of where he'd been and trailed his hands down squeezing your breast and rolling his thumb over your hard nipple. You couldn't argue with his logic so you used your mouth for other purposes setting out an unrelenting pace. He grunted and whispered curses and praises that bounced around the freezer then into your ears.

"S-shit (y/n) i'm gonna c-cum" he said, his tone sounded almost embarrassed making you chuckle. You pushed your head forward. You were all the way down when he twitched again, this time cumming into your mouth almost making you choke. You pulled off swallowing what you hadn't and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and swollen pink lips. you were both panting heavily and suddenly you were being pushed down against the floor of the freezer with your knees bent so you could fit.

”aw getting impatient are you” you teased, he growled and pushed another ice cube in your mouth, his substitute for a gag even though it would melt in no time but you took it as a sign to shut up. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and fumbled through pulling out a condom and ripping it open with his teeth then rolled it on.

”you want to do this right?” he asked, the harsh intensity behind his eyes replaced by softness and his hand rested gently on your cheek where you nuzzled into it ”yes. I want this” you assured him.

Kiri had never cared for foreplay, it was the part he always skipped when watching porn, if he for some reason was reading fanfiction he would skim over it and go to the good stuff, and now in this situation, you were both far too desperate for him to even think about it. He knew you weren't a virgin, everyone knew you weren't, you wore it like a victory badge (some people do. Don't judge) and though he was upset it wasn't him he could never judge you. but God was he about to make you forget anyone else was your first, he would make you feel so good you would never say their name again.

He sucked on your neck adding to the gallery of hickeys trailing his hands down your stomach and pulling your shorts off. "You ready?" He asked and you nodded pointing to the bag of ice cubes. The cold made your heart race and the more you had the slower they melted. He raised his eyebrows, he hadn't expected you to like the ice as much as you had and he was really enjoying it.

He dragged the bag over propping it up in the corner and put an ice cube in his mouth, you glared about to get one yourself but the firm "no" from him was enough to make you retract your hand and pray. His icy cold hands held your hips in place and he leaned down kissing you again with his freezing lips drawing a moan from you. "You make such pretty noises (y/n), you should do it more often" he mumbled biting your bottom lip gently.

You whined desperately and he smirked "okay okay" he lined up with your entrance and pushed in. Your eyes rolled back and you bit back a moan. "Holy fuck" kiri grunted staying in one place "are you okay?" He asked. You nodded rapidly and reached up gripping his shoulder hard. He pulled out and slammed his hips back into you "A-AH KIRI!" You cried digging your nails into his shoulder "you're so gorgeous" he gushed. What a moment to be all sappy.

He thrust at a relentless pace drawing a moan from you with every movement, You were convinced If you put this on pornhub you would make bank. "Kiri please" you whimpered stretching your arm to the bag of ice that was centimetres out of reach "fine, since you've been so good" he praised and pressed an ice cube against your tongue while his other hand trailed another down your stomach where it melted and dripped off your sides pooling around you.

"Kiri god im so close please" you begged bucking your hips to meet his. Every time you said his name he went a little more feral and you had officially broke him. He pounded into you at inhuman speed gripping your hips so hard they would definitely bruise and the heat pooling in your stomach reached boiling point. "KIRI!" You screamed arching your back as your orgasm washed over you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream while he thrusted a few more times until he came too.

You huffed propping yourself up on your elbows and he pulled out. "That was incredible" you panted. You were a shivering mess, your quirk no longer able to heat you up but there was no way you were walking for hours. "Fuck yeah it was" he grinned switching immediately back to his cheery self "sorry i went to hard didn't I" he kissed the top of your head helping you put your shorts back on which was a very hard task for such a cramped space. "No it was amazing" you grinned trying to pick yourself up but to no avail. "Im really tired now though" you giggled. He nodded picking you up like a gentleman and climbed out of the freezer with ease.

He carried you to your room and swaddled you in blankets to get the heat flowing through you again and snuggled next to you. "Is it to early to say I love you?" He asked "depends, how long have you loved me For?" "Since first year" he admit "then i'd say no" you nuzzled into him feeling your eyes get heavy and fighting to keep them open "then i love you" he wrapped his arms around you protectively even though there was nothing to protect you from "i love you too eijiro."

And into a peaceful sleep you sank yet your dreams were far from it

#my hero academia #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #wattpad #mha #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima smut #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha eijiro x reader

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aquilaofarkham · 4 years ago

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title: mishpachah rating: T+ word count: 3,085 summary: Five years after rebuilding the manor—and the birth of a new Belmont into the world—Trevor decides to share an old recipe with his newfound family.

For @fibulaa 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

The first bread Trevor Belmont ate while living his newly orphaned vagabond life was so dry it cut at the inner walls of his throat. He swallowed each bite with grimace after grimace, knowing that despite the pain, the already hardened child of thirteen could stave off starvation for a little while longer. Until he tasted the faintest tinge of copper on his ruined tongue.

Putting those years far behind, he now stands in front of a wooden counter, blurry eyed and with a yawn reminiscent of a sun drunk cat. It seems clean at first glance but in every corner Trevor notices fragments of past meals which he tried wiping away once they were finished and placed on a more pristine table meant for family. Bits of salt, half minced vegetables, and crumbs of bread much softer than the ones belonging to a later childhood he would rather forget. This kitchen, warm in its early morning sunlight, was the final instalment of the manor, newly risen from the ashes. Or rather, simply rebuilt thanks to the calloused, blistered, and splintered hands. No more ruined stone, no more fire blackened beams holding together little less than an architectural skeleton. The somewhat mirror image of Trevor’s lost home has been faring better than the castle. Too many memories, fresh, ranging from bitter to incomprehensible.

Slowly, he grows conscious of his surroundings and his own self. A continuing habit of being the first to wake not just in this manor hold but in life. Reluctantly opening his eyes prior to dawn covering the landscape while still traveling alone only to drag a pair of worn boots back along a similar muddy road. Trevor never wanted to wake up before the sun. He just couldn’t bear to stay in the same place for much longer whether due to the laundry list of dangers or more often than not, his newfound hatred of whichever backwater hamlet he unfortunately found himself in.

He’s happy to wake up early. Happy to never feel a need to leave or escape, happy to know that lack of food replaced with pints of liquid pleasure mixed with death will never plague him again. Happy to prepare breakfast in a hot iron pot over a well stoked fire. What he thought he lost forever has come back, along with new additions to the family he’s carved out.

Another presence bounds her way into the kitchen and ambushes Trevor from behind. He’s not old—not yet, he’ll give it time—but years of drinking have made their permanent stay, dulling the more acute senses. Makes it easier for a five-year-old to catch him off guard. Trevor’s eyes bolt open as tiny arms hold him in a tight cage.

“Good morning, papa!”

His ears ring at the sound of Mirele’s loud voice, but at least he won’t have to worry about nodding off. He stares down at the youngest Belmont who looks as though someone had split Trevor and Sypha straight down their centres into four pieces and sewed each differing half onto the other in order to create a new person. A homunculi of messy dark chocolate hair, bright eyes shining with blue ice, full rosy cheeks somehow conspicuously smeared with some sort of dirt or jam, and enough energy to wear out an electric powered jackrabbit.

“How’s my little monster doing this morning?” Everything Trevor says is laced with his own personal touch of affection and Mirele loves it.

“Mama and papa are still asleep. Help me wake them up! Pleaseeee?”

This doesn’t surprise him; Sypha has always preferred to savour her last moments of sleep longer than normal and Alucard is… well, Alucard.

“Tell you what.” Trevor places a lid onto the simmering pot with a heavy clank. “While this heats up for our breakfast, we’ll go wake up those lazy bones.”

“Right!” Hand in smaller hand, the two make their way upstairs into the shadowy master bedchamber. Curtains drawn with only a sliver of light cutting its singular path across the floor and over two distinct lumps covered by blankets and furs. They seem conjoined, linked in each other’s arms, unaware that a third party has been missing for long enough. Mirele plunges into the room first, jumping onto the bed as all children do when parents refuse to join the land of the conscious. She playfully shoves and cuddles her way between the two bodies who sink deeper beneath the covers, lazily moaning like ghosts.

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! It’s time to get up!”

Trevor hopes that his tactic of throwing open the weighted curtains works in a more effective manner. Listening to the rising chorus of wordless protests coming from behind, he’s pleased with the results. “Never thought I would be the one setting a good example for our daughter.”

“Do not get cheeky, especially this early.” Sypha’s response spills out like running water. It’s clear her mind isn’t quite all there yet. But she can scoop Mirele into her arms, find every ticklish spot, and illicit giggles that only canines might hear. “At least we both know how to have fun, right my sweet?”

“Vampires… nocturnal…” A deeper, muffled voice emerges from under one of the pillows.

“Something you’d like to share with us, Alucard?” Trevor quips, amused at how the other father of the household can never seem to shake off his morning dishevelment. Perhaps sleeping in a coffin would help—a very large one so he doesn’t have to be alone. Alucard reluctantly removes the pillow as tangled heaps of gold fall over his face.

“Vampires are supposed to be nocturnal. Would you rather I burst into ashes upon contact with the sun? Think of our girls, Trevor.”

“We’ve all seen you in the sun before, it’s about as dangerous as a clove of garlic.”

“I have my own means of physical protection. Far beyond your measly human comprehension, love.”

“Personally, I’ve been able to comprehend you plenty.”

Mirele stares up at Sypha, her bushy brows furrowed. “What does… comp… sshhheshion mean?”

“It’s just another word your fathers use whenever either of them want to feel smart.”

Alucard gives Sypha a gentle pinch on either side of her abdomen. “I thought you were on my side.”

“What about my side?” Trevor asks, excelling at the greatest strength he possesses—the ability to never take anything seriously, only when he must.

“I’m hungry,” Mirele speaks up. “Hungry and bored. Can we eat now?”

This life is not normal, but then again it is. It always has been for them. Normal once meant coming together because of violence, encroaching darkness, and some flimsy prophecy stringing them along one dead body at a time. A prophecy which never said what had to be done after they followed it to the hard earned letter. Perhaps that’s why Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard floundered afterwards. No instruction on how to live their upturned lives.

Fuck prophecy.

They made this life by their own standards and in accordance with their own desires. They loved how they wanted to love and no prophecy could have foreseen Mirele. How she calls for her father while both Trevor and Alucard turn their heads at the same exact second. How she quickly calms herself when presented with a bowl of warm oatmeal drowning in honey and wild fruits hand plucked from the surrounding forest. But it’s not enough. Nothing ever is for someone always growing, always wanting more from life at such a young age.

“Can I have bread?”

Trevor, half way through his bitter coffee, turns to Sypha then Alucard as all three parental figures exchange glances. They haven’t the heart to tell Mirele. No bread at the ready, only the necessary ingredients and a considerable amount of flour bags to blanket Enisala. There’s the option of making it themselves, yet it depends on a certain someone’s capacity for patience.

“How do you feel about baking our own?” Trevor’s voice wavers, which he tries to mask with his characteristic dry tone. It’s been a long time since he’s made bread. Then again, helping the manor cooks was a somewhat selfish endeavour as it meant extra servings for the baby of the Belmonts. Yet his proposal goes over well with Mirele, whose inherited eyes light up at the prospect of trying something new.

“I wanna make bread! Can we? Can we please?”

“When was the last time you baked anything, Trevor?” Alucard asks, genuinely curious and with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You still won’t tell us much about anything concerning your former life, let alone the sort of foods your family ate.”

Trevor feels a twinge in his gut—still better than a punch. His two lovers, even his daughter, they only know of his mother; a matriarch in her own right. They know her name, the monsters she killed, and not much else. Trevor’s excuses: he doesn’t remember anything about her, despite the fact that he does. He didn’t know her for very long or very well, so there’s no point in missing her. Trevor did know Sonia and he does miss her, sometimes more than he can handle. Then the easiest excuse: it’s just another self-preservation tactic.

Out of this inner reflection comes an idea. It breaks tradition in a way. For the Belmonts and other Jewish families, everything is passed down through the mother—recipes, forms of worship, blood memories, centuries old tactics of bruising one’s knuckles and temples. Trevor doesn’t think this slight deviation from his culture’s norm will make him any less of what he’s always been. Mirele will simply have to pick up where he left off when she’s grown.

He doesn’t want to think about that now. She’s only five after all. One lesson at a time.

“Alright. Gather round, pupils. The bread we’re making isn’t just any bread. Forget everything you know and everything you’ve been taught because this will be the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever taste.”

“How dramatic…” Sypha mutters under her breath. Alucard joins her amusement with a subdued chuckle.

“I believe you were partially his influence.”

Trevor knows how much trouble he’ll be in if he puts Mirele through the most agonizing cruelty of waiting a second longer than necessary. Fearful of her pint-sized wrath, he gives everyone the order to start gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, honey, and some indulgent herbs to make this particular bread something special. As much of a strategic leader in the kitchen as he is when the world is coming to an end. With everything spread out on the countertops, Trevor guides his family step by step through the only recipe he remembers. He calls this bread “challah”, which Mirele immediately strains her freshly green vocal chords, trying to pronounce the word exactly as her father does. She quickly gives up and focuses on mixing the ingredients with an intense look—almost to a fault as bits of sloppy dough fly out of the bowl. Good. This enthusiasm is what Trevor wants to see.

Kneaded and allowed time to rise, the next step is the most important. Trevor divides the dough into four halves, then again, and again until each participant has their own handful of raw unbaked strips.

“We have to braid them?” Mirele asks following his explanation.

“That’s right. It’s what makes this bread different from all the rest.”

“Just like when papa let’s me braid his pretty hair!”

Every pair of eyes turns to Alucard, whose smile widens in that way which causes his eyes to shut tightly. Fangs happily bared as he pulls Mirele into his flour and dough covered arms while she giggles in delight. After they all return to work, her loaf turns out the same way as the braids she gives to him—lopsided, uneven, lacking a few outsticking stray hairs, but filled with affection and genuine resolve.

Three loaves are placed into the oven, including a fourth crudely constructed but still adequately done piece. Mirele is now more willing to play the waiting game—so she claims. Sitting in front of the oven while staring directly into its insides, utterly fascinated, oblivious to her surroundings. Unaware that her three parents are whispering behind her back. Eventually, Sypha has to gently pull her away with her bottom dragging along the kitchen floor.

“How about you and I do something a little more interesting while your fathers keep watch over things.”

“But what about the c… the calla!”

“Don’t worry, they will look after it. And we are not going far, my sweet.”

“We’ll make sure nothing burns down.” Trevor assures, despite it being Sypha who usually revels in cinders and ashes, intentionally or not.

The two retreat down the corridor past diamond shaped stained windows and into one of the manor’s smaller libraries where the cabinets reach the high ceiling painted in deep blue hues. Scattered from corner to corner are constellations of stars and midnight clouds obscuring each phase of the moon. Once when Alucard found Mirele curiously asleep atop a number of pillows when she should have been in her own bed, it was his decision to paint the library in new colours. Sypha moves aside an entire shelf of thick volumes as though trying to find a carefully hidden switch that will lead them into a secret chamber. It’s what Mirele hopes but turns mildly disappointed when the books do not in fact magically shift to reveal a stone passageway. Her soured anticipation is only countered when Sypha places a box on the desk.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

“Is it treasure?”

“Close! You are almost right.” Sypha opens the lid just as Pandora did except there are no horrors, no evils to be wrought upon humanity. Mirele peeks inside and her eyes shine with the glistening silver of trinkets, pendants, and talismans. She resists the innate urge to reach her hands, still white with flour, into the box only to briefly experience the sensation of holding one between her fingers. Even children know when something is sacred.

“These belonged to your grandparents. They used them for protection and strength. A long time ago, before you were born, their home burned down and everything was destroyed.”

“Papa’s home?”

Sypha nods, grateful that this story now has its happy ending, slight as it may be. “However, when your other father started building the manor we live in, he found this box trapped amongst all the rubble. It managed to survive.”

“What do they say?”

Mirele points to one pendant molded in the shape of a sword. Inscribed along the curve of its ash-riddled blade are the Hebrew names of angels which must have been muttered by Sonia or Gabriel. The longer Mirele stares, attempting to decipher yet another new language, the brighter her cheeks grow red with frustration. Her mother acts quick just as her eyes begin to water.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand what any of them say.”

“I can learn! Please, mama? I promise I’ll study really hard!”

Sypha’s lips curl as Mirele continues her begging. Oh the mind of a child. How quickly it changes.

The kitchen feels hotter, wafting through the air. Enveloping the room and everything caught between its walls. Trevor stands by the oven, a thick cloth ready in his hand. It shouldn’t take much longer. At least there’s no stench of something burning. Almost makes him pine for the days of his family’s massive stone oven and how he would sneak around at night and pick out leftover morsels from inside like an insatiable mouse. Not unlike the actual beasts which he hunted throughout the hallways before moving onto larger prey typical of a Belmonts’ work—or as large as his own runtish body mass could handle.

Minutes of quiet pass, still eyeing the loaves with a keen gaze. Trevor’s concentration soon broken by the feeling of two arms wrapping around his softening yet still robust midsection. Slow and careful, until his back is pressed against an equally broad chest.

“Can I help you?” He asks as Alucard buries his face into the curvature of his shoulder blades.

“You’re already helping.” The dhampir, unchanging in his physical appearance (a revelation both Trevor and Sypha refuse to acknowledge for the time being), tightens his embrace.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I just enjoy feeling how much softer and warmer you’ve become.”

Trevor’s cheeks blush ever so pinker and not because of the oven’s heat. By now he should be used to Alucard’s sudden bouts of outward affection.

“You even smell better.”

There it is. Trevor thought he would be waiting forever to hear that little jab, though said with nothing but a good heart.

“That might be the herbs you’re smelling.”

Alucard shifts around so that the two of them are side by side, cheek to cheek, as he chuckles in Trevor’s ear. “Come here.”

He doesn’t offer a kiss, not where Trevor was expecting. Instead of his lips, Alucard singles out every patch of stray flour on his face, kissing, wiping, even licking them clean. Cheek, jawline, and nose. Trevor’s expression twists into a ticklish, surprisingly delighted facade.

“You’re a half vampire, not a cat.”

“Better to clean you now than later.”

“Always so fucking odd…”

“You love it.”

Much to his lucky stars, Trevor manages one curse mere seconds before Sypha and Mirele return. They let their daughter speak at a breakneck speed neither one can fully comprehend—something about silver pieces and whether they can teach her a new language—until one series of questions finally sticks.

“Is the bread ready yet? Can we eat it now? Can we please?”

Trevor placates Mirele by revealing the fruits of their joint hard earned labour: four freshly baked and perfectly shined challah loaves each representative of whoever did the braiding. She bounces in her chair before simmering down to an excited tremble once Trevor warns her of how they need to cool. In order to make this more of a meal, he rummages about in search of two other beacons from his childhood. He’s rewarded with one of the few fresh apples they have left while Sypha, ever in tune with his inner thoughts, grabs another small pot of honey for him.

Trevor thanks her by gently running his palm across her lower abdomen, over the growing bump. He keeps it there for just a second longer, a subtle gesture of love noticed by Sypha. Fingertips intertwined with each other, they join Alucard and Mirele at the table as the midday sun shines golden through the windows.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #jewish trevor

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cathrrrine · 3 years ago

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 14 - SLUG

"Let's begin with your name."

"You already know my name." I groaned.

"Your real name."

I sighed, "You already know it. My real name is Y/N L/N."

"See? Not so bad." Natasha rolled her eyes as she tilted her head slightly to the left, a mannerism of hers that she often displayed. "Now, your age."

"Oh, that's strictly confidential." I shook my head curtly.

"Y/N..." She warned.

"All I can tell you is that I'm an adult."

She raised an eyebrow in defiance, but she didn't push further. Natasha had brought me to an interrogation room, yet again, but this time it was a different one. It didn't have the big, ugly two-way mirror attached to the wall and instead of hard, uncomfortable chairs, this one had couches. Natasha sat on the one across from me, while I had been instructed to sit on the one with it's back to the wall. The room was annoyingly comfortable, in a way that made me want to vandalise every single object in a room.

It looked like they believed my surrender after all and the change in the way they handled me showed that. For starters, I wasn't in handcuffs. But, to be fair, I guess being in the same room with Romanoff was more than enough security, maybe even more than being cuffed.

Even if I knew I could fight her well.

"I don't need to tell you twice. You lie about anything at all, the deal's off."

It was another interrogation session. Oh my god, I hate that word. I hate even just thinking about it. I've thought about it and said it at least twelve thousand times, and frankly, I've gotten tired of it. If they kept this up, S.H.I.E.L.D would have wrung me dry by the end of the week.

If I wasn't so adamant on surviving, I would've thrown myself off the side of the building by now.

"Don't you think I've been through enough interrogations?" I voiced my thoughts aloud to the redhead in front of me, picking at my nails in boredom.

"There's no such thing as enough interrogations."

"God, you people are scrutinising." That earned me a huff. "And you make me yawn."

"Better safe than sorry, that's the motto." She replied sarcastically. "Next question, how long have you been with Hydra?"

That escalated quickly.

I gulped automatically, not out of fear, but out of habit. "Ever since..." I was born. "For as long as I can remember."

I wasn't lying. But that didn't mean I had to tell the whole truth.

"And you left when?"

"As soon as I could." On my 18th birthday.

"Why?"

"There it is! The hard-hitting question. I've been waiting for that one." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Why did you leave Hydra?" Natasha repeated the question without a hitch.

"Well, I didn't like it."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean that's all? You don't like something, you leave. Common sense."

She stared at me intently. I've gotta say, she does this thing a whole lot better than Fury. I could technically see the gears in her head turning, calculating every emotion and every word. This woman knew how to play me at my own game. She didn't crack at the silence that ensued. My skin almost crawled at her stare.

Keyword, almost.

"Staring's not going to drag the answer out of my throat, you know." I leaned back on the soft, velvet couch.

They said I had to be honest for them to trust me, but honest hadn't even been in my vocabulary until 12 hours ago. What did they expect me to do? Immediately lose every sense of self-worth and start throwing every single fact about my life, every detail of the trauma that I've endured–to them?

Doing this meant saving my life, but it also meant having to give up at least a sliver of my secrets. Was it worth trading my secrets to these people for my life? Why did the price have to be so goddamn high?

I took a deep breath. "I was 10."

"Pardon?"

"When they first ordered me to kill someone."

I remember the weight of the gun in my small hands, the smell of blood in the air when I shot the man, and the sound of his body thumping on the gravel in the dead of the night.

"I don't remember who it was or why I had to kill him. But I remember enough to know that it was..." I trailed off against my will, the memory getting the best of me. As if the whole situation wasn't already pathetic.

I cleared my throat. "I remember enough to know that it wasn't right. I felt it in my bones."

Natasha stayed silent, willing me to continue. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm an angel or whatever. As I grew up I understood that I didn't want to be associated with these people. Hydra wasn't exactly a paradise, obviously. But it took me a while to understand that. And once I did, I took off."

"And they've been looking for you, ever since?"

"Yes."

"Does that explain yesterday's events?"

Him. "Unfortunately."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Have you been running from them?"

My mind went blank. How many years has it been? Time looked like one long line for me. I mentally calculated the amount of days, months, years that it took for me to hide.

"6, 7? I don't remember how long it's been." I bit down on my lower lip, hard. "No one's ever asked. I never bothered to keep count either."

She nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her legs and shaking out her hair. The redhead woman seemed to contemplate what she was about to say next. For a second there, I was curious. How unsettling could the question be to make her visibly bothered?

When the words spilled out of her mouth, I wish I never wondered. "This is an important question—are you Enhanced?"

I winced. One question, out of all the other ones, was all it took the break the dam that I've built in my head. Memories came flooding back in, in flashes, in the aches of my muscles, pouring mercilessly into the forefront of my brain.

Muffled voices, bright fluorescent lights shining into my eyes, cold-sweats...my head pounded vigorously. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying hard that I was hiding my discomposure well from her.

Was it worth it?

"You have to be honest, Y/N. We need to know if we can trust you."

Strenuous hands pulling at me, strapping me down, dilated pupils, the whirring of their monstrous machines...

"Yes, Natasha. I am."

———

SIX HOURS EARLIER

"She can't be trusted."

"She's done nothing that says so, so far."

"How do you know that, Maximoff? She's sly. She's sneaky. This could just be another game of hers."

"We could be very well falling into a trap right now."

"Send me in." Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I'll get her to tell us what we need."

"I don't doubt your interrogation skills, Nat, but do you really think it's a good idea? I mean, she's a lot like you." Clint remarked.

"That's exactly why I should go." There was an air of mystery to the way she insisted upon it.

They all looked to their Captain for his approval. Steve had both palms on the table, his head slightly bowed. He looked up to his team, eyeing every single one of them before his eyes landed on Natasha's.

"She's right." He stood up straight, mirroring Natasha's pose. "Nat, you bring her to the interrogation room. Do whatever you need to make her talk. Get all the information we need to know about her; her past, her abilities, her name for God's sake."

The redhead nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Wanda, I want you to sit in the next room. Read her mind. Make sure she's telling the truth."

"But-"

"Pietro, you go with her, make sure things don't go out of hand. And don't worry, kid. She can't hurt you, especially not when she's basically just waved the white flag."

He paused for awhile before continuing. "If it ultimately goes well...we should let her into the team."

"Are you kidding me?" Tony bit back.

"No. She's an asset. She's got useful information and skills we could put to use."

"Steve. What if she goes rogue, huh? And she decides to wake up one day and kill us all? This is a situation bound to go awry. We can't let a former Hydra agent in just like that." Tony ran a hand across his face before adding another comment. "I made the mistake of giving her the benefit of the doubt before and it only got us in trouble."

Steve pondered upon Tony's opinion for a while before nodding once and announcing his decision. "So, we put her on probation. Let her know that she's not totally off the hook, see where it'll lead."

"Rogers, are you sure about this?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"Yes." He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, in true Captain America fashion. "Let her know that she'll be pardoned if she tells the whole truth. Maybe it'll encourage her. I'll inform Fury about this whole thing."

The meeting room was silent for a while before the team began to disperse. Steve was the last one to go, but not before Natasha stopped him.

"Rogers. I need to tell you something."

———

PRESENT TIME

She looked surprised, but not as much as I thought she would be. I was expecting a little bit more than raised eyebrows. Maybe even a gasp. "What can you do?"

I chuckled dryly, "Maybe it's better to show than tell."

It was her turn to chuckle, not an ounce of humour in it. "Now's not the time for your sweet little antics. This isn't a talent show."

"Oh, really? Then what is this? I thought I was auditioning for your makeshift boyband."

"Well, maybe if you talked more and sassed less, you'd make the cut."

I shook my head again, slowly. I had to be careful with what I told them. The walls seemed to look duller and the couch I was on felt like a boulder instead of the plush heaven that it was.

"I'm an Echo."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. I echo people." My hands trembled slightly at the mention of it. "I absorb other people's powers and I amplify it."

This was as much as I've ever told anyone ever since I ran from Hydra. Genuinely? I'm a little freaked out at the fact that I just did so. But it had to be the right decision. I couldn't afford to make another wrong turn.

Besides, I was in control here. I had the choice to tell them what I wanted to tell them and what I wanted to keep from them. I figured they should know that I had that little something up my sleeve this entire time.

After all; they were my only lifeline at the moment.

"Was that how you beat us the night we caught you?"

I thought back to that night, when I ran as fast as Pietro did and broke through the barriers of the Witch's force field. I shrugged, not bothering to please her with a response.

"Tell me more about your past."

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Really, Romanov? Digging for more? I already gave you enough, don't you think?"

Natasha blinked once, but didn't back down. "I ask, you answer. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

The smile didn't reach my eyes when I jut out a grin at her. "What do you wanna know about my past?"

"The basics. Where you're from, how you're here."

"I'm half-Russian." I shrugged. "And you already know how I got here."

"No. I know how you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. We brought you here. What I need to know is how you got into this whole ordeal."

A scoff escaped me, "Is this a therapy session or an interrogation?"

"Y/N."

"No, seriously, you're asking me about things that don't matter-"

"Y/N." She repeated, more sternly.

I tucked my arms to my chest so I wouldn't flinch as I said the words that haunted me.

The ones I knew haunted her too.

"I was born into it." My tongue felt heavy. "They raised me in the Red Room."

For the first time since we started, Natasha Romanoff gasped. It was barely audible, and it wasn't the show-stopping theatre moment I'd been looking for, but it was a gasp in itself. It's funny, though. I thought I'd be more amused. But the heavy feeling that sat on my chest drained all the humour out of me.

Natasha immediately rose from her seat, staring at me with possessed eyes. Her face had gone white as sheet, her lips pale.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Romanov."

She sauntered over to me, one foot stepping in front of the other. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not." My voice was weaker than I would've liked it to be, barely above a whisper. "I was trained in the Red Room. As soon as I was old enough, they shipped me off to the hands of Hydra."

She wasn't listening as intently anymore. Her eyes were locked on mine, but I could tell she wasn't exactly in the room anymore. Her head's probably off in the same place mine was in just a few minutes ago.

"Is that enough for you?"

Just like that, something snapped within her. "Tell me more."

"I already did."

"You're hiding something!"

I stood up so I was level to her height, my eyebrows knitting in anger. "I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the truth."

"No." She shook her head. "I want the full one."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She trudged towards me, lifting up her shirt so her abdomen was exposed. "Do you know who gave this to me?"

It was a long scar on her hip, positioned slightly to the left of her belly button, the skin raised and bumpy. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I got this on one of my first missions. I was assigned to escort a nuclear scientist out of Iran." She seethed. "We were ambushed by Hydra at the rendezvous in Odessa. My tires got shot, the car ran off a cliff."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I managed to save us both. But as soon as I did, the assassin who ambushed us open fired. Killed the scientist. Straight through me. Left one hell of a scar." She let go of the hem of her shirt. "A soviet slug."

It was my turn to grow pale. There was only one person who could do that. And I was far from ready to say his name.

"You knew him didn't you? I should've known all along."

"How?" I begged, the somewhat 'calm' demeanour I've tried hard to keep was long gone.

"Does it matter?" Her gaze was threatening. "You were trained by The Winter Soldier, weren't you Y/N L/N?"

#the winter soldier #damn i couldnt wait to write that #run pietro x reader #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #miss romanoff hello maam can u pls step on me? thx #avengers #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #wanda maximoff #steve rogers #pietro fanfiction

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hit-me-with-a-ladle · 3 years ago

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Ch. 8 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

Sorry I've been gone for so long. My grandfather died a month ago and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. But I'm back and ill do my best. Thank you all for your patients. Anyway, enjoy<3

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As the week progressed, the girl found that it was the slightest bit easier to read through Masky's facade. Though that did not mean that she could thoroughly read him quite yet, she made it a challenge that eventually she would. Masky himself became lenient at first as to mind her injuries. But the moment she started to heal, it was all back to the ruthless nature of his work. Finally, when the week ended, she got informed that someone else was going to teach her. That person turned out to be Ben, the blond-headed boy that seemed too eager to meet her.

An early sensation lurked in the air the moment she woke up, groggily walking to the bathroom and taking a well-deserved shower. The feeling of all of the previous days' dirt and grime washing off her punctured flesh was refreshing. Her mind was finally clear, able to freely think and dwell on her current predicament without any outside interference. The hot water trickled down her naked body, soothing her as she thought of any way she could escape. But no matter how hard she thought, deep down she knew that the only way she could truly leave was to stay a little longer to devise a plausible plan.

Sadness overtook her body, hot tears streaming down her already wet face intertwining with the water droplets from the showerhead. She'd been able to withhold her tears for a while now, not wanting to give those bastards the satisfaction. But as her current position set in her mind once more, she couldn't hold it in. It was like a never-ending loop. After being rudely introduced and forced to spend a week being trained to the bone by two different killers, she had to repeat the process with another. It felt like her own personal hell.

Feeling the scalding hot water turn cold was an indicator that it was time to get ready. Not giving a damn if she was late. Stepping out of the shower with a huff, she looked at herself in the full-body mirror. Steam covered its surface from head to toe. Though, no matter how blurry, the rough outline of all the large scars, cuts and a few red bruises that littered her body were still very much visible. The feeling and texture of her once somewhat clear skin was now a distant memory in her mind. Slowly tracing all of the scars with the tip of the rugged fingers she winced when she made contact with a few of the most recent injuries.

Getting dressed in the same greyish jump-suit she has been washing and wearing for the last few days, she went to eat breakfast. But before leaving her bedroom she looked at the nightstand, there laid the old pocket watch he gave her. For some reason, he didn't want to take it when she offered it back. Shrugging her shoulders she put it in her right pocket and headed downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, noticing that Masky must have left early. Not paying any mind to his disappearance she carried on with her day. Eating the meal she prepared for herself. Sitting there on the dining table, in total silence, patiently staring at the clock. Ben still hadn't arrived. He was already ten minutes late, to begin with, which was a significant tonal shift from Masky, who was extremely punctual and despised tardiness. After what felt like hours, a loud crash was heard that made the girl's ears perk up as she ran to the living room. Their laying spread eagle, on the front of the old television, was none other than Ben.

" What happened, how did you get in here?" The girl quickly said while helping him up. " Dammit, forgot how small the damn television was." He said under his breath, ignoring her previous question. Getting on his feet he brushed himself off giving the girl a better look. Unlike the other two men, he was significantly shorter, 162 to 165 cm or 5'4-5'5 feet tall. Medium length golden hair under a long green hat and sharp pointy elf-like ears. His pale white skin looked ceramic, almost like a doll's and thin lips with a button nose. He seemed considerably young, but she assumed that he most likely was about eighteen years of age. Though, what caught her attention were his round black eyes that had a speck of red in them that acted as pupils. He was dressed as an elf, with his bright green tunic, forest green pants and leather belt neatly tied around his waist that held a small satchel type bag.

Looking in her direction he flashed her a creepy smile that showed off his white teeth. The girl didn't know how to react to his sudden action, as she felt discomfort all around her body, shifting her weight awkwardly she chose to ask him again. " How the hell did you manage to get in here without me hearing you?" " Well, I did the same thing I'm gonna' be teaching you today. Sorcery or magic. Whatever word floats your boat." " Magic? As in witchcraft, like spells and potions?" " Yup. I mean I know Jack already told you this so I don't know why you're so shocked." He snickered, it sounded distorted. " Yeah, I remember but I didn't actually expect-not that I didn't think that it would be magic-it is just that this is all so strange, I can't believe it." " Believe it, cuz I'm gonna' be teaching ya some spells. Follow me now out the back door." He spoke loudly, shaking his hands in a flamboyant manner.

Walking swiftly to the kitchen towards the back door. The girl was visibly confused as she followed suit. Why did they have to go through the back door, it was all quite strange. Stepping out, she noticed the rather large, wooden table a few meters in front of them. Its surface is covered in all kinds of trinkets, herbs and plants. " What's all of this for?" She said, approaching the table. "I got Masky to set it up before he left, we're gonna be needing some of this stuff so I can show you the ropes and basically help you understand the basics of making potions. A skill you'd need for survival." He answered while picking up a bunch of the items off the table and stuffing them in the bag. " Oh, what do we have here?" He said excitedly under his breath " Is it Raskovnik? My god it is. I know what i'll be teaching you first now, don't I. '' He started with a laugh as he made his way towards the trees. " Where are we going now?" " To the brewery. Do you really think you will be making risky positions in front of the cabin? You humans are actually the dumbest creatures."

The girl's face scrunched up in annoyance but still kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to try and argue with these people. Biting down on her tongue she got drawn in by the scenery like most times she was out in the forest. Autom was soon approaching so the wind had started to pick up the past few days, it made the multicoloured leaves on the trees dance as it passed. It calmed her as it passed through her body. Taking in a large breath she smiled and carried on behind Ben. Dogging trees and branches as there was no pathway in this part of the forest.

" Did you get the plant?" Ben spoke up after a while, cutting the calm silence. " Sorry, what?" " Were you the one that got the Raskovnik?" He repeated the question louder. " Oh, well yeah. I got it a while back as a part of my training with Masky." She replied quickly walking to his side. " Figures. Maskys is the type to make others do his dirty work." He muttered bitterly. But the girl was still able to hear it. " So you have a bad relationship with him?" " You could say that. Most of us do. The scumbag." The air started to tense. " I guess you could call him that. But he's not always that bad, he has his moments I guess." " Not that bad? Tell me, how did you manage to get that big ass gash on your neck." He harshly replied, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her neck. She quickly covered it and looked to the side. Not responding. " As I said, he's an absolute scumbag." " Well if it isn't stepping over a boundary, mind telling me why he's so bad." " Well, to begin with, he's a sadistic prick that only cares for himself. He broke into my house and stole some of the VERY rear herbs that took me YEARS to collect. And worst of all, he's the dog of The Operator." His face darkened when he mentioned The Operator's name. " The Operator? Whos that?" The girl quickly asked, lowering her hand and looking at him with a confused look on her face. " He's one of the most powerful beings to even exist. The embodiment of evil." " So like the devil?" " No, he's not the devil, the devil is a different being, but he's still terrifying." " Why do they call him The Operator then?" " Well, like. I don't really know how to explain this to you but, imagine this forest being a very large city. Y’know how every city has a mayor or someone in charge that leads it. Well, that's what The Operator really is. The Operator isn't his real name but a nickname given to him."

With that they finally stepped into a small grass filled clearing where in the middle, was a very small cottage covered in vines, plants and flowers. The old wood that it was made of was held up the multitude of plants, securing it firmly. The half-rounded door was nicely placed in the front, a yellow brick pathway leading to it, with a square window to the side. They quickly approached the door, the girl's breath taken by the beauty. The inside itself was small, shelves were on every side of the walks, each holding a plethora of books, trinkets, herbs and plants. It was relatively messy but still easy to walk in. A cauldron was in the middle of the room with a desk stacked with papers, pens, and scrolls.

Placing the Rascovnik and emptying his bag on the desk, Ben looked at the girl. " So let's begin I guess." He said walking to the medium-sized cauldron. " What are we going to do exactly?" She quickly asked as her eyes followed him, as he walked around the cottage collecting different ingredients and placing them on the desk. " Well, you're not going to be doing anything, just taking notes." Tossing a notepad at her. " While I prepare something and explain the different things you'll need to know." " Yeah that's great but am I going to be quizzed the same way Masky quizzed me because I need to know what I should expect." She said frantically, firmly grasping the notepad to her chest. " Nah, you're not. I don't do quizzes or tests, I like doing things spontaneously y'know. And plus taking notes will help you understand things more, so just write down herb and spell names, important details and whatever else will help ya remember. K?" " Ok, I guess." Anxiety began to dwell in her mind, as she looked around. " Readdy?" He said walking in front of the cauldron, giving her a slightly crooked reassuring smile.

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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Sink then float (Poe Dameron x GN reader)

Summary: Poe comes back from a mission to find that reader is experiencing a depressive episode, and he does what he can to take care of them while they’re sick. Hurt / comfort. Angst / slight fluff.

Author’s note: Was feeling super crappy at the start of the week (I’m ok now!) and this angst-bomb came out of me. Pleased to have finally written something, though it tackles a tough topic. I’ve tried to be as sensitive as possible while writing about depression, and while it’s something I have experienced in the past, of course it manifests differently for everyone. I have drawn on some personal experience to write this, but it is a fic. Therefore, it is necessarily outside of my direct experience, which opens up the possibility I may have gotten something wrong. Therefore, if you think there’s anything I’ve handled in a way that is harmful (even honest mistakes can be mistakes) I’m happy for you to send me an ask outlining this so I can correct and do better.

Warnings: It deals with reader in a depressive episode, and it is from reader’s POV. As such, it is pretty angsty, ngl, as reader’s thought process is in a bad place. The piece grows more hopeful as it progresses, and ends on a hopeful note, however it may still be difficult reading. I’ve actively tried to acknowledge in the text where reader’s thought-process is skewed by being sick e.g. when they say they are worthless, I’ve tried to directly counter this as it’s not objectively true. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel worse reading this, so I’ve tried not to validate reader’s most difficult thoughts (though what they’re going through is valid and it is valid for reader to be experiencing those thoughts)! That said, please take care when reading, as some of the feelings and thoughts set out may be triggering. Also, whilst there is no direct mention or suicidal thoughts or ideation, I am also warning for that, as there is some crossover in thought patterns. Ultimately, this is a fic about Poe being there to comfort reader, but reader finding that shred of hope inside themseleves, amidst feelings of hopelessness. I didn’t want to suggest that Poe could “fix” reader, so yes, they are still depressed at the end, but more comforted and hopeful than at the start. Sorry for all the warnings, but I wanted to be clear so you can make an informed decision on whether to read. Please stay safe!

GIF by @twillight. Yowzers, it’s PRETTY AF.

There’s no poetry any more.

There are only syllables. Vowels like an orange in your mouth. Consonants rattling between your teeth. You speak only of sleep. Your words hollow like a worn, sprung mattress; inviting rest but offering no comfort.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

There is no art any more.

Not even in a thousand burning suns. Not even as you tip your face up to the milky black. Not even in his face; that face you love. You look, and you feel numb.

Numb. Numb.

No music.

Birds sing. It’s just noise, ringing in the hollow of your body.

Noise.

You want to sleep. It is all you want, and you merely want it because you want nothing else.

No dance in your body. No motion; only stillness.

No fight left in you...

What is left, then?

Nothing?

Nothing left.

Yes.

Nothing but the robust pang of hunger.

Nothing but the parching thirst.

Nothing but this weight on your chest, pressing you to the bed.

Nothing but the refresher door taunting you because you can’t cross the chasm in five steps.

Nothing but the guilt and self-hatred, and false, invasive belief that you are worthless.

Guilt because you...

Can’t.

So much then? So much where there is “nothing”?

You are simply so full of empty that it has pushed everything good down. It has pushed you down until you are sunken. Until you are yelling at yourself from below water, sound muted.

Everything muted.

Colours. Feelings. Life. Love.

Worst of all, your love will be home soon.

Home and sleep is all you...

Home and you haven’t even...

You almost think about ...

You sigh.

You can’t.

You can’t complete the...

You feel nothing, and yet guilty tears fall to the pillow. A part of you understands you are not to blame for being sick, and still, there is this guilt.

You have him.

Poe. Poe. Poe.

So, shouldn’t you be happy?

Why can’t you be happy?

Love shakes the inside of your chest, rattling against the bars of your ribs and wanting to be known. Reminding you of what you lack. It hurts. Everything hurts when it flexes, even love. Especially love. It flexes and it feels only restriction. It feels only weight on its chest. Such pain.

He will be home soon.

You love him. You know this, intellectually. And yet, you don’t want to see him. Don’t want think of him. Because you don’t want to be seen by him.

Not like this.

You don’t want to let him down. You don’t want to break his heart by meeting his loving gaze so hollow. As if he is not sunshine. As if he is not a thousand suns blazing; and yet, instead of poetry and art and music in your heart when you think of him, there are mere syllables, images, noise. There are those vowels again, large like an orange in your mouth, consonants rattling in between your teeth as you cry muffled sounds into the pillow.

He’ll be home soon. You don’t know how soon. You don’t know how long you have layed like this.

Still, all you can do is lie empty, where the room brims with mess and misery and shadow.

All you can do is lie in this empty room, where you brim full with sorrow.

It is enough. This is enough. You are enough, though you can’t see it.

And so, because you can’t see it, can’t feel it, you bring your hands to your face, despairing. Your fingers find your hair, and it’s dirty.

You just want to sleep. You want to tug the covers back over your head and disappear but..

There is a rap at the door.

He’s home now.

A soft knock, then inistent.

He’s back.

After a week apart he’ll be so...

...disappointed to see you. At least, that’s what you mind is telling you to believe.

You turn away and close your eyes as he pushes through into the dark room. You cannot look at his sunshine. It is too bright, like the round circle of sun at the mouth of a deep well. You cannot look, so your eyes scrunch closed as he flicks on a lamp, and you hear his feet deftly pick through the mess on your floor.

You try not to look.

You try not to hear.

You try not to exist.

How can feeling nothing still hurt? How can you wish to feel even less than this, just to blunt your pain?

Still, you do feel something. You feel his sturdy weight settle on to the bed beside you.

You do hear. You hear him sigh.

Yes, he sighs, but it’s gentle, concerned, and his hand finds your shoulder, his touch like warm sand on your cold, goosepimpled skin. Rough and full of sunshine.That blessed sunshine you cannot -at the present moment-comprehend.

“Honey?” he asks, and you hear his voice, soft and tender. You hear his love, but you can’t feel it. No, you can’t.

His voice should ignite you. There should be blood moving beneath your skin but...

There is nothing. There is nothing in your mouth. Nothing but bones in your body.

“Honey, look at me, please?”

You peel your eyes open, bracing yourself for the disappointment you expect to find carved into his face. His eyes examine you, assess you, eyes flitting around the room to understand how bad things are. The state of you, the state of the room. The half-filled bottle of meds at your bedside- at least you’ve been keeping those up. That’s something. Something where you would insist there is nothing.

That look. That look in your eyes, your pupils like bleak, empty wells he tips his sunlight into, and yet he can’t reach the depths of you. Can’t warm all the way through, even as his eyes brim with tears and love.

He doesn’t look surprised, at least. He ran into one of the others first, then; Leia or Finn or Rey. They warned him. Warned him that you are worthless, a burden. No, you are not those things, you try to remember. They will have warned him that you are sick.

Suddenly, looking at him, you have words.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“Why in the hell are you sorry, baby?” he asks gently, surprised now, his eyes searching yours. How does he do that? How does he look at you as if you are beautiful, even like this? Perhaps you are beautiful, even like this. Yes, you are. He sees it when you can’t.

“Because I...” you look away from him and sigh, even these simple words taxing your energy,”...couldn’t....”

Couldn’t get out of bed.

Couldn’t want to.

Couldn’t be happy when he came home.

Couldn’t want to.

Poe doesn’t judge you though. Not for this.

He’s Poe. Of course he doesn’t. Poe knows that people are not to be judged on such blameless matters. People are not the sum of their illnesses and struggles. You are so much more to him. You are everything to him, in fact.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. Always will. That doesn’t change when you’re sick. Why would it? Why would it?

“You did just fine, honey,” he insists through a thin, watery smile. “I’m still proud of you. I’m still glad to see you.”

You look at him.

He looks back.

You know you should feel poetry in it, like all the other times he’s come home. When your skin and your heart and your breath and your words and your lips were alive. When your body danced with his.

“It’s bad this time?” he asks. “Like before?”

“I guess,” you croak.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself even though you dont deserve that hate for a second. You hate yourself for what you believe Poe must think of you, but you try to remember that your brain lies, and that Poe tells the truth. You try to remember everything he tells you over and over. You try to remember hope. Rebellions are built on hope, after all, and you? You are a Rebel; therefore, you know you must fight this too. A small, vanishing part of you knows that you can fight it, even if a louder voice in your head tells you you can’t. A voice with bad intentions. This sickness.

Still, you always promise Poe you’ll try. You always try. Have been trying. Even the refresher door becomes something that taunts you, a chasm between you and it as you try to make it there. You always try. Regardless, Poe’s always proud of you.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his warmth and his unsurpassed beauty evident to you even now, even if it you cannot muster any ready response to it.

You shake your head.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Kriff, me too,” he says, his tone natural and easy, and refusing to shrink away from your pain- from the temporarary reality of you, as some do. “Came straight here. Five days on a mission without a shower? We can stink together,” he adds, with a tentative, lopsided smile, hoping to tease one from you too.

Poe has no trouble being hopeful, where that has never come easily to you.

Still, he’s here. He’s here at your side, all warm, sandy voice and his soft, loving eyes. Even if you had been convinced he would never come back. He is here. His rough hand is swooping over your cheek. Caring for you, even though he must be so tired himself.

Your eyes grow watery and your lower lip trembles. “I should be caring for you, you shouldn’t have to come back to me like this, after fighting...”

“Hey,” he protests, his voice hushed but his tone insistent. “You’ve been fighting too, baby. We both got our missions, yeah? If you ask me, I think you got the raw end of the deal.”

He’s perfect. He’s so perfect. You will the blood to move under your skin. You will your heart to ignite, but there’s nothing.

Correction; there’s nothing yet. It will come. It will get better.

Poe’s voice and eyes soothe you as you contemplate this. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. I just wanna hold you. Okay, baby? Missed your beautiful face. Missed you so much. I’m kriffin’ lucky to come back to you.”

Missed your smile, he might have said. You missed it too. Misplaced it.

Forgot how to...

Your thought-spiral is interupted as Poe shifts slowly on the bed, and he curls his warm, sturdy body around yours, holding his beloved little spoon tightly.

He’s wrapped around you, but you wish you could feel him.

Still, as his arms wind around you to tug you into him, you clasp his forearms tightly against your chest. A part of you knows. A part of you feels. You know how important this is. That he is home.

“Mission go ok?” you ask in monotone.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling a tired puff of air into the back of your neck.

You wish you could melt for him and comfort him in return. You try, at least.

You try, but you feel like a gargoyle carved from stone, sorrow frozen on you. Face locked in a grimace. What mason would be so cruel as this? To make this bitter emotion permanent as stone? However, as he squeezes you tighter, fits against you so naturally, so familiar... As he touches you, you remember you are, in fact, skin and bone. You remember, even though the memory may be distant, that although your heart is heavy now, it once was light.

If it once was light it can be that way again.

He kisses your hair, even though it is dirty. He breathes you in, even though you are not clean. He loves you, and even if you think you are broken, he thinks you are perfect.

You are perfect.

His body heat suffuses through you, and you hadn’t realised how cold you were, until he warmed you. Poe had noticed, though. Poe loves you.

“Have you eaten? Drank anything?” he whispers into your neck, after a moment of holding you in gratitude and breathing deep, relieved breaths.

“Finn made me eat something,” you say, almost embarrassed, even though you know Poe does not judge you. “Managed half a ration. It was... today? I think it was today, I don’t know...”

“That’s good, baby!” he praises, entirely genuine. You feel him shift on the bed behind you, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he encourages softly, bundling you into his chest, and producing a ration bar from the pocket of his flight suit. “Split this with me while I tell you about the mission, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Poe can hear that you sound a little sceptical. You doubt you have the energy to engage with him.

“I’ll tell you all the funny and horrific stories of your boyfriend’s heroics this past week. Shall I do The Thing as well?” he asks, and you swivel your head to look-up at him, seeing him tick up an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“Yes please,” you say, and you even manage the barest of smiles.

Poe proceeds to tell you all about his week as you nestle into his chest, his voice flowing through you like warm sand, pouring in and filling up just a little of the emptiness inside you. He also does The Thing, and he intersperses his animated storytelling with “your” part too, so that you don’t have to worry about upholding a conversation. So that you only have to listen, and you don’t have to worry that you aren’t able to react as you typically would.

“That would be the bit right there you’d laugh,” he says as he recounts his finest dumbassery from the mission. A small smile inches over your face, as though you are rehearsing your own emotions. Trying them out. “Yeah, I think that one would be dumb enough to get a belly laugh from you.”

He continues.

“This would be the bit you would tear off my clothes because I’m a dashing badass,” he adds as he relays how he took down a ton of TIEs. “Yeah, definitely. You’d try to get steamy right about now.”

It might be odd, but it is a comfort. It doesn’t remind you what you lack. You feel less of a deficit this way, as it reminds you what you’re capable of. That it is not always like this. That you do not always feel like this.

Will not, as soon as you’re better.

“And you, honey? Mission report?”

You sigh, trying to think through what you have done, rather than what you haven’t. Even if the things to recount don’t sound as impressive as Poe’s, he always insists the battle is no less worthy. You are worth fighting for, after all.

“Well... I got a lot of sleep. Beebs made sure I took my meds.” It’s a short list, but what could be more important than that? The fact that you held on? Then, you have your first playful thought in days. “My love came home to me, and he thinks he’s all that, but he stinks pretty bad,” you tease, as if you weren’t in an entirely equal state.

“Kriff, you’re teasing me from your sick bed?” Poe’s chest shakes against you in gentle mirth. “Brutal, honey. Kriffin’ brutal.” You have a point though, he concedes. “We should both shower though, huh? Before someone catches a whiff and reports a possible herd of bantha in room z88?”

He clocks your trepidation as your eyes flick over to that taunting refresher door.

He squeezes your arm, and somehow manages to be encouraging without even a hint of being condescending. “Pretty far, huh? You can do it yourself tomorrow, but.. d’ya want your big strong man to carry you for now, baby?”

“Yes please,” you smile, and Poe shifts once again. First, he strips off his flight suit and tosses it aside, and then he peels back the covers and helps you to stand. Then, he helps you step out of your vest and pants, before swooping you up and carrying you the five paces to the refresher door, setting you down gently. You glance back at the rumpled bed, which still calls out to you, and although it is a short distance away, you feel like you have trekked across a damn galaxy.

Poe begins to run the water warm in the shower, casually handing you a fresh tumbler of water to sip on as he does so. Then, he takes your hand and eases you under the stream of water.

Poe’s broad hands lather up your body and your hair, feeling like an act of worship as he slowly, gently, washes days of rest away from you, without question. Without expecting anything from you in return except to let him- and even then, only if you want to. He then makes short work of rinsing off his own body, searching your eyes as he does so.

Water is a funny thing, you think- it can drown and it can cleanse. It can be gentle and forceful, deep and still or turbulent. After days of drowning, it feels good simply to be clean. To begin to rise to the surface.

You reach towards that circle of sunlight at the mouth of the well. You look a little deeper into his eyes. See a little further.

“A little better?” he asks.

You nod. A little better.

You step out with him, and even though he’s tired -ragged from this mission- he dries you off.

He changes your sheets.

He picks your dirty laundry up from your floor and throws it in the basket. He throws away your trash.

He let the light in.

Literally.

Then figuratively.

Yes, you still feel so heavy. So, so heavy.

But you know. A part of you knows that lightness will come again, if you just hang on. You can see it. You can see that light at the surface, still out of reach, but not forever.

You watch him as he cares for you in all these small ways and suddenly there are vowels and consonants pushing out from beneath your ribs.

“I love you,” you say as you perch on the edge of the bed, right where he seated you, not thinking to move.

He pauses, dropping what he’s doing and coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. Tenderly, ever so tenderly, he takes your face in his hands, and his warm eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen him, as if he can’t believe that you fought hard enough to push this love out from the depths. For him. Even though you are so sunken. Even though you cannot do it for yourself yet.

“I love you too,” he promises, entirely earnest.

You push a small smile on to your face, even though you know you need not wear masks for him.

Yes, it got bad again, but it will get better.

You hang on, and that’s enough. More than enough.

You have to hang on, because there will come a day you’ll be so glad you did.

When everything in your chest rises up and gasps for air and lets you breathe again. You will break the surface and come back strong and eager for this life.

“It scares me when you’re sick. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay again,” you nod. “Or, I’ll try.”

That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you can ask of yourself.

That is enough. More than enough.

You are enough. You are more than enough for him.

You look at him. He looks back.

His face. His face is art. You feel all those things; poetry, art, music, dance. They’re there. They’re just sunken. Muted.

Poetry is in the pauses too. The blank lines and empty spaces; in the missed beats. You will come back to yourself, and you will make new art. Feel new things. Things more full and replete with joy. Joy can clamber from out of the deepest wells, given time. It will. It will again.

“Can I kiss you?” Poe asks shyly. “Been desperate to kiss you,” he admits, the corners of his plush lips tugging up into a smile. He is sunshine. He is beautiful. Perfect.

You nod, and his lips meet yours, chaste and gentle, and not expecting anything in return.

You try your best to feel him. To feel at all.

You close your eyes and hope you will open your heart. It has begun, with a crack to let the light in.

There is fight left in you, even if you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it.

“I’m so happy to be home with you,” Poe says, and his words are greeted with silence.

That’d be the bit you’d usually say... I’m so happy too. But Poe offers his words freely, and you know he doesn’t expect anything from you in return. He doesn’t expect your happiness. He simply wants to give you his.

This is not a warm story, but he is warm.

Correction; this is not a warm story, not yet.

But, oh. Oh, it will be.

It was so, in the chapter before, and it will be, in the chapter which is coming.

And you? You will thaw, I promise. Not because of him. But because of you. Because you’re a fighter. Because no matter how long you may be sunken, you will float.

Poetry takes a breath sometimes. Misses a beat. It is not a waste. It is not worthelss, this pause. Sometimes it is needed. The big breath hope takes before it floats to the surface. So, maybe there is hope.

Yes. There’s hope.

There is hope.

Hope is like the sun. If you only believe it when you see it you'll never make it through the night. Isn’t that what Leia says?

You will make it through this night.

This is how you feel now but will not be how you feel forever. You are not carved from stone. You are a fluid thing; you are made of water. Sometimes, you can drown in yourself, and sometimes you can be cleansed. You are always moving and ebbing, even if it’s so far below the surface that you cannot detect the shift.

This will shift.

Love and life and light are straining, deep down, and after all that straining, pushing, trying, when they resurface they will be strong.

There’s a reason they say hope floats.

It cannot be drowned forever, even if it is is drowned right now. It is not set in stone. You will float, up beyond that circle of sunshine. You will heal, even though you are hurt.

Poe knows this. His eyes tell you all this, but most of all, you know it; no, you feel it, in the depths of you. This is truth.

Poe peels back the covers, and he tugs you to his bare body, warm flesh against yours.

He’s tired. All his body can speak of now is sleep.

You are both tired of fighting, so for now, you must rest, and try again tomorrow. You stroke his hair and he strokes your back, and for now, this is enough.

Yes, for now, this is more than enough.

You are enough.

#poe dameron x reader #Oscar Isaac #poe dameron angst #tw: depressive episode #tw: depression #tw: suicidal ideation #star wars #tw: hunger #tw: food

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the-dream-team · 4 years ago

Note

I love National Treasure!!! So: ʺ I wanna reassure you, you are not in danger in any way", with Jily/Lily and maybe Sirius or Remus? Thank you!

Thank you for this prompt, fellow National Treasure fan!! Here’s a healthy dose of sixth year jily pining with a very brief appearance by Sirius, Remus, and Peter :)

Read it on AO3

I Wanna Reassure You, You are Not in Danger in Any Way

Lily should have brought a date to the Slug Club Christmas party.

But she hadn’t anticipated Marlene spending the night in the Hospital Wing after a group of Slytherins decided it would be funny to vanish half the bones in her feet. So now Marlene was busy downing Skelagrow while Lily downed a butterbeer, watching those same Slytherins enjoy the party from her own lonely corner. She twisted her face in a permanent scowl and passed the time dreaming up new creative ways she could dock points from the Slytherin house in the upcoming weeks.

She got her chance sooner than expected when two fifth year snakes tried pouring a mysterious liquid from an ornate flask into the punch bowl.

“Don’t even think about it,” she told the boys, utilizing her practiced Prefect voice. “Hand over the flask and I’ll let Professor Slughorn know you both regrettably had to leave the party early.” The taller of the two tried to protest, but she cut him off quickly. “Five points from Slytherin. You both are lucky to be getting away without detentions.”

As the boys slunk away, Lily rewarded herself with another butterbeer and found a column to lean against as the party commenced.

Her eyes landed, as they had multiple times already that night, on Bradley Walker, the Ravenclaw seventh year she had dated the year before. He had brought a date- Jessica Smith, the Hufflepuff Seeker who looked absolutely stunning in a flowing golden gown. Lily smoothed her own simple jumper dress and adjusted her turtleneck, feeling out of place wearing Muggle-styled clothes in a room full of purebloods. She watched Bradley extend an arm to Jessica as they made their way to the dancefloor, joining in on the waltzing that came so effortlessly to the children of well-bred wizarding families.

Lily should have brought a date. If for no other reason than to have some visual proof to show Bradley that she too had moved on and was doing splendidly since their breakup.

Then, just when she thought she couldn’t feel any worse, she caught the eye of Severus Snape across the room, and her heart clenched unpleasantly at the sight of her former friend. They hadn’t spoken since last May after the incident at the lake, but he had already tried cornering her into talking multiple times that year, and based on the intense look in his eye, it seemed he was about to try again.

Lily glanced around the room, looking for any escape from Severus’ confrontation as he pushed his way through the dancing couples to get closer to her. She was about to lose all hope when someone grabbed her hand from behind and spun her around in a surprisingly graceful movement.

“May I have this dance, Evans?”

Lily looked up at her savior and was met by James Potter’s impossibly crooked grin. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her closer, spinning them both onto the dance floor as if he’d already received an answer.

“It looks like you’ve made my decision for me, Potter,” she replied, and he let out a hearty laugh in return. She rolled her eyes, but internally she was grateful for his timing. She would take a dance with Potter over a chat with Severus any day. Now that was something she couldn’t imagine herself thinking a year ago.

But James had been somewhat of a friend to her this school year, as strange as that seemed. When her cat went missing in October, he had spent an entire afternoon tracking Whiskers down in the Forbidden Forest. When his advanced Sleeping Draught overflowed the other week in Potions, Lily had stayed behind to help him clean up the mess. And now, he had swooped in and saved her from an uncomfortable conversation with Snape.

An unconscious smile tugged at her lips and she felt a fluttering of appreciation buzz around her stomach (which might have had something to do with James’ hand landing on her waist). She looked up and met his gaze, those Hazel eyes bright and friendly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Lily could see flecks of gold dancing around his dark pupils and her heartrate picked up as she realized this was the closest she had ever been to James Potter. She could feel his hot breath on the tip of her nose, sending a surprisingly pleasant shiver down her spine.

“Hold on,” said Lily, a burst of logic pulling her from her sudden trance, “you’re not in the Slug Club, Potter. How’d you get in here tonight?”

He chuckled, but Lily caught his eyes shift for a moment. “I have my ways,” he said, squeezing her hand and guiding her across the dance floor with effortless elegance.

She almost let his non-answer slide as her thoughts drifted to how unfamiliar it felt to have James’ arms around her, his face so near her own she could see the flutter of his eyelashes and observe every twitch of his lips. Her senses begged her to explore the unexpected feelings that had started burning a hole in her chest, but a flash of dark brown curls dragged her attention away from all that.

“Was that Sirius?” she asked, craning her neck to get a better look over James’ shoulder. But as soon as she spoke, James pulled her in closer and quickly stepped to the side, obstructing her view.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but his pounding heart told a different story.

“And Remus and Peter, too,” Lily continued, her suspicions rising as she peeked around his arm at the other Gryffindor boys scurrying around the edge of the dancefloor. Her Prefect instincts kicked into overdrive. “What are you all up to?”

James looked down at her and pulled her hand to his thudding chest. “I wanna reassure you, you are not in danger in any way.”

Lily blinked hard. “Well, I didn’t think I was until now!”

He glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, who sent him two thumbs up. When he turned back to Lily, eyes flashing, his lower lip caught between his teeth, she knew there was no stopping whatever the Marauders had in store for Slughorn’s Christmas party.

A sudden, loud hissing preceded the screaming as every tie worn by Slytherin students transformed into angry, living snakes.

Panic erupted around the room as couples jumped apart in fear and fled from the flailing snakes slithering around the necks of shouting Slytherins. Lily’s jaw dropped at the commotion. She locked eyes with James, who beamed back at her, clearly pleased with the night’s outcome. Watching his joy as he reveled in the Marauder’s success, Lily felt her own wave of satisfaction thinking of Marlene stuck in the Hospital Wing.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, and Mr. Potter!” bellowed Professor Slughorn from across the room. “Don’t move a single muscle, you are all in deep trouble, boys!”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” James said to Lily with a cheeky wink. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly before shooting her a crooked grin. “It’s been a pleasure,” he whispered before turning and making a bee-line towards the exit, leaving Lily in the middle of the dancefloor, her skin tingling where his mouth had been moments before, suddenly quite glad she hadn’t brought a date to the party.

#jily #national treasure prompts #startanewdream #sixth year pining!#slug club party!#james potter #lily evans #fic

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trekkiepirate · 4 years ago

Text

Master of All

My Witcher Secret Santa gift for @motionalocean! @thewitchersecretsanta

Crossposted to AO3 HERE

nearly 9.2K of BAMF!Jaskier and Geralt being progressively more smitten. 5 Times Jaskier Is Good At Things Geralt Didn't Expect And The 1 Thing He Knew Jaskier Was Good At. PG-13 for bad words, canon-typical violence, and the +1 Under cut because it’s hella long.

1. Pickpocketing

“Well,” Jaskier huffed, “I sincerely hope you missed one of those ghouls and they come back and eat this whole rotten village. Starting with that alderman. No, starting with his appalling son who has the AUDACITY to claim he was a better singer than me. My gods, Geralt, I don’t even think I’ll complain of the lack of a roof and a bed this evening. Sleeping under the stars with my very dear friend-“

“-not friends,” Geralt huffed.

The interruption entirely ignored by Jaskier. “-who is twice, thrice, no no no ten, a hundred, a THOUSAND times the man that they could ever dream of being. Asking a man-“

“-not a man,” Geralt said, expecting, correctly, Jaskier would ignore this comment too.

Jaskier, instead, whirled and looked at Geralt like he had punched him. Actually, he looked more upset than when Geralt has, in fact, punched him. “Of course you’re a man.” Jaskier tilted his head. “Well, I cannot say for certain as I have not yet seen you… in a state of undress. Though not that the having of a penis makes one a man. It’s more about your own identity-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, sliding two now-skinned hares onto sticks over the fire.

“You’re a man because that’s who you tell the world you are.”

“I don’t.”

It seemed only every other sentence was going to get through Jaskier’s tirades as he stopped speaking.

For a few blissful seconds. “Geralt,” Jaskier put his hands on his hips, voice exasperated as if he were a teacher who expected better of his pupil. “Geralt,” he said again, “you are the best man I have ever met. Smarter than any scholar, kinder than any priest, more noble than any titled twat.”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier seemed so sincere. “We’ve just met.”

“Right, well, we’ve actually been traveling together for four months, but I imagine time feels different when you’re basically immortal, so we’ll let that slide.”

A frown twisted Geralt’s face. “You’re young. You can’t have met that many people.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and put on what he called his Viscount voice. Though why he’d pretend to be a Viscount was beyond Geralt. “I studied for years at the most prestigious and widely attended university on the Continent. I have met plenty of people, Geralt. And you are still the best one I know.”

Geralt hmmed. “Your good opinion won’t buy us a roof and a bed.”

A grin like a succubus, pretty and dangerous, spread over Jaskier’s face. He reached into his trousers and produced a bag of coins. “It might do.”

The same bag of coins that the alderman had refused to give Geralt after he cleared a nest of ghouls from a field. He’d taken three crowns and told Geralt that it couldn’t be worth the whole bag if it only took him an hour.

As it was, most of that hour was building the bomb he’d need to destroy the nest. The ghouls had been sated by feeding on villagers who’d tried to kill them and were slow.

“Where-” Geralt shook his head, he knew the answer to that one. “How?”

Jaskier tossed the bag in the air and caught it. He continued doing so as he spoke. “Remember when I gestured around his, frankly gaudy and most certainly fake, prized vase?”

Geralt stared at the boy. “You distracted him by making him think you might break his vase and then stole his coin out of his pocket.”

“Exactly! Really it’s his fault for so blatantly putting the coin away while looking down his nose at you.” Jaskier grinned bright and extracted one coin from the bag before handing it to Geralt.

“Thief’s fee?” Geralt nodded at the coin.

Jaskier’s smile got even more mischievous. He balanced the coin on his thumb, then flicked it.

It hit Geralt in the chest and fell into his lap.

“Well, tossing a coin is the chorus of the song anyway,” he winked, then spun around, grabbing a cooked hare and blowing on it before taking a large bite. “They’ll see,” he said as he chewed, “my song will become a hit! ‘Toss a Coin’ will be sung the entire length and breadth of the Continent and men like that will be the pariahs, the outcasts. Anyone who denigrates a witcher will be spit upon in the streets. See how they like that!” Jaskier’s next bite was near savage, tearing the meat from the bone. But the next moment, he grinned over the fire at Geralt. “And until it does become a hit and you are lauded as the hero you are, and don’t say you’re not a hero, I see your mouth opening and you can very well shut it again for all the credence I’m going to give you saying you’re not a hero.” He gestured wildly with his hare, grease dripping slowly down his hand and forearm, on display since he’d rolled up the sleeves as his chemise on such a warm night.

Geralt found his next breath a little harder to take as he stared at the bare forearm. He hmmed and took up his own meal.

“So until that day, I will gladly make sure you are properly paid for your work,” he waggled the fingers of his left hand at Geralt. “One way or another.”

“Don’t get caught,” Geralt said. “I won’t break you out of any jail cell you land in.”

Jaskier laughed. “That is a bald-faced lie. You did the exact thing two towns ago and that wasn’t even me risking my freedom and safety for you to be given all you deserve.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, then quickly back to his hare when he found the expression on Jaskier’s face too… too much like something warm settling in his stomach. He ate the rest of the hare as fast as he could.

No one had ever said Geralt deserved anything. Not anything nice, anyway. But Jaskier seemed to think that Geralt was a kind of hero in a tale and wanted him to be treated as such.

Fool’s errand, he thought. Jaskier was young and didn’t know how the world worked outside of the high walls of a university. He’d learn. Until then…

“Fine.”

Having gone back to eating, Jaskier was silent for a moment as if trying to recall where the conversation was picking up from. “What’s fine? Oh! Me stealing when people refuse to pay you your just wage. Of course it’s fine. Don’t worry your pretty head for a moment; I’ve never been caught yet.” He waggled his fingers in Geralt’s direction. “Dexterity is name of the game when one spends one’s life dedicated to possibly the most delicate and finnicky instrument known to man.” He looked down at his gifted elven lute like it was his flesh and blood child, so loving and soft.

When he raised his head and looked at Geralt, his adoring expression didn’t change in the least.

Geralt cleared his throat and threw the hareless stick onto the fire. ‘Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

A few more large bites and Jaskier did as he was told, snuggling into his bedroll. Which Geralt had bought him when Jaskier proved that no amount of silence or disinterest would keep him from staying at Geralt’s side, praising every deed in song. He picked up the bag of coin and wandered over to Roach to tuck it safely in her saddlebag.

The horse nickered softly and seemed to throw her head repeatedly in Jaskier’s direction.

“Don’t get attached,” Geralt scolded.

Roach tilted her head in Jaskier’s direction and kept it there.

Geralt sighed and whispered into the still night air. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He patted Roach, now seemingly satisfied, and made his way to his own bedroll, set a bit behind Jaskier’s so the bard was close to the warm fire and that anything that leapt at them from the woods would have to get through Geralt before it could get to Jaskier.

He laid there, thinking about how quickly making sure the boy warm and safe had become a priority.

2. Knowing Who The Nobles Are Everywhere They Go

“Nope,” Jaskier plucked the sun-faded paper from Geralt’s hand, ignoring Geralt’s exasperated expression. “Oh no, no, no, no. Nope, you will not be taking this. Well, you will not be taking this contract with Duke Hereward. He’s an absolute bastard and will quite surely stiff you of your deserved coin. No, we’d best find where,” he squinted at the ink, “Meadwood Farms is and go straight to the farmers themselves. Hereward will weasel his weasely way out of giving you anything. I’d gladly steal anything he might have of worth-“

Geralt glanced around, hoping no one who worked for the Duke was listening, as Jaskier did not seem to understand what the word ‘discretion’ meant.

“-alas the double-edged sword of fame means if something were to go mysteriously but deservedly missing after we took our leave, I’d find my lovely new position as a professor at Oxenfurt suddenly taken from me.” He smiled at Geralt. “I need something to do during the winter while you hide away in your Witchery mountains to do… mountainous Witchery things.”

Suppressing the urge to smile, Geralt nodded towards the inn. “I’m sure someone will know who owns the farm in there.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and began to drag him (well, steer him as if Geralt had truly not wanted to be led, there was no way the boy, barely into his twenties, could move him) towards the inn. “Good people of Ellander!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt nearly rolled his eyes.

“Your prayers to the Great Meletile have been answered,” Jaskier continued. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, has come to aid you with your monster problems. Merely point us to Meadwood Farms and you shall soon see why Geralt is the hero of the Continent.”

Geralt was strangely glad his body no longer had the ability to blush. Jaskier’s absolute faith in Geralt was steadfast and it made something heavy and warm settle in Geralt’s chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to feel this way, to be so… cared about.

A pretty-eyed maiden made her way over to them. She smiled brightly at Jaskier. “I work at the farm. I’d be ever so glad to lead you… and the witcher there.”

The eye rolling couldn’t be controlled this time, as Jaskier immediately brightened under her attentions. “Well lead on, good miss. I presume it’s miss?”

“It is,” she giggled.

Geralt was rather glad they barely paid any heed to him as they flirted their way across town to the countryside. “What is it?” Geralt eventually asked.

Both Jaskier and the young woman, Elzbet apparently, startled as if they’d forgotten Geralt was still there. They probably had.

“The monster,” Geralt clarification. “What is it?”

Elzbet shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I do not know. Master Prospero was the one who saw it. He’s in the big house.”

Jaskier grinned. “Yes, yes, Geralt head up to see Master Prospero. Elzbet has promised to show me a most charming little corner of the barn. Apparently, there’s an owl’s nest there.”

Geralt would turn over every coin he received for the contract if there was actually an owl’s nest anywhere in the barn. All Jaskier was likely to see was up the girl’s skirts. Stomping away with a little more force than he probably needed to use, Geralt found the farm owner and got the information he needed.

It was a nest of nekkars and Geralt has cleared them all out by that night. The reward scraped together by the workers was only a third of what Hereward had promised, but it was given in gratitude and with open hands. Prospero himself was so grateful, he offered Geralt and Jaskier a room in his home for the night, as well as their dinner that night and breakfast the next morning.

Jaskier spent most of the night trying to find a suitably dirty rhyme he approved of for owl.

“Howl. Or yowl, which I will make you do if you do not put that candle out.” Geralt said at last.

“Oh you,” Jaskier tsked as he quickly scribbled down a few more lines. “You know what that Witchery magic does to me.” He winked.

Geralt buried his head further into the pillow. “Didn’t get enough with your farm girl?”

Jaskier gasped, affronted. “Excuse you, Elzbet is more than a farm girl, she is the love of my life.” He sighed dreamily. “I might stay, you know. With her.”

“Better her than me,” Geralt grumbled.

“I know you don’t truly mean those words or I’d be heartbroken beyond repair to hear you say that,” Jaskier shrugged out of his doublet and pinched out the candle flame between his licked fingers. “But what if I did? Stay?”

Geralt huffed. “You’d make a piss poor farmer.”

Jaskier laughed lightly. “Probably true.” He sighed. “Would you miss me?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said in lieu of an actual answer. “If you’re to be a farmer, you must get used to early mornings.”

Humming thoughtfully, Jaskier settled down, the line of his back just an inch away from Geralt’s in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

In the morning, Jaskier packed and took his place at Geralt’s side. He tried out lyrics and chords and by the time he and Geralt made camp that night, Jaskier had a new ballad. It was about love between a wanderer and a maiden, whom he loved but left to follow the open road he had long ago promised his heart to, his truest love.

Though he never actually sang the word road, Geralt realized as he watched Jaskier sing it a week later in a tavern. The song itself was called Walking The Path.

3. Gwent

“Dammit,” Geralt growled as he threw down his remaining card. A clear weather was useless when there were no weather cards in effect. The score was tied, but his opponent played with a Nilfgaardian deck and therefore won all ties.

The smarmy git was smiling at him like a smarmy git. “Fair is fair,” he held out a hand, “I’ll be taking your unique card now.”

It was lying next to the card the other man had anted up in the center of the table, but clearly humiliation was part of his winnings.

Geralt picked up the card and dropped it into the other man’s hand. “Here.”

“Better luck next time,” the bastard called out and he gestured another player to take Geralt’s place.

He still had all the coin he’d won, the cards had been the only prizes in that last round, so Geralt went over to the bar and ordered two ales and a glass of wine.

By the time he was picking up the second mug of ale, Jaskier had finished his set and bounded over, downing the wine in one go as always and ordering himself another.

“What’s this face? Is my singing truly that bad? Please know, if you say anything about pie, I will be forced to waste this lovely wine on your rude head.” Geralt grunted. “Singing was fine. Lost my game is all.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “You were winning when I last checked in on you.” He looked at his glass. “Do you need some coin? I got a fair amount tonight, people around here are very anti-Nilfgaard and my lovely little ditty went a treat. You must have heard the cheers.”

Geralt nodded. He had. In between games, he’d kept his eye on Jaskier. The djinn incident was two weeks ago, but this was Jaskier’s first performance since he almost lost his voice. And life.

The bard had been nervous and Geralt hadn’t even started playing gwent until the anxious scent faded into his usual confident burst of sundried linen and mint. The crowd was just as adoring, just as loud as always. Jaskier’s voice hadn’t suffered any permanent damage and Geralt was relieved. After all, his unthinking words had been the reason Geralt had almost lost… that Jaskier had almost lost his voice.

“Not coin,” Geralt said at last, draining his mug. “Lost my best card though. Drew an unlucky hand and couldn’t seem to bring it back around. Ended in a draw, but the bastard played as Nilfgaard so he took the tie.”

Jaskier frowned. “No chance to get it back?”

Geralt shrugged. “He plays here a lot, apparently. Has rules about only one match per opponent.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it.”

Putting down his half full glass, Jaskier nodded. “Right, well then.” He turned and headed towards the tables set up for cards.

“Jaskier?” Geralt blinked at the space the bard had occupied a second ago. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier was already standing in front of the bastard.

Geralt couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure he’d been told who he’d been playing against.

Jaskier’s relaxed ease was gone, instead his shoulders hunched up, making him look for all the world like an angry cat about to take a chunk out of the next person who tried to pet it. “Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hissed out like the very letters of the name offended him.

Huh. Geralt looked at the man who’d defeated him.

Valdo looked up with a beatific smile. “Julian, is that you? I did think I heard your particular brand of empty words and trite notes in that boyish tenor of yours.”

Now no longer just upset about the card, Geralt’s fingers twitched towards his sword. Sure, he’d not exactly complimented Jaskier’s songs recently, but his insult was born of trying to offend the man into shutting up so Geralt could find the damnable djinn and get some fucking sleep.

Which, looking back, was a useless attempt as Jaskier had been drunk and Drunk Jaskier was even more prone to rambling than Sober Jaskier.

“Normally, I’d be quite glad to just punch you in the nose,” Jaskier smirked, “again.”

Taking a closer look, Geralt did notice that Valdo’s nose was slightly crooked. As if broken a few too many times.

“But if seems you have some pretentious rule about not allowing people to win their losings back from you like an honourable gentleman would.” Jaskier crossed his arms. “So I’ll play you for Geralt’s card.”

Valdo blinked blankly. “Geralt?”

Jaskier clucked his tongue as he sat down. “My goodness, you are out of touch. Everyone on the Continent knows I sing of Geralt of Rivia, heroic Witcher of legend and my very best friend in the whole world.”

Geralt didn’t bother to object.

“Then again, you rarely get to leave Cidaris, don’t you?” Jaskier produced his gwent deck and began to shuffle it. “I often wonder how you’d do in a town you didn’t grow up in? But then your father’s money wouldn’t be there to buy you a court position now would it? Has he bought you a title yet?”

Though Jaskier couldn’t see it, perhaps because Jaskier couldn’t see it, Geralt grinned broadly at that.

Valdo grinned back nastily, revealing he had a missing canine tooth as well. “If he did, at least one of us would use their title to make a difference to their homeland. Tell me, Julian,” he laid out his deck and dealt himself a hand, “when did you last visit Lettenhove? Or do you still think wandering amongst the common folk singing dirty songs in dirty taverns is the proper way a viscount should behave? Whatever would your mother day?”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s grip on his own hand tighten, just slightly. “Just play, Marx.”

Huh. Apparently Jaskier wasn’t making the whole viscount thing up.

“Oh now now,” Valdo laid down his hand, “we haven’t set terms yet. You want the Witcher’s card, right? This one,” he picked it up and flipped it along the back of his hand. “But what will you bet? I never play for anything as gauche as coin. Some of us get wages, not a handful of coins in a dusty lute case. Actually,” Valdo leaned forward, “that’s what we’ll play for. Your pretty lute. See if you can perform in royal courts without your maaaagical little instrument.”

“No.”

Jaskier and Valdo both snapped their attention to Geralt.

“No,” he repeated. Jaskier’s lute was his livelihood, his most precious possession. Geralt wanted his card back, but not at that price. Jaskier was a clever player, Geralt knew, but Valdo’s deck was evil, full of spies and scorch cards. “Not the lute. Choose something else.”

Valdo shook his head. “Don’t think I will,” he turned back to Jaskier. “You bet your lute or I walk away and your witcher never sees his card again.”

Geralt put a hand out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder and urge him up to their room, but Jaskier just nodded. “It’s a bet. Play, Marx.”

Worry came over Geralt and he found himself pacing behind Jaskier, trying not to look at his cards because then he’d know if Jaskier had a good hand and if he didn’t…

If Jaskier lost his lute, he’d be crushed. Geralt would buy him another; he’d have to. But to lose the lute Filavandrel had given him… Jaskier always said it brought him luck, sounded sweeter than all others, even when slightly out of tune.

“It will always remind me of the day my life changed forever,” he’d smile at it, then at Geralt.

Geralt still hadn’t worked out whether he meant the day he wrote the song that made him famous or the day he learned the world was much more complicated than his human-written studies might have led him to believe.

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s hand dwindled to two cards.

Valdo still had half a dozen.

It was the last hand; both had won a turn and this would decide the winner.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Geralt closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to meditate or at least clear his mind. He still had his winnings from the other matches he’d played tonight. He had no idea how much a lute cost, but he’s fairly sure he’d be able to cover it. Did this town even have a shop that might carry one? It was only just inside the borders of Cidaris, not a particularly large village now that Geralt thought about it.

“You,” he heard a hiss, “cheated.”

Jaskier was smiling. “I did no such thing. I merely used your same tactics against you.” He held out a hand. “The card. Unless you’d like to try and win it back?”

Valdo spit out some words in Elder as he threw the card at Jaskier and stomped out like a petulant child.

Geralt was rusty and only caught every few words. Something about Jaskier’s bedroom habits and something else about being a pathetic, he thinks the word was supposed to mean hound or something like that. One phrase that Geralt did catch, as he’d heard it assigned to him once or twice before translated to ‘unlovable’.

Jaskier sat frozen through the tirade and when Geralt rounded the table, he found Jaskier’s eyes to be far more full of wrath and pain than it ought to for someone who had just won a game against a rival.

His face schooled into a triumphant grin, though there was still a sheen of sadness in his eyes. “Your card, Geralt.”

Geralt took it gently, sliding out his deck into order to tuck it away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, if I lost I was thinking of just stabbing him and making a run for it,” Jaskier waved a hand.

“It’s not that important,” Geralt insisted, ten minutes later as they readied for bed. “It wasn’t worth risking your lute. If you’d lost it. It’s more precious to you than everything, else you’ve said so yourself.”

Jaskier looked up from folding his doublet and smiled, not his cheeky performance grins but a small, genuine thing. “Not everything. Now,” he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, “may I see the card I won from Marx in what is going to be immortalized into an incredibly epic song as soon as I come up with a rhyme for ‘thrice broken nose’?”

Geralt took it out and handed it over.

It was a fairly new card for the Northern Kingdoms deck. An ashen haired little girl pouted in a frilly pink dress, clearly displeased at being painted.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra,” Jaskier read. He handed back the card but his hand hovered, as if he might reach out for Geralt’s shoulder or even his cheek. “Yes, this is something worth taking a risk for, no question. …15 points and all,” he said after a moment, when he realized Geralt wasn’t responded. “Course I missed the opportunity of stabbing Marx, but I’ve no doubt the chance will arise again someday.” He laid down and stared at the ceiling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began, finding his words dry up when those beautiful (when did he start thinking of Jaskier’s eyes as beautiful?) blue eyes blinked up at him. “I… th- you played well.”

A pleased and nearly shy look came over Jaskier’s face. “I know how much you enjoy it. Just wanted to be sure I’d be a worthy opponent for you, dearest witcher.” He stared at Geralt a moment longer, as if looking for something in his face. He shook his head slightly as if coming out of a dream. “Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier turned and faced the wall.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed as he laid down, facing the opposite wall. “Goodnight. Jaskier.”

4. Sailing

Geralt surveyed the people sitting around the table and frowned to notice one missing. “Where’s Jaskier?”

“Went fishing,” Eskel said off hand, jumping right back into his conversation with Coën.

“He what?”

Lambert looked up from his gwent match with Ciri, “He took my boat and went fishing. Said he wouldn’t be much help in a hunt, but this way he wouldn’t be and I quote, ‘useless’ and he could be a ‘worthy winter companion’.”

Geralt winced. He’d apologized for his harsh words on the mountain and Jaskier had forgiven him. But it seems some of the hurt from that day still lingered.

“Where did he go?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look.

“I don’t know his coordinates,” Lambert answered.

“Dammit!” Geralt barely kept himself from hitting the table; he didn’t want to scare Ciri, who had put her cards down and was watching the scene with interest. “You know what’s out there. Drowners and bears and I’m not sure we entirely destroyed that harpy nest from last winter and-“

“And he assured us he could handle it,” Eskel said.

Geralt growled. “He’s human! He could get hurt.”

Coën piped up at last. “Jaskier went north from the lakeside hut.” When all eyes turned to him, Coën shrugged, “He wanted to know where the good fishing spots are. I told him.”

Spinning on his heel, Geralt headed for the door to the keep, grabbing a silver sword from a rack of them on the way. He had a location and a direction. He could pick up Jaskier’s scent from there.

Geralt hadn’t bothered to grab a coat and the winter winds bit through his leather and linen clothes almost immediately. It didn’t matter. Jaskier had been alone in the wilds for who knows how long and even without the monsters and the beasts, there were dangers. The bard could overbalance and tumble into the icy waters. What if he hadn’t thought to grab warmer clothes? Geralt picked up speed, wishing he’d thought to bring Roach. Wishing he’d thought about anything other than running to get to Jaskier and…

And he wasn’t sure what would happen after. He just… needed to know that Jaskier was all right. That he was safe. He hadn’t been safe, Geralt sighed to himself as he ran, after Geralt had snapped at him.

Geralt was sure it was just another spat; that he’d arrive back at camp and Jaskier would be there very pointedly writing a song about a heartless cad who was mean to his very best friend in the whole wide world. Jaskier had a good half dozen songs like it already, this would be one more.

Only he wasn’t there. Geralt arrived to find Roach eating the last of the apples Jaskier had packed just for her and giving Geralt a very judgmental look. “Leave off,” he growled at her as he packed up what was left and led her down the mountain. “We’ll pick him up in town and you two can whisper about how mean I am.”

But Jaskier wasn’t in town either. Nor could anyone say which way he went. Geralt cursed then like he cursed now, seeing the roof of the hut by the lake and yet no sign of Jaskier.

Bad things happened when Jaskier went off alone. Geralt shook his head to rid himself of the image of Jaskier, strung up by his hands, those beautiful talented livelihood-making hands threatened and Jaskier said nothing, gave no secrets away. Some because he didn’t know and some because he…

Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier didn’t break, except he does. The man is brave, he’s stupid and criminally loud, but he is also the most loyal man Geralt has ever known. Steel dressed in silk.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s scent. It’s his soap and sweat and Geralt knows it like he knows his own.

Jaskier has the only boat and Geralt doesn’t fancy a swim, so he sticks to the shoreline, eyes casting about for any signs of danger or Jaskier.

Geralt very specifically tries to avoid thinking about danger AND Jaskier, which means that is all his brain will show him. Images of Jaskier surrounded by drowners, of a boat floating listlessly because the man at the rudder had been torn to pieces by harpies, a bear raising its blood-covered maw with a scrap of bright fabric caught in its teeth.

The last thing he’s thinking is that he will come upon Jaskier peacefully hauling a net of fish into the boat, adding the larger ones to a bucket next to him. So of course, that’s how the story goes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, eyes as round and surprised as the fish wriggling its last throes in his hands. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

Jaskier dropped the net thoughtlessly onto the boat’s hull and with a series of quick and efficient movements, had the boat floating over to where Geralt stood on the shore. The bard hopped over the side and hurried to Geralt, hands twitching as if he wanted to check the witcher over for any injuries. “Geralt?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

A frown coming to rest on his face, Jaskier put his hands on his slim hips. “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You’re going to catch your death without a coat, yes I know,” he said as Geralt opened his mouth, “witchers can’t catch colds, immune systems, mutagens, blah blah,” he went back to the boat and finished sorting the fish, “blah. What could possibly have happened that you hurried all the way from Kaer Morhen without so much as a single piece of armour or a cloak?” He turned, suddenly serious. “Is everyone all right? Is Ciri all right? She’s not ill, is she? Did she take a tumble on the training course?”

Touched by how much Jaskier cares about Ciri, despite having known her a relatively short time, Geralt shook his head. “She’s fine. Everyone is fine.”

“Then what in the name of Meletile, Freya and any other four gods you would care to name are you doing here?”

Geralt wished he’d spent less time thinking about the past and more time thinking about the future as he ran. He’s starting to get used to that feeling in general. “You weren’t there.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, then softened. “Surely someone told you I’d gone fishing? I let everyone know. I didn’t,” he smiled sardonically, “think you’d even notice.”

“Why?”

Head tilted like a puppy, Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Why did I go fishing or why did I think you wouldn’t notice? I went fishing because everyone does something at Kaer Morhen. I don’t,” he sighed, “have anything but music to offer and I’m well aware of your opinions on that. I assume your fellow witchers share them and also your witcher hearing, hence my lute case gathers dust. I do, however, know how to sail a boat, catch some fish, and cook said fish. So I thought I would make myself useful. As for you not noticing, well, I’m hardly your first priority here and,” he quickly added, “I understand completely. I shouldn’t be. Ciri comes first, always, of course. Hell, I wasn’t your first priority when we traveled together. Roach was. Speaking of, where is she? You couldn’t have tied her up too far away now.” Jaskier looked at the tree line as if a large mare would suddenly appear.

“I… didn’t bring her,” Geralt said, shame slowly rising in him at Jaskier’s words. Geralt couldn’t refute any of them. He hadn’t noticed the lack of music, assuming Jaskier still played in his room. As for when they travelled together, it hurt deep in Geralt’s gut that Jaskier thought he wasn’t a priority to Geralt. His words were often harsh, but Geralt made sure Jaskier had enough food and hunted more to ensure that he would. He bought Jaskier a warmer, if less stylish, cloak that had seen the bard through most of his twenties.

Jaskier had hefted a bucket of fish in his arms and just stared blankly at Geralt. “You… didn’t bring Roach? You, what, walked all the way here?”

Geralt’s eye twitched. “I ran.”

“For Meletile’s sake, why?”

“There’s…” Geralt cleared his throat, “drowners around. Sometimes. And bears. There might be some harpies left over from a nest we destroyed last winter.”

Jaskier settled the bucket back into the boat. “Were you… worried about me?”

Geralt nodded. Words were awkward and he wished to use as few as possible.

A look not unlike something like wonder crossed Jaskier’s face. “Oh. I… oh. I’m,” he spread his arms as if presenting himself, “fine. As you see. I… guess we should head back.” He gestured towards the boat. “I’ve a decently sized haul. I can make use of this for a while.” Jaskier stood in the shallow water, “Climb on in, and I’ll take us back.”

Geralt didn’t move.

“Oh,” Jaskier looked abashed. “Unless you’d prefer to steer?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “You can steer.”

He could. As Geralt had seen, Jaskier clearly knew his way not only around fishery, but sailing.

Jaskier nodded again to the boat and Geralt stepped in, settling at the bow.

Proving him right, Jaskier shoved them into the water and hauled himself over the side, quickly settling at the rudder and turning them around to head back towards Kaer Morhen.

Geralt cast a glance into the bucket of fish, seeing a few other smaller ones surrounding it. Several fish stared unblinkingly at Geralt as he stared back.

Jaskier hummed then cut himself off when he realized he was doing so, with a nervous glance at Geralt.

He wanted to say something. Tell Jaskier the humming was fine with him. That he should get out his lute and play for them. That Geralt wanted to hear his music, his voice. That the fillingless pie comment all those years ago hadn’t been a slight to Jaskier’s singing but the content of his songs, so many full of dirty humour or exaggerated lies.

All he could manage was “You sail good.”

Staring just as wide-eyed and unblinking as the fish, Jaskier slowly said, “Thank… you… I, uh,” he looked back at the water, “grew up on the coast. Been sailing since I was strong enough to move a rudder. Fishing even longer.”

“Why didn’t you fish that day? You could have caught your own.” Geralt winced as his words were said. Jaskier wasn’t focusing on that day with the djinn. He’d need to be specific.

But Jaskier was already answering, “I was heartbroken and near blind drunk,” he laughed, light and slightly forced. “I’d have fallen in as soon as I bent over to grab the net, hence why I was hoping you would share your haul.” He pursed his lips. “Rather wish I hadn’t, looking back.”

Geralt found himself stuck for words again. They came easy with his brothers in arms. Even with Ciri, he found himself managing to find words of comfort or encouragement when it seemed she needed them.

But Jaskier had always made things complicated for Geralt, since the day they’d met. He could annoy Geralt like nobody and nothing else; Jaskier got himself into trouble on a fairly regular basis, was fussy about his clothes and hair, and could talk the hind legs off a donkey while never saying a blessed thing of worth.

But damn if Geralt didn’t want him there, in all his messy and loud glory. He wanted Jaskier safe and, as recent events had shown, Jaskier was safest at Geralt’s side, because Geralt would move heaven and earth, call upon any help and damn the cost, to keep Jaskier so.

Geralt was in love with Jaskier. The revelation felt both sudden and slow at once. Like he’d been falling in love so quietly and steadily, there was no way to point to the day or hour that he’d actually fallen.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier, lost in daydreams, started. “What’s the matter now?”

“I,” Geralt scrambled for something to say. Should he tell Jaskier he loved him? No, that was absurd. Jaskier, for all his lingering stares and the near constant scent of lust that used to surround him, didn’t love Geralt as more than a friend, if that. Lust was not love, Geralt knew that well. He was with him for the songs and the safety. Sure, Jaskier cared for Geralt, he said it often enough, but he didn’t love him. Like how Geralt was realizing he loved Jaskier.

Who was staring at him expectantly.

At least this time, Geralt kept his annoyed at himself ‘fuck’ inside his head. “I was thinking of all the times we could have taken the river, instead of the roads.” He found words, though he wasn’t sure they were the right ones. “If I’d known you could sail. We could have… sailed. Before now.”

Jaskier dropped his eyes to the bottom of the boat, then turned away as if needing to check where he was going, as if he hadn’t been steering blind for the past several minutes, instinctive. “Ah. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you. Though we weren’t often by the,” a slight hesitation, “the coast.”

“You’re doing very well.” Geralt twitched his lips into as big a smile as he could manage and still felt it came up short.

But Jaskier’s visible cheek rose in a smile. “Thank you, Geralt.”

5. Sword Fighting

A whirl of light green and silver flashed from Geralt’s side, a movement near dancelike in its fluidity, accompanied by a whisper that sounded almost like counting.

Geralt turned just in time to see the bandit’s surprised face before his cleaved straight through torso fell, leaving the remains of his trunk and his lower body to fall to the ground a couple seconds after his head and shoulders had.

Jaskier stood behind the now deceased bandit, blood splattered all over his outfit and his face, still twisted into a mask of wrath. The sword in his hand was red with blood, silver glinting through the drops.

Geralt thinks it’s possible he has never been so turned on in his whole life and he’s going to have a good long talk with himself about why that might be later on.

The moment passed and Jaskier lowered the sword, wiping it on the deserter’s trousers. “Oh blast, sorry about that Geralt, I’ll clean all the blood off properly once we get back to camp. No worries. I know it’s silver for monsters,” he sneered at the dead man and then at the others who had foolishly decided to try to rob a witcher and his companion, “but I rather think it’s still apt. I’ll pay for the repair at the next blacksmith we come across if I damaged it too much.” He held the blade at eye level and examined it. “I think it’s mostly all right and Geralt are you okay? They didn’t manage to knock you in the head, did they? You’ve been staring at me for the past few minutes.”

Geralt was trying to sear the image of Jaskier looking over the blade as if, as if he KNOWS what to look for in a damaged sword. A sword he had used to kill a man creeping up on Geralt. A sword he had welded with deadly and graceful precision. Geralt’s own sword.

A very, very long talk. Possibly in the cold stream they’d just come from before they’d been ambushed.

Jaskier leaned past Geralt to sheathe the sword into its place across the witcher’s back and the spicy smell of anger had dissipated completely into Jaskier’s usual chamomile and honey concern scent. Underlaid by the copper of the blood.

It took a good deal of self-discipline for Geralt to not outright whine when Jaskier laid a warm hand on his cheek, tilting his head to check for injuries.

“Your pupils are very round, darling,” Jaskier said, the endearment he used so often sounded like music to Geralt. “Are you injured? I could grab you a potion if you are. Or maybe you’re just tired.” Jaskier dropped his hand and turned back to where they had laid down their belongings when the first men broke through the cover of the trees, using speed and surprise over strategy.

Geralt was sure he’d had them all until… until Jaskier killed the man who had managed to sneak up on him. Who would have put a sword through Geralt if not for Jaskier’s quick action and Geralt circled back to the image of Jaskier, bloody and snarling like a feral animal as he cut the man down with no hesitation.

A very, very long talk in a very, very cold stream.

Jaskier whistled and Roach came from her hiding spot in the trees. He patted her neck and dug through her saddlebags. “Geralt, are you out of Swallow? We have the spirit and the celandine but I think we might need to head towards the coast so you can cut down some drowners for their brains.” He smiled brightly. “Maybe they’ll be a contract for them as well. And a tavern that appreciates fine music. We could have a va- a very nice day. Or two.” Jaskier ducked his head and pink bloomed in his cheeks.

Geralt found his hand lifting of its own accord and landing on Jaskier’s shoulder.

The bard turned expectantly, then frowned when after a moment Geralt didn’t say or do anything else. “Geralt?” His voice was soft, the scent of his concern drew stronger. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay? You seem stunned or something. Are you sure you didn’t take a hit to the head?”

“Sword,” Geralt said at last.

“He speaks,” Jaskier smiled briefly. “He speaks nonsense, but he speaks. What about a sword? I already told you I’d take care of any repairs needed after my impromptu maneuver. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage done. It wasn’t even that difficult. You have very good moves, dear.”

Geralt blinked as he realized where he’d seen the move Jaskier had performed. It was one he’d been taught at the School of The Wolf. Jaskier used one of Geralt’s own moves. One of his Witcher moves. To save his life. “That was… that was a witcher move. How did you…” he couldn’t even finish his question.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve followed you for over two decades, Geralt. On and off, sure, but still. I’ve seen you fight nearly every creature you could come across. Including bastards like those,” he nonchalantly tossed his head towards the dead men on the ground, his fringe flicking back into his eyes boyishly. “I memorized the moves you use. Granted, I’ve mostly practiced on training dummies and sparring partners, but I’ve run across my fair share of evil and desperate men before.”

“That… wasn’t your first kill?”

“Gods no,” Jaskier tilted his head and scrunched up his nose as he calculated. “Maybe my… dozenth? Or so. Now I tried not to pick up a sword unless necessary but that gutless bastard,” he spit at the man’s bisected body, “was in your blind spot. You probably would have managed to parry, but I didn’t want to take the chance.” Jaskier smiled. “Good thing too, now that we know you’re out of Swallow. Here,” he held out a canteen of water, “drink this. Get your strength back.”

Geralt took the canteen and drank slowly to give himself time to readjust his worldview on Jaskier. “Did you… count? When you were…”

Jaskier nodded. “Oh yes. Your movements are so like a dancer’s that I memorized them to a beat.” He smirked. “I’ll make a ballad out of them some day. I’m still in the habit of the counting, but eventually I’ll stop needing that, I suppose.”

“Right,” Geralt said, nodding as if he wasn’t imaging Jaskier, in plain shirt and tight trousers, sparring with Geralt on the grounds of Kaer Morhen. A blink and it was a different kind of sparring. In a bedroom. “Huh.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, as he dug back through the saddlebag, “there’s some White Raffard’s if push comes to shove. Makes sense after that last nest of nekkars. Frightful creatures by the way, possibly my least favourite of them all. Though you’re low on White Honey as well, so hopefully we can find a herbalist and stock up a bit before you have to do any major fighting. ”I’m glad now that I all but raided Oxenfurt’s gardens before I joined you for Spring. Got plenty of honeysuckle in my bag and I’m sure we can find some white myrtle with no problem this time of year. Where’s your alcohest, dear? I’m sure Lambert didn’t let you leave Kaer Morhen without every type of spirit known to man.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, unable to take it anymore. “We need to get back to camp.”

Jaskier whirled around and looked at Geralt then up at the sky, the sun slowly descending in the late afternoon light. “Oh you’re right. Best head back now before we lose the light. Pity we had to have that fight after the nice splash we’d had in that stream. Do you think there’s time to wash again before we head back?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that first, getting clean again. That’s a very, very good idea.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, “I didn’t expect that answer from Mr Uses Monster Guts As Shampoo.”

“We’re going to need to get very clean,” Geralt said, “because as soon as we get back to camp I am going to fuck you.”

Jaskier froze. “Whaaaat did you just say? Geralt, I think I misheard you.”

Geralt shrugged. “Or you can fuck me. After seeing you fight like that, I’m letting you choose how we do it.”

“Seeing me fight.” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find which of the many words he had at his disposal he wished to use.

“Or I could just suck you off, if you’d prefer that instead.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Geralt… Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde and I have never been more grateful for the night Vesemir got drunk and shared stories of your youth, I need you to be very, very serious about that offer.” Jaskier licked his lips. “Because I would very much like to take you up on it and if… if it’s just for the night, I don’t rightly think we should risk our… ye gods, you’ve never even called me your friend and here you are offering sex as if… is this just because you feel obligated? I’m sure you would have moved just in time but I couldn’t risk letting that man hurt you and-“

Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier close, which shut the bard up. A trick Geralt was wishing he’d let himself try before. “I am very serious. If you want it to be for the night, it’s just for the night. It could be a more… formal arrangement if you’d prefer that.”

Jaskier dropped his head to Geralt’s shoulder and breathed out heavily. “I died, didn’t I? I misjudged the distance and the bandit killed me and this is heaven. I didn’t think I’d go to heaven. Huh.”

“Not dead,” Geralt said, lifting a hand to thread through Jaskier’s hair. “Not letting you die. Ever. Especially now that I know how well you fight. You’re living just as long as I am. Don’t know how. I’ll ask Yen, maybe she’ll know of some-“

“Okay,” Jaskier took a step back. “Now, now you’re just being… you want to ask Yennefer, a very very scary witch that you sleep with on the regular-“

Geralt shrugged. “Going to have to stop that now that I have you.”

A high-pitched whine issued from Jaskier’s throat. “I’m going to need you to stop saying things like that if you don’t mean them… how I… ho- expe- think you mean them.”

“I mean them how you think I mean them,” Geralt said. “Most likely. I mean that I would very much like to take you back to our camp and check at least a few things off the mental list of sexual acts we’ve both been compiling right now.”

Jaskier squeaked, “Both?”

Geralt nodded. “I would very much like to do so tomorrow night and for as many nights as you want me. And to extend your allotment of nights somehow. Yennefer has been searching arcane magic things for decades, surely she’s found some anti-ageing or immortality spell by this point. She wouldn’t have needed it, but I’m sure she would have made note of any.”

“Sure she can’t make me younger before she does that?’ Jaskier asked, relying on humour to help him deal with the inrush of information he was being given.

Tilting his head, Geralt looked Jaskier over very thoroughly, noting with some satisfaction what effect his assessing stare had on the state of Jaskier’s trousers. “I like you as you are now. Not the whelp that followed me when It was stupid and dangerous. You’re a grown man now. You’ve filled out. I like how you look.”

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Pardon me if this all seems very sudden.”

“Not sudden,” Geralt said. “I’ve liked how you looked for years.”

“You never said anything.”

Geralt smirked slightly. “I know you’ve lusted for me. I can smell arousal. You never said anything either.”

Jaskier flailed again. “You didn’t consider me your friend, so forgive me for assuming ‘Hey Geralt, you’re the most bloody gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my whole life would you like to bed me and then marry me’ wouldn’t go down very well.”

“I thought,” Geralt started, “you only wanted to follow me for the songs. For the fame and coin it earns you. It’s why you started following me.”

Struck speechless, Jaskier just stared.

Geralt continued. “I’ve thought of you as my friend, but I didn’t think you thought of me as yours. Until you saved me. Until you learned how I fight in case you ever needed to save me. Until you knew what my potions do and which ones they are. All the little things you’ve done for me throughout the years make sense now. I know friendship. That’s not friendship; it’s love.”

“I have loved you since,” Jaskier waved a hand theatrically, “since you told the elves to let me go. Since you let me stay with you even though you could have outrun me easily on Roach. You hunted enough for two and laid our bedrolls close so I wouldn’t freeze on cold nights and especially after the mountain, you’ve barely let me out of your sight and… oh my gods, I am thick, aren’t I? I am so thick! I am Mr. Thick Thick Thickety Thickface from Thicktown, Thickania. You don’t talk, you do. That was your way of… of… saying how you feel. Isn’t it?”

Geralt hummed and nodded.

Jaskier’s smile could have outshone the lovely sunset happening somewhere behind them. “You love me. Geralt, you… love me. Like I love you. Oh my gods, are you sure I’m not dead? Or having the most wonderful dream? This is real,” he took a step closer and reached out cautiously to pull Geralt into his arms. “This is real, right?”

“It’s real,” Geralt nodded again.

A laugh bubbled out of Jaskier, eliciting a smaller but no less sincere one from Geralt. “If I wasn’t covered in blood, I would be kissing you alre-“

Geralt leaned in and pressed their lips together, relishing the happy gasp Jaskier made against his mouth. “Hmm, I’m bloody too.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt, a small peck and then another. “Where was that stream again?”

Geralt pulled back and took Jaskier’s hand, guiding him in the dimming light. “I won’t be bedding you and then marrying you,” he said.

Confusion scrunched up Jaskier’s face before he realized what he had said before. “Oh bollocks, I didn’t mean that- necessarily- I don’t- where would we find a priest or priestess any- I wasn’t suggesting-”

“We have to have some courting time before we should even think about marrying,” Geralt continued. “it’s only proper.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded so fast, it was a miracle his head didn’t fly away. “Right, right, right, right. Of course, of course, of course. Proper… proper courting. Geralt?” he asked as they arrived at the stream. “I love you. I just… can I say that now? Because I’ve wanted to say it so many times and I’ve been biting it back for years and I just… I just love you.”

Geralt smiled. “I love you too.”

Wow,” Geralt said, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s how you manage to get away with those abysmal pickup lines. I mean… wow.” His heart was racing so fast it almost sounded human after the passionate, athletic and frankly innovative sex they’d just had. "I always did think it would be good."

He didn’t need to turn to see Jaskier’s smug smile, but he did anyway.

Jaskier’s grin was wide and stretched his cheeks even higher than normal. He tossed his sweaty fringe out of his face and kissed Geralt, deeply, slowly, perfectly. “You’re welcome.”

#the witcher netflic #my fanfic #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #bamfjaskier

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Necessary Needles

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Boiling Isles, like any other place, had its own diseases. Some were unavoidable, like the bright maggots that lived at the Toes who gave you bright disease. Having your organs glow and shrivel up was not fun.

However, like any other place, they had ways to combat most diseases. Schools like Hexside required it. You can’t expect to deal with abominations, beasts, healing, multiple species of plants, and the occasional wayward potion and expect to come out completely clean.

So the worry of Luz having no papers or medical exams to speak of was bound to come up.

“We need to take her to a healer, Edalyn.” Lilith hissed, crossing her arms. “She’s human, she’s incredibly exposed to everything here.”

“Coming down with a little flu isn’t that big a deal,” Eda muttered, turning her head away and crossing her arms. “She’ll be fine in a few days.”

“She might, but what if it was worse?” Lilith persisted. “Hexside is looking for papers saying that she’s been vaccinated. They could kick her out!”

“Bump is a flexible guy,” Eda snapped. “Look,” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s not that I disagree. Luz could get sick pretty easily. But like you said, she’s human. We don’t know how those vaccines are going to react to her.”

Lilith thought for a moment, pacing the living room. Luz had been sent to bed hours earlier after it’d been revealed she’d woken up with the Centipoodle Flu. Not typically deadly, unless you were very unlucky. But worrying all the same.

“Human biology isn’t all that different from witches, is it?” Lilith asked. “The shots are designed to fit a very broad section of witches, even half-demons can take those.”

“Well, she doesn’t have a bile sac, that’s a big difference.” Eda pointed out. “And…” She frowned.

“Actually, I think that’s the only issue.” She blinked. “I don’t think lack of fangs, rounded ears, and getting excited about hisses and growls do much.” She said.

“Her vocal cords must be different if she can’t hiss,” Lilith nodded. “But I doubt that will be a problem.”

“Okay, er, blood vessels or something?” Eda tried. “Those could be different. If she doesn’t have a bile sac, who knows what else she does or doesn’t have.”

“I really think it’ll be fine,” Lilith insisted. “I doubt that vaccines as modified as these will cause serious harm to Luz.”

“This isn’t a spell that’ll go away after a day, Lilith,” Eda growled, pacing around the living room table.

Lilith flinched at the obvious reference and cleared her throat.

“As hard as it seems to believe, I do want Luz to be safe.” She said, carefully keeping her voice low. “I understand she means a lot to you. But it will only get worse if she’s left to the elements on her own.”

Eda glanced back, scowling with her ears laying back.

“I’ll think about it.” She finally said. “We’ll see how she is when she gets better.”

“Thank you, Edalyn.” Lilith sighed, the tension releasing from her shoulders.

“But if she gets them, I’m making you take her.” Eda added, pointing an accusing finger at her sister. “Which gives me more leverage to bully you if she hates you. Those things are painful.” She winced at the memory.

“Uh huh, of course.” Lilith nodded, mildly amused. “And because I can at least pretend I’m not a wanted criminal?”

“That too.” Eda agreed. “Also, if you kidnap Luz, it’s on sight.” She warned, eyes narrowing.

“Why in the world would I want to…?” Lilith began to question before Eda gave her a deadpan stare and she slowly shut her mouth again.

“Right, of course. How could I ever forget?” She sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep reminding you.” Eda said cheerfully.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

Luz had been better within a few days. Still a bit sniffly, but otherwise no worse for wear. Eda had finally relented to letting her get vaccines, and true to her word, Lilith was the only one who took her.

Of course, disguises were hardly needed. It had only taken a year for everyone to recognize the residents of the Owl House on instinct alone. Though Lilith did make illusions to make sure the Emperor’s Coven wouldn’t come around.

And the sheer intimidation of her existence was enough to convince the healers to usher Luz away to get her shots that, in the humans opinion, looked a lot like leeches and hurt way more.

Aside from a somewhat numb arm full of leech bite-marks, Luz returned to the Owl House with no problems, despite Eda’s best efforts to prove otherwise.

Lilith, incredibly smug, said that really, the worst that would happen was that Luz would get sick for a bit and need checkup, but nothing more.

With that, Luz had gone to bed to read her books with King before passing out like she always did.

Eda could never push away a small lingering quiver of worry.

Eda was awoken at six in the morning to the sound of something, very loudly, crashing down the stairs.

And since she was used to interruptions like these, and heard plenty of muffled giggling and thumping after the fact, she wasn’t overly worried as she pulled herself out of her nest.

“Luz, did you sneak in a baby griffin again?” Eda called, walking down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Eda, Eda,” Luz’s giggling drifted from the bottom of the steps. “Eda I can feel colors.”

Eda paused for a brief moment, slowly processing what she heard her say.

Then she broke into a near-sprint as she stopped at the top of the stairs, spotting Luz in a tangle of limbs at the bottom, giggling like a madman.

Eda hurried down and pulled the kid up, checking for any broken bones or sprains, which thankfully there were none of.

“Eda, colors feel weird.” Luz whispered, looking up at the witch. “Really really weird. But also kinda cool?”

Eda sucked in a breath at the sight, letting go of Luz.

Her pupils were heavily contracted. Like she was staring right into a flashlight. While she spoke, her left pupil had suddenly expanded and began growing and shrinking at the speed of a broken lightbulb.

“Oh boy,” Eda breathed, worry creasing her brow. “Do you feel alright, kid?”

“Thirsty,” Luz said, her head slowly falling to the side before she jerked it back up again. “And excited! I don’t know why, but I am! Everything’s really bright but also not?” She said, looking around.

“Christ, I haven’t seen a trip like this since King ate moondust.” Eda murmured, running a hand through her hair and shaking her head.

“Hmm?” Luz hummed, clearly only half paying attention.

“Just, go sit on the couch, please.” Eda sighed. “I need to get Lilith.”

“Okay!” She said, overly cheerful.

And then she just stood there, blinking fish-eyed at Eda, still smiling.

“Uh, kid? Couch,” Eda said, pointing off towards the door to the living room.

“Oh, yeah,” Luz said, shaking her head and stumbling, slamming into the doorframe on the way out.

Eda watched Luz leave for a few seconds before growling and storming her way back up the stairs.

King had awoken from where he was in Luz’s room and sleepily poked his head out, half-awake.

“Keep an eye on Luz,” Eda instructed him as she walked by. “Don’t let her touch anything.”

“Oh, someones in trouble,” King sang before scampering out of Luz’s room.

“You bet she is,” Eda hissed, stopping in front of the makeshift storage room they had made into Lilith’s room.

She didn’t even bother to knock, she just threw the door open.

Lilith was already waking up from the noise, her hair a mess and rubbing at her eyes. She looked up, saw Eda furiously standing in the doorway, and let out a sigh.

She calmly picked up her glasses from an old table she’d made (Eda had insisted she get her glasses back since she had no reason not to use them anymore), put them on, and slowly stood up, mentally preparing herself.

“What happened this time?” She asked calmly.

“Luz! Luz is what happened!” Eda shouted. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought she’d snuck into the Night Market!”

“And by that you mean…?” Lilith asked slowly.

“She looks drugged, Lilith.” Eda hissed. “How long is this going to last, exactly?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a healer.” Lilith shrugged, clearly trying to hide an amused smile. “Let me see her, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Don’t eat the glyphs, Luz!” King’s yelling from downstairs reached their ears. “Don’t--Luz that’s fire!”

Eda’s sneer grew and Lilith pointedly refused to meet her gaze.

Without a word, the sisters hurried down the stairs and into the living room, both mentally preparing to have to put something out.

Luz was in the process of eating a ripped up glyph, both pupils blown wide, blitzed out of her mind. King was stuck under one of her arms, holding the other end of the glyph he had probably been forced to rip to stop her from activating it.

“Eda, what happened to her?” King demanded, squirming in the human's grasp. “She thinks the glyphs are pancakes!”

Lilith snorted, stifling a laugh at the sight. Eda gave her sister a glare that would melt Emperor Belos himself, and her smile quickly fell.

“You’re right, you’re right, not funny.” She said matter-of-factly. “Did she wake up like this?” “I assume so,” Eda said, walking over to the girl and picking her up from under her arms. “She fell down the stairs and said she could feel colors.”

“These have a lot of colors,” Luz giggled, pulling the ripped glyph out of her mouth and waving her around.

“...alright,” Lilith said slowly, placing her hands together. “Clearly, the vaccines had more of a side effect on her than we thought.”

“Ya think?” Eda hissed, holding Luz upright as she looked around at everything, her eyes nearly entirely taken up by her pupil.

“On the plus side, I doubt this will be permanent.” Lilith continued. “Most of the vaccines given to her were ones that wear off over time.”

“How long, exactly?” Eda asked.

Lilith pressed her mouth together in a thin line, weighing her options.

“...about ten years?” She said, raising her hand and tilting it. “Sometimes five?”

“Lilith!”

“It’s probably just her body reacting to the small bits of illness and magic,” Lilith said quickly, mildly nervous. “It’ll get out of her system eventually, I’m sure.”

“And how long,” Eda grit her teeth together, grabbing Luz’s hood as she tried to wander off. “Do you think this’ll last?”

Lilith frowned, thinking for a moment.

“A week at worst,” She decided. “If nothing changes by then...we may have to ask in a favor or two.”

“You are so lucky Amity likes you,” Eda growled, pointing a finger at her sister. “Or I’d do worse than send you to Hooty.”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Lilith defended. “I genuinely thought it would be okay! You think I want her like this?” She said, gesturing to the girl with her hand.

Eda knew very well she didn’t. Lilith could be uncaring and annoyed with practically everyone around her, but she knew better. And, well, even she had admitted that using a child as a shield that one time was a bad move.

And, besides, her apprentice, as far as she knew at least, was friends with Luz. So that automatically put her higher up on Lilith’s list than others.

Didn’t change that Luz was even crazier than normal now, though.

“You insisted on this, you fix it.” Eda finally decided, pulling Luz closer. “This is borderline disturbing, even for her.” She said, looking down at Luz’s glazed, but still happy, expression.

“I’ll do what I can,” Lilith promised. “In the meantime, let’s hope being a little delirious is the worst of our troubles.”

“Don’t jinx us, Lilith.”

“So, we’re basically on Luz-watch now?” Willow asked, eyeing Luz as she downed her fifth water bottle in an hour like a shot.

“We’re all on Luz watch,” Eda corrected. “Lilith is off trying to find something useful while we gotta sit here and hope she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Like being thirsty is a crime,” Luz huffed, her right eye half-lidded with a contracted pupil.

“Fascinating,” Gus murmured, poking Luz’s cheek. “I never would’ve imagined something as simple as a few vaccines would cause such a severe reaction in humans.”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s just a Luz thing,” Willow suggested, holding her friend up as she started to heavily lean to the side.

The trio were all sitting on the floor in front of the couch in a semicircle. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were expecting Luz to start coughing up blood.

“There are lights everywhere,” Luz grinned, gazing with drooping eyes around the room. “They kinda hurt.” She said, her smile never falling as she squinted her eyes.

“You better not get worse,” Eda warned, crossing over to the kitchen. “You kids hungry? It’s still morning.”

“I had a snack on the way here,” Willow assured the witch.

“Has Luz eaten?” Gus wondered.

Luz stared at him blankly for a moment before Willow nudged her.

“Mm, not hungry,” Luz mumbled, her left pupil dilating for a moment before contracting to the same size as her other one.

“Are you sure you feel alright?” Willow inquired, frowning.

“Yes and no?” Luz squinted. “I’m like...feeling so great it’s uncomfortable. Does that make sense?” She asked, turning her head to her friend before almost falling over again.

“At least she can talk a bit better now,” Eda muttered, poking her head back into the room.

“Luz is going to get better, right?” Gus worried, peering over Luz.

Eda opened her mouth, shut it, thought about her words for a few moments, and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, eventually.” She said, praying to the Titan she wasn’t lying. “We just don’t know when.”

“So does this mean I can study her?” Gus asked excitedly, eyes shining.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Willow said carefully, relenting to just always keeping an arm around Luz as she stared off into blissful space. “I doubt she’ll stay still.”

“I want to see what kind of symptoms she has,” Gus defended. “This is the only time I’ll ever get to know what some of our medicine does to humans!”

Eda flinched at the unintended reminder of Luz’s current situation. She was almost glad Luz could barely process any of the words being spoken around her, she was sure the human would’ve noticed as well.

“Just be careful with her, you hear?” Eda relented. “I’m not about to take her to a healer and risk this information making it to the Emperor’s Coven. A little studying will probably help us.”

“Yes!” Gus pumped a fist in the air and conjured himself a pencil and paper. “If anything, think of this as a recording of what’s going on. I doubt Luz will be able to remember all of this in clear detail.” He said, tapping his pencil on her head.

Luz jolted, looking towards Gus dumbly at the sudden touch.

“Hm, pencil isn’t very colorful.” She hummed.

“Where’s rich girl, anyway?” Eda asked, leaning in the kitchen door frame. “I thought she would’ve rushed over here.”

“She doesn’t even know this is happening.” Willow said. “You just called me and Gus, told us to hurry over, and then hung up.” She deadpanned. “We didn’t know the situation until we got here.”

“Eh, fair.” Eda nodded. “Poor girl would probably have a heart attack at the sight of her,” She gestured a hand to her apprentice.

“Amity would definitely have some choice words,” Gus agreed.

“Amity?” Luz suddenly perked her head up, looking around wildly like a puppy who’d been told they were getting a treat. “Amity’s here?”

Willow and Eda shared a knowing glance before turning back to the human.

“No, Luz, Amity isn’t here.” Willow said calmly.

Luz visibly drooped, disappointed. At least they knew she could still feel other emotions.

“Do you want me to call her?” Willow asked the girl.

Luz rose up again, excited. Gus was reminded of an emotional yo-yo.

“Great, more children,” Eda muttered. “You two are handling her inevitable panic.”

“Fair,” Willow nodded, pulling out her scroll. “Gus, take Luz for a minute.”

“Huh?” Gus looked up from taking notes just in time to get crushed by Luz falling over him.

Willow dialed Amity, ignoring the strangled cries of distress from Gus. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Wills,” Amity crackled through the scroll.

“Amity!” Luz trilled happily, sitting up from where she was crushing Gus.

“Is that Luz?” Amity inquired.

“Yeah, we’re at the Owl House.” Willow explained, holding Luz back from tumbling over her by holding a hand against her face.

“I can breathe!” Gus gasped. “Hi, Amity!” Luz giggled.

“Hey, Luz,” Amity mumbled.

You could see Willow’s will to live leave her body. Eda gave up and went back into the kitchen to grab herself a snack.

“Luz is in a bit of a situation at the moment,” Willow said calmly. “Turns out our vaccines don’t clash well with her.”

“What? Is she okay?” Amity worried, and the sound of shuffling was heard from the other line.

“Yeah, just really blitzed out.” Willow assured. “She says she can feel colors and is excited to an uncomfortable extent.”

“Willow has a lot of calm colors,” Luz grinned, giving up trying to squish Willow and instead dropping her head onto her leg. “I like ‘em.”

“That...sounds concerning.” Amity said slowly. “I’m coming over.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Willow said, before hanging up.

“Yay! Amity’s coming!” Luz cheered, trying to raise herself to a sitting position and wincing. “Ow, too loud.”

“Too loud?” Gus repeated, trying to write something down. “What is?”

“Spoke too loud,” Luz whined, shutting her eyes.

“You...usually speak that loud when you're excited.” Willow raised a brow. “Are your ears alright?”

“Just round,” Luz snickered at her ‘joke,’ cracking open an eye. “Everything about me is round! Round ears, round fang teeth, round face,” She said, proceeding to squish one of her cheeks in her hand.

“Your round ‘cause your squishy,” Willow agreed, helping Luz sit up properly.

“Very squishy,” Luz agreed. “I am the squishiest.” She said seriously. “Is your vision normal?” Gus asked, cautiously leaning closer to his friend. “No more spots?”

“Mm, less so.” Luz said, staring off at nothing. “And I think the couch is alive,” She said calmly.

The friends looked at the couch, and upon seeing it wasn’t moving, turned back to Luz.

“There’s...nothing happening.” Willow said slowly. “I mean, it could be alive, but nothings happening right now.”

“Are you sure?” Luz frowned, squinting intensely at the couch. “I swear the cover is like...rippling.”

Gus looked to the couch, back to Luz, back to the couch, and then back to Luz again.

“So she’s getting hallucinations,” He said, writing it down. “Good to know.”

“She what?” Eda called back, confused.

King poked his head through the kitchen door, his tail flicking.

“Eda wants to know what you said,”

“We heard her.” Willow sighed.

“Hallucinations. Luz thinks the couch is moving,” Gus said, not even sparing a glance up from her notebook.

“Oh, did it wake up?” King asked sincerely. “Eda! I think the couch woke up again!”

“The couch is alive?” Willow squeaked, pulling Luz closer and scooching away from it.

“Ha! Knew it,” Luz weakly waved a fist. “I knew it had to be alive.”

Eda reappeared soon after, double-checking that the couch hadn’t woken up. Gus was about to tell her the same information he told King, but the sounds of Hooty shrieking at someone caught everyone's attention.

They couldn’t make out his words, but it was hard to miss his high-pitched voice. Eda walked to the front door and cracked it opening, fully expecting to see Lilith or some random kid trying to find the Owl House again.

Instead, she saw Amity, hissing with fangs bared and looked ready to punch Hooty in the face. Which was understandable, considering he was continuously bugging her.

“Someone was anxious to get here,” Eda chuckled, swinging open the door and crushing a small piece of Hooty’s body between the door and the wall.

Hooty squawked and started harping on Eda, complaining and turning his attention away from Amity.

“Oh, hey, Eda.” Amity said, calming down and smoothing her hair back.

Eda could visibly tell Amity was trying to not breathe in too deeply, sure-fire evidence at how fast she had rushed to the Owl House.

“In here,” Eda said, letting Amity inside before shutting the door on Hooty’s complaints.

“Hey, Amity.” Willow greeted numbly.

Luz, who had previously been laying against Willow’s shoulder, popped up at a speed that made Gus concerned that her neck might’ve cracked.

“Hi, Ami!” Luz said cheerfully, her pupils immediately dilating so wide that you could barely see the whites of her eyes.

Amity paused, looking like she was about to be flattered before seeing the state Luz was in. She knit her brow together, clearly even more anxious as she hurried in, getting on her knees beside her friends.

“How long has she been like this?” She asked, hesitantly reaching out a hand before pulling back.

“Since this morning,” Gus said. “Eda said she’ll be fine.”

“That’s a relief,” Amity exhaled.

Eda mumbled something and slipped out of the living room. King was about to follow her before she spoke something quietly to him and left.

Instead, the demon pouted and sat at the door leading to the staircase hallway, his arms crossed.

“Oooh, you’re really colorful,” Luz said, grabbing Amity’s outstretched hand and pulling it closer.

“I--huh?” Amity stuttered, blushing.

“It’s so pretty,” Luz whispered, sounding not all there as she pressed Amity’s hand to her cheek.

“Don’t pass out on us,” Willow teased the furiously red witch. “I’d hate for you to die at fifteen.”

“Don’t test me,” Amity growled.

“Can you feel these ‘colors’ with other people?” Gus questioned the human.

It took a few seconds for Luz to react but she eventually looked back up at Gus.

“Mmm, yeah,” She mumbled. “Eda’s are weird,” She enunciated, swaying slightly.

Willow slowly held a hand on her shoulder to stop her from toppling. If Luz noticed, she didn’t comment.

“So, she’s really high right now, is what I’m getting at.” Amity said, looking over Luz, who still refused to release her hand.

“Pretty much,” Willow nodded. “At least the vaccines gave her a happy-high. I don’t know if we could handle a panicky or angry Luz.”

“Where’s,” Luz slurred for a moment, her right pupil contracting. “Where’s my, my,” She struggled for a moment, clearly forgetting what she was trying to say.

“You alright there?” Gus asked, trying not to laugh.

“¿Cuál es la palabra para eso?” Luz muttered under her breath. “Capucha...gato...gato capucha…”

“Is she speaking backwards or something?” Amity asked, alarmed.

“Oh, oh! Luz explained this to me once,” Gus said, perking up. “She said it was a human language...Spanish I think.”

“Hoodie!” Luz finally burst out before wincing and ducking her head, finally releasing Amity’s hand.

“Your hoodie?” Willow blinked. “Luz, you grew out of that four months ago.”

“Did someone say Hooty?”

Everyone groaned as the bird tube himself popped in through the window, happily chattering in his high voice.

“Did you guys miss me?” He yapped on.

Luz suddenly yelped and clapped her hands over her ears, doubling over into a ball. Her friends whirled back to her, startled.

“Is she still all weird?” Hooty continued, circling around them until his head was right by Luz. “Hi, Luz! Are you still being weird?”

Luz whimpered and curled into an even tighter ball, turning her head away from Hooty and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Quit it!” Amity snapped, shoving the birds face away. “You're scaring her!”

“Scaring?” Hooty repeated, though he did move back. “But I didn’t even do anything mentally scarring this time!”

King, who had fallen asleep at the door, was easily awoken by Hooty’s screeching. He noticed Amity pulling a balled-up Luz further away from Hooty, murderous intent in her gaze, and was quick to rush over.

“I’m awake! I’m awake! What happened?” He asked, skidding to a stop.

“I don’t know, but Hooty’s freaking out Luz.” Willow said, reaching out a hesitant hand to the girl.

“Hey! You! Shoo!” King snapped to the bird, waving his paws at him. “Don’t make me get Eda!”

“Alright, alright! Sheesh!” Hooty grumbled, slowly pulling himself back out the window. “I didn’t mean to do anything, gosh.” He muttered, frowning as he disappeared back to the front of the house.

“Luz?” Amity worried, looking down at the shaking girl halfway in her lap. “Luz? He’s gone now, it’s okay.”

Luz cracked open an eye, revealing it had contracted to a disturbingly small size. She slowly removed her hands from her ears and sat up, almost knocking her head into Amity’s chin.

“Are you alright?” Willow worried, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Loud,” Luz whined, rubbing at her ear.

“Should I call Eda?” King worried, coming up in front of Luz. “I should call Eda. Hey, Eda!” He shouted, turning his head away. “Eda!”

Luz hissed and jerked back, shutting her eyes and covering her ears again.

King jumped back and covered his mouth with his paws. Willow was quick to wrap her arm around Luz’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry!” King exclaimed, immediately covering his mouth again when Luz’s flinch revealed he’d been too loud again. “Sorry, sorry,” He whispered, taking another step back.

“Luz?” Willow worried.

“Loud,” The human repeated, burying her head in Willow’s shoulder. “It’s loud.”

The other three all looked to each other with concern.

“But...Hooty and King always talk like that.” Amity said slowly. “It...it’s never bothered her before.”

“She must have gotten more sensitive to sound,” Gus said, his voice lowered. “Us talking normally must already be quite loud. And considering King and Hooty are naturally louder when they talk, she must think they’re screaming if they go so much as a few notes up.”

King sat on the floor, his paws still wrapped around his muzzle, his face full of horror and shame.

Rapid footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, and Eda was in the living room in a flash, holding her staff in one hand.

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” She asked, hurrying over.

“Luz is sensitive to sound,” Willow explained softly. “Hooty and King hurt her ears without meaning to, that’s all.”

“Great, another symptom.” Eda muttered, her staff vanishing in a flash of light. “How sensitive?”

“Anything higher than normal talking is painful,” Gus said, quickly writing it all down. “To her, it must sound like we’re already talking loud, but she’s putting up with it.”

Eda sighed and ran a hand down her face. Luz had recovered from King’s shout and peeled herself off of Willow, hands hovering by her ears in fear there would be another loud noise.

“I’m gonna go get Lilith,” She decided, watching Luz pitifully. “I need to know what else is going to happen to her.”

“What?” Luz blinked, looking around. “Why was everyone shouting?”

“Sorry,” King repeated again, shaking his head.

“You didn’t know,” Eda leaned down and ruffled the fur behind his head. “Luz, maybe you should go rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Luz said, becoming cheerful again. “Not at all! Hey, do you think I could climb the Knee and back?” She asked, turning to Willow. “I think I could do that.”

“Don’t,” Willow said, standing up and helping her friend off the floor. “We’ll stay with her.” She assured the older witch.

“I’d say don’t do anything stupid, but we all know that’s going to happen no matter what.” Eda said, crossing her arms. “Just don’t do something overly stupid.”

“Understood,” Amity nodded, scooping up King as she and Gus stood.

Luz paused before whirling her head around, nearly falling over at the force if Willow didn’t catch her in time.

“Ami?” Luz blinked blearily. “When did you get here?”

“This is going to be a long day,” Eda sighed, shoulders slumping with the weight of a sky.

“We’ll try to get through unscathed,” Gus said, glancing at Luz as she started staring at and inspecting her own hands, confused.

“Key word; try.”

“I think I swallowed another light spell,” Luz groaned, face-down on her sleeping bag.

“You didn’t. We would’ve seen it.” Willow said, glancing back at the girl.

“I must’ve,” Luz muffled through the bag. “I feel like it.”

“Huh, so she’s hallucinating sensations, too.” Gus said, sitting cross-legged by the window and writing in another page of his notebook.

“Or she could just feel awful,” Amity pointed out, leaning against the wall behind Luz. “I certainly would, considering the state she’s already in.”

“Please don’t throw up like last time,” King begged, his voice barely above a whisper as he placed his paws on Luz’s arm. “That was disgusting.”

“Water,” Luz mumbled, raising a hand and grabbing at air. “Need water.”

Amity picked up the water bottle on the floor beside her and crawled over, placing it in Luz’s open hand.

“Humans can’t die from drinking too much water, right?” Gus asked, looking up from his notebook.

Luz looked up and tilted the water bottle, never raising her head off of the floor. She opened her mouth and let the water trickle out and into her mouth.

Her friends all watched her, mesmerized at the sight. Luz’s grip on the water bottle loosened after a few minutes and it fell and hit her in the face, causing her to hiss and water to spill.

Amity muttered before pulling Luz into a sitting position by her shoulders. The girl was still staring off blankly, like this outcome was completely out of the blue.

King came back with old clothes Eda never used and Willow mopped up the water with them, barely batting an eye.

“Aw,” Luz finally reacted, mournfully watching her forgotten water bottle which was now only a quarter-full. “My juice…”

“Luz, you're getting soaked.” Amity sighed, grabbing one of the unused shirts and dabbing at Luz’s shirt and face.

“Like it, it’s cold,” Luz said, though she did nothing to stop Amity.

“Cold? Are you feeling too warm?” Willow asked, glancing up.

“Uh,” Luz stared off for a moment. “Yope.”

“Yope?” Gus echoed.

“Nes? Yo? Noes? Sio? Ni?” Luz tried out a bunch of different words, often slurring them together.

“Luz, what are you saying?” Amity sighed, trying to get the worst of the water off her shirt now.

“What’s yes and no combined?” Luz questioned Gus. “You’re smart, you know.”

“Maybe?” Gus tried, raising a brow.

“Maybe?” Luz frowned. “How can you be ‘maybe’ smart?”

“You’re maybe too warm?” Willow reiterated.

“I’m like…” Luz spaced out for a moment before snapping back to reality, both her pupils at different levels of dilated. “Hot and cold?”

“That’s mildly troubling,” Gus spoke, flipping to a new page in his notebook.

“I feel like I have a weird fever,” Luz sniffled, blinking her eyes rapidly. “You know? You know like...like when you're so sick you're too extreme in both temperatures.”

“I think I had that once!” King raised his paw excitedly before quickly lowering back down when he saw Luz flinch at his voice. “I had frostbite on my fur after I ate a fire-twig. I couldn’t stop moving for like, three hours.”

“Mood,” Luz nodded solemnly.

“I’m...pretty sure that’s not an emotion…” King said slowly.

“So, do you want like, extra blankets?” Amity suggested.

“I want to die,” Luz whined, almost flopping over onto her face again before Amity grabbed the back of her shirt and held her up. “And everything smells like those weird street corners.”

“Smells fine to me,” WIllow said, laying the wet clothes on the ledge in front of the window. “Do you want to change into a non-wet shirt?”

“Oh,” Luz nodded after a few beats. “Yeah,” She said, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling up.

Amity, who had previously been tossing the damp cloth away, turned back around just in the nick of time.

“Not right now!” She squeaked, frantically grabbing Luz’s hands and forcing her to shove her shirt back down.

The other three whirled back to the girls, startled by the sudden noise.

“Ow,” Luz complained, removing her hands and rubbing at her ears. “Loud,”

“Sorry, sorry,” Amity whispered, jerking her hands back.

Her ears were pressed down, and she was a bright red from the tip of each ear.

Willow rolled her eyes but made no comment as she stood up and offered a hand to Luz. The human stared at it for a moment before Willow took the humans hand herself and helped her up.

“I’ll ask Eda if she has anything that’s not covered in dust,” Willow asked her, gazing around at Luz’s room. “Somehow, I doubt she keeps her clothes on the racks in here.”

“I,” Amity shook her head to clear it. “I think she has a chest in the room down the hallway.”

“I’ll check it out,” Willow nodded, keeping a hand on Luz’s shoulder and guiding her out of her room.

Thus leaving Amity, Gus and King to their own devices.

They all looked at each other.

“You wanna cut holes in Eda’s raggety clothes and stitch them together?” King asked casually. “Yeah I do!” Gus grinned, throwing his notebook and pencil aside.

“I’m picking the fabric,” Amity said matter-of-factly. “You guys will just make an unholy abomination.”

“Says the girl in the abomination track,”

“Maybe...if we split my head open...the pain will stop.”

“I’m not cracking your skull like an egg for a headache, Luz.”

“Do you think zombies would like that?” Luz asked, raising a hand in the air. “Would it be like scrambled eggs?” “That’s disgusting, Luz.”

“Not to the zombies,”

Luz was laying across the couch, her head hanging off the armrest, holding a warm washcloth against her forehead. Willow was sitting on the other end, with Gus perched on the armrest beside her. Amity was sitting on the floor in front of Luz with King in her lap, making sure she didn’t slide off the couch.

“Some guy did it once,” Luz continued, her eyes covered by the washcloth as she wildly waved her other hand around in the air. “Some god or something. Head split. Woman popped out. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, really?” Gus gasped, eyes shining excitedly.

“Gus, she’s high.” Willow deadpanned. “I don’t think we can trust most things she’s saying right now.”

“It was a thing!” Luz insisted, trying to sit up and failing. “Learned ‘bout it...Big Z got a nerdy war daughter. Like…” She paused for a moment. “Like Amity, but a goddess.”

Amity made a few strangled choking sounds, and King glared up at her. Though he didn’t try to move out of her lap.

“I’m writing it down anyway,” Gus said, scribbling furiously.

“How’s the headache?” Willow asked.

“Killing me slowly,” Luz said, rolling her head to the side on the armrest so she was nearly falling off the couch.

She moved the washcloth further up, revealing her pupils going off the fritz for a few moments before appearing to pulsate in size.

“I wanna run laps and then curl up on the floor,” Luz said, eyes glazing over in that way you knew she was focusing on nothing at all. “I wanna slam into something.”

“Wh...why?” Gus said slowly.

“No idea,” Luz shrugged, her voice sounding far too cheerful. “Maybe if I run into a wall I’ll start feeling normal. I should try that.” She said, beginning to sit up.

“Absolutely not,” Amity snapped, her voice a bit strained as she sat up and sharply pushed Luz back onto the couch. “You’re not getting any more brain damage today.”

“Eda told me she already fell down the last few steps on the stairs,” King piped up.

“Few?” Luz repeated, blinking. “I fell down all ‘em.”

There was a few seconds of silence where everyone soaked in her words.

“You fell down the entire flight of stairs?” Willow repeated. “Yeah?” Luz looked between her friends, perplexed. “What?”

“Didn’t that hurt?” Amity winced at the thought. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything!”

“I didn’t feel a thing,” Luz shrugged, completely uncaring. “Felt like falling in a ball pit.”

“You fell down wooden stairs, and you felt nothing?” Willow gaped.

“Nope,” Luz smiled.

Her friends stared at her for a few moments, all in different states of concern.

“Oh, her pain tolerance shot up, too.” Gus spoke, breaking the silence. “Her ears and head must either be incredibly painful or they don’t work the same way.”

“I’ve never felt more terrified for Luz in my life,” Willow near-wheezed. “She could have a cracked bone right now and we wouldn’t even know.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luz waved a hand. “Mamás a doctor, I know things...many things.”

“I know Eda is a lot of things, but I doubt she’s a doctor, whatever that is.” Gus said, confused as he looked up.

Everyone froze. Gus realized who Luz was talking about a moment too late.

Luz squinted and stared down at the couch, washcloth slowly sliding off her head. Her left pupil expanded before slowly shrinking. She looked like she was trying to reboot her brain, and swayed slightly.

“Hey, Luz!” Amity quickly sat up, giving her friend a nervous smile. “You wanna dress up King in that weird patchwork shirt we made?”

“Uh, yes,” Luz went right back to smiling.

A silent sigh of relief swept through the room.

“How could you?” King cried, lowering his voice a second into his outburst. “Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

“It was a cupcake, King.” Amity said, standing and scooping up King in her arms.

“And you crushed it mercilessly!”

Willow glanced back at Gus, who’s ears were flicked back. He was staring at his notebook, looking like a toddler who’d been caught trying to steal food from the counter.

“Sorry,” He whispered when he caught Willow’s look. “I wasn’t paying attention…”

“It’s alright,” Willow sighed, watching as King squirmed in Amity’s hold and Luz tried to sit up. “We’re all trying to get used to it.”

“King, c’mere,” Luz cooed, putting her hands on the armrest and trying to pull herself up.

Before promptly losing her grip and falling face-first off the couch.

“Are you okay?” Amity worried.

“Feeling nothin’,” Luz said, giving a thumbs up as she raised her head. “Never better.”

Amity cringed back at the sight, and King made an ‘ew’ noise, curling closer in the witches arms.

“She gave herself a black eye, didn’t she?” Willow sighed.

“Yeah…”

“Titan save us, she’s not gonna last a week.”

“Oh don’t cha dare look back, just keep ya eyes on me, I said ya holding back, she said shut up and dance with me,”

The quintet were all sitting around the kitchen table. It was well past noon, too late for lunch but too early for dinner. But King had gotten hungry and so everyone had eaten at what Luz had called ‘dinunch’ or ‘lunner.’

Well, everyone aside from Luz. She vehemently refused to eat anything. So she’d resorted to laying upside down on her chair, her head on the floor, and singing some human song nobody at the table knew.

“This woman is my destiny, she said oooooh, shut up and dance with me!”

“I’m going to lose it,” Gus whispered, staring at the table with the gaze of centuries of pain.

“Ha! Luz it,” Luz giggled. “McLuz it. Puns,”

“Shouldn’t Eda be back with Lilith by now?” Willow asked the demon sitting on the table by Luz’s chair.

“Eh, she may have just started studying at the library with her.” King shrugged. “Or they’re busting themselves out of prison, either is plausible.”

“We were victims of the night,” Luz continued humming. “The chemical, physical, kryptonite.”

“At least she’s not whining about headaches,” Amity shrugged.

“Helpless to the bass and the fading light, oh we were bound to get together, bound to get together,” Luz tilted her head while on the floor, eyes closed.

“For your sake, I hope you don’t remember today all that well,” Willow said, rubbing her temples. “Luz, are you keeping that ice on your eye?”

“She took my arm!” Luz trilled, though it was no louder than regular talking. “Don’t know how it happened, we hit the floor and she saaaaaaid,”

“Luz,” Willow repeated.

“Oh don’t cha dare look back, just keep ya eyes on me, I said you’re holdin’ back, she said--”

“Luz,” Amity said, peering under the table.

Luz paused, blinking open her eyes and holding them on Amity. One of her hands was splayed out by her head, loosely holding a wet towel with no ice in it.

“What happened to the ice?” Amity sighed.

“Huh?” Luz blinked, her pupils fritzing out for a moment. “Oh, I ate ‘em.”

“You ate four cubes of ice?” Willow cried, standing up suddenly. “Why? Why in the world…?”

“Wanted to see what it’d taste like.” Luz said earnestly. “Tasted bad,”

“Then why’d you eat all four?” Gus raised a brow, also peering under the table.

Luz looked at him blankly.

“Shut up and dance with me!” She went right on singing. “This woman is my destiny, she said oooooh,”

Everyone at the table couldn’t look more tired. Willow sighed and got up to get more ice for Luz’s black eye, which had swollen to the point where it could only open halfway.

“Okay, you’re making me nervous from that position, please sit up,” Amity said, getting up from her chair and standing by Luz, who was still singing on.

“A backless dress and some beat up sneaks,” Luz sang. “My discotheque, Juliet, teenage dream! I felt in in my chest as she looked at me,”

Amity gave Gus and King a look of utter pain and confusion before crouching down by the human, snapping her fingers to get her attention.

Luz jolted to attention and rolled her head to the side, looking up at Amity.

Her pupils dilated wide before one flickered slightly smaller.

“Can you get up?” Amity asked her.

Luz opened her mouth to reply before slowly shutting it again. She did this a few more times before turning her head to the side and avoiding the witches gaze.

Amity sighed and resigned to helping her up herself. She picked up Luz’s feet and took them off of the back of the chair, setting them to the side at a very awkward angle, considering Luz refused to move.

“Lost my place,” Luz mumbled.

For a second Amity thought she was complaining about her current position being shifted, but as her friend started singing again, she knew she couldn’t care less.

“She took my arm, I don’t know how it happened,” She hummed. “We took the floor and she saaaaaaid,”

Amity leaned down and took Luz’s hands, pulling her up. She was now facing off the side of the chair, finally sitting in a normal position.

Luz looked up to her, blinking innocently. One pupil contracted and she broke into a goofy grin.

“Take me home tonight,” She sang on, keeping a hold on Amity’s hands and trying to pull herself to a standing position. “I don’t want to let you go till we see the light.”

Amity stepped back, unconsciously helping to keep Luz standing, watching her in confusion. She glanced at the others, but Gus wasn’t paying much attention, just glad Luz wasn’t singing the same lines over and over again. King barely spared them a glance, much more interested in notes Gus was looking over.

“Take me home tonight,” Luz grinned, pulling Amity’s hands back till she was nearly nose-to-nose with the girl.

It likely would’ve been a lot more romantic if Luz’s eye wasn’t swollen and black. Plus her pupils that were still fluctuating.

“Listen honey,” Luz chanted. “Just like Ronnie said,”

Amity slowly drew her head back, beginning to flush brightly. Luz giggled and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Luz...Luz what are you--”

“Be my little baaaaaaaby,” She snickered, placing her head on Amity’s shoulder and continuing to give short laughs.

“Luz?” Amity stuttered, trying to get her hands out of Luz’s grip. “Listen, you--” She swallowed. “You need to sit back down…”

“Is everything okay?” Willow asked, appearing with more cubes of ice wrapped up in a washcloth.

“Oh don’t you dare look back!” Luz suddenly shot back, snatching Amity’s arms and tugging her along. “Just keep your eyes on me!”

She misjudged the distance between her and the table, smacking her back into and crumbling to the floor, not as steady on her feet as everyone thought.

The back of her head hit the table as she fell. She didn’t make any noise of pain, simply toppled over and landed on the floor before roughly sitting back and knocking against the table leg, looking dazed.

“Luz!” Amity cried.

Gus and King jerked up as Willow rushed over, crouching by Luz along with Amity.

Luz still looked almost to be in a state of shock, but it was hard to tell from how her head turned and pupils contracted. Willow reached out and turned her head to inspect the damage.

“Yeah, it’s bleeding.” Willow winced.

“How much?” Gus asked, peering over the table.

“Uh,” Willow pulled her hand back, revealing Luz’s blood coating it.

Amity sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide. She quickly turned Luz’s head to see for herself as Gus and King hurried around to them.

She couldn’t tell where the cut was under Luz’s hair that she was beginning to grow out, but it was bleeding rapidly. A large patch of her hair was dark red with blood gushing out.

“Call Eda, call Eda!” Gus exclaimed as King rushed to Luz, worrying over her.

“Call the healers!” King insisted over the witch.

Luz winced and covered her ears, whimpering at their frantic shouting. Willow quickly pulled out her scroll and began dialing Eda, clearly just as freaked out as the others.

Amity was in a state of shock. She was sitting on her knees at Luz’s side, just staring at the blood beginning to trickle down Luz’s hair and onto her neck. Her pupils were slitted into thin lines, and her breathing had become heavy.

Luz opened her eyes, but kept her hands over her ears because of the shouting. She gave her friends a hurt look before noticing the stilled fear on Amity’s face.

She frowned and nudged Amity’s leg with her foot. When the witch didn’t respond, she turned to King, who was sitting closest to her, and nudged his back with the same foot.

King turned, and everyone's shouting paused.

“Guys?” Luz said, one eye dilating as the back of her shirt grew soaked with blood. “I think something’s wrong with Amity...”

Lilith sat on the couch, looking over as many medical papers she could. She finally wore her glasses, and she had notes lay strewn about on the coffee table. She was exhausted, and words were beginning to blur together.

It was almost one in the morning, but she couldn’t stop yet.

After a study session and quick escape from Kikimora yesterday, Eda had been called and informed by panicked teenagers that Luz had hit her head on the table and was heavily bleeding on the floor. Lilith didn’t think Eda could get that scared in such a short amount of time, but you learn something new every day.

Thankfully, Luz had turned out fine. Her head injury wasn’t all that serious, it just turns out humans bleed more from head wounds than witches.

But considering that in just a few hours Luz had managed to get said head injury, a black eye, and traumatize her friends, Eda was quick to shoo them away.

Lilith hated the pained expression plastered to Amity’s face.

She couldn’t be mad at Eda, not really. Her little sister was scared for Luz, and who wouldn’t be? Having to deal with three more kids was far from her to-do list.

Luz had been patched up by very concerned healers, leaving Lilith to insist that, no, they had not drugged a child, she was just having a bad reaction to vaccines.

Her friends had come back the second day, but Luz was on constant surveillance watch by them and Eda alike. Not much had changed from the first day, though Luz had somehow managed to get her head stuck in a cardboard cylinder.

She was glad when they left before dinner. The constant terror flashing in Amity’s eyes worried her beyond belief.

Technically speaking, Lilith supposed, it was the third day now. But she was too busy focusing on finding anything useful to dwell on it.

She heard creaking steps and didn’t bother to glance up. It was probably Edalyn. She was awake at all hours and was probably off to grab a snack.

She heard heavy footsteps and eventually something flopping down at the edge of the coffee table.

A moment later, a head was placed on it.

Lilith looked up then.

Luz was sitting on her knees at the end of the table, her chin resting on the end with her arms loosely dragging in the floor. She had bandages around her black eye and head, and, according to her, making her look like ‘a pirate.’”

“Luz?” Lilith blinked, setting down her pen. “What are you doing up?”

“Not tired,” Luz said, her eyes turning to the witch.

Her right pupil expanded, nearly taking up all the color in her eye.

“Well, you should try to sleep,” Lilith said simply. “I have tea to help calm you down, if you want.”

“Nah,” Luz said, looking back to the papers. “Whatcha doing?”

Lilith, already tired and not thinking completely straight, decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to humor the human.

“Studying,” She said simply. “To help you.”

“You are?” Luz perked up, raising her head off the table.

“Um, yes?” Lilith raised a brow. “I have been for a while now. Did you not know?” “Nobody told me!” Luz shook her head, placing her hands on the table and holding herself up. “You found a lot on the human...human thingies,” She commented, gazing at the papers.

Lilith suddenly understood, and she felt a twinge in her chest. She decided not to think about it for too long.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not studying for that.” She explained. “I’m studying how to make you feel better, not the human realm.”

Luz’s smile instantly fell. She slumped onto her elbows and glomily lay her cheek on the table.

“Oh,” She said sadly, letting out a sigh. “Okay,”

Lilith frowned, her chest suddenly feeling just a bit hollower. She thought she must’ve been feeling the weight of her exhaustion, but she was quick to realize the real issue.

Lilith sighed dramatically and ran a hand through her hair.

Great Titan, she’d begun to truly care, hadn’t she?

She bit her lip and glanced back at Luz, who was still sorrowfully staring at her papers, her pupil now contracted to half the size of a dime.

“But,” She said cautiously, catching Luz’s attention. “I suppose I could help you with that...once you feel better, of course.”

“You will?” Luz shot up again like a rocket. “Thank you!” She smiled.

Lilith gave a small smile and chuckled.

“You’re going to regret all that happened these last few days when you gain control of yourself again,” She said, going back to flipping through the pages of a medical book she found. “I know I would.”

“Why?” Luz asked, tiling her head curiously.

“Wh--Luz, even you must realize you’d never be like this in your normal state.” Lilith said matter-of-factly. “You hate me, remember?”

Luz stared at her blankly for a moment. She crossed her arms on the table and rested on them, giving her an innocent look.

“No I don’t,”

Lilith paused. She slowly glanced over to the girl, confused.

“You do,” She said firmly. “In case you forgot, I used you to lure Eda to the Emperor’s Coven and could’ve gotten you seriously hurt.”

“You did?” Luz asked, before realization dawned on her. “Oh yeah! You did,” She chuckled. “I used to have nightmares about that.” She said casually.

Lilith flinched and turned away, focusing her attention on the paper she’d read over and over again.

There was a stretched silence for a few moments. Lilith thought Luz had fallen asleep, but she was still staring at her.

“Don’t hate cha,” Luz said again, her pupil flickering. “Ya no, al menos,” She mumbled.

“And why’s that?” Lilith sighed. “If you’d care to enlighten me,”

“You try,” Luz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I definitely have favorites,” She said, turning her head on her arms. “But you’re off the hate-list. Hate file. Hate...paper.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Luz, with all due respect, I’m finding that hard to believe.” Lilith said simply. “You’re in a deleriated state, and I don’t trust your words at the moment.”

“I know stuff!” Luz shot back, glaring.

“What’s six times three?” Lilith asked.

Luz stared at her for a moment. She looked down at her fingers and began quietly counting on them.

“...twenty-three?” She suggested hesitantly.

Lilith gave her a deadpan stare before sighing and setting aside another paper.

“My point still stands,”

“But I don’t,” Luz whined, pounting.

“Not to be unappreciative, but Eda is far more deserving of you than I ever will be.” Lilith said simply, ears flicking back.

“Eda’s not perfect,” Luz muttered. “She made me break into the crema...the...tori...prison.” Luz muttered. “Prison break.”

“She made you break into the crematorium?” Lilith jerked up.

“First day,” Luz grinned, raising a finger. “For a...a lil crown.”

She suddenly lit up, happily facing Lilith.

“Hey, hey,” She started giggling. “Did you, did you know Warden Wrath,” She could barely hold back her laughs. “Wrath had a crush on Eda?”

Lilith’s eyebrows raised, and she searched Luz’s face with hesitant interest.

“I did not…” She said slowly.

“It was weird,” Luz giggled. “And, and she forgot my name!” She said gleefully. “Had to remind her who I was.”

“She did?” Lilith said, slowly setting her pen down.

“And she laughed at me,” Luz added, resting her chin on the table as she thought. “And told me to dig through trash. And almost killed me while cursed.”

Lilith visibly flinched, turning away. She had never heard that Eda transformed while Luz was stuck in the house with her.

How Luz made it out unscathed, she wished she knew.

“And she made me cheat at the covention,” Luz continued rattling off. “And Eda swapped our bodies because...petty I think. And made me shove moss up my nose. And she sold some of my old stuff,”

Luz visibly frowned slightly at that one.

“And she taunted me by saying I was fragile. And a bunch of other things,” She continued, her pupil spazzing for a moment. She visibly winced before it calmed to enveloping half her eye.

“That’s...quite a bit.” Lilith said slowly.

“Yeah,” Luz nodded, before placing her hands on the table again and raising herself up.

“But I still love her,” She said cheerfully. “She did good things, too.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about those, you don’t need to list them.” Lilith quickly assured the kid. “Eda boasts about her accomplishments all the time.”

Luz smiled and began messing with the pen Lilith left on the table, rolling it around as her eye followed it.

“You’ve done good, too.” She said quietly. “I like that you try,” She said sincerely, looking up. “I try.”

Lilith watched the girl for a moment. She offered the tiniest of smiles and glanced down at her hands, looking them over.

“Thank you,” She said quietly, holding her hands close. “I...I appreciate it.”

Luz ditched the pen and held herself up higher, looking proud.

“And if I’m honest, I’d almost think you weren’t as affected as we thought,” Lilith raised a brow in amusement. “Are you sure your not actually high?”

Luz blinked at her, tilting her head in confusion and frowning. She looked down, then looked back to Lilith.

“I’m on the floor,” She said.

“...never mind.” Lilith sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a wonder, Luz, you know that?”

Luz puffed out her chest with pride and brought a hand to it. She was about to say something, but she had been resting all her weight on her hands, and with one removed, she promptly slipped and cracked her chin against the coffee table.

“Are you alright?” Lilith exclaimed as Luz groaned and held her chin, falling onto the carpeted floor. “Ow,” Luz whined.

Lilith muttered under her breath and took off her glasses. She got up and walked over to Luz, helping the girl to her feet.

“At least you can feel pain again,” She murmured. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Luz didn’t respond, but she allowed the witch to guide her out of the living room, still whimpering about the pain.

Lilith had gotten to the bottom of the stairs when Luz leaned against her side, holding her arms. Lilith looked down at her before wrapping an arm around the girl and gently leading her up the stairs.

Her studying could wait.

“Des-pa-cito,”

“Day three into Luz’s descent into madness,” Gus droned over Luz’s singing. “And I’ve lost my will to continue on.”

“Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito,” Luz sang deliriously, though at least she seemed to be having fun.

The friends were all sitting on the living room floor, with Eda and King messing with some glyphs on the couch.

“Where’s Lilith?” Amity wondered, eyeing Luz, who was laying on her back on the floor.

“Holed up in her room studying on something,” Eda waved her hand casually. “Don’t know, don’t particularly care. Unless it's useful to us right now.”

“Deja que te diga cosas al oído,” Luz hummed. “Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo.”

“When Luz said she was going to distract herself from her headache, I wasn’t expecting this.” Willow said calmly, already glazed over from three days of putting up with this.

“It’s not that much different from yesterday,” Amity insisted.

“Des-pa-cito!”

The green-haired witches expression, however, proved that she was tired of dealing with Luz’s shenanigans as well.

“Quiero desnundar--”

Luz suddenly cut herself off, staring at the ceiling. Amity glanced over, noticing a crimson on Luz’s face as her unbandaged pupil contracted.

“Luz?” Amity asked.

“Nope, not saying that.” Luz said, still staring at the ceiling.

Amity raised a brow and glanced at her friends. They only gave her clueless shrugs. Not like any of them knew Spanish.

“I’m too hungry to put up with this,” Eda grumbled, getting up from the couch and ditching the fire glyph she was trying to draw. “You kids want lunch?”

“It’s three PM?” Gus said, glancing up.

“Time is an illusion and so are you,” Eda responded, walking by the kids. “You hungry or not?”

“I am,” King said, scampering after her.

“A bit,” Amity nodded, standing up. “C’mon, Luz.”

“Not hungry,” Luz said simply, turning her head to watch as her friends all got up.

“I know for a fact you haven’t had lunch today,” Eda said, stopping and looking back. “You gotta eat, Luz.”

“I’m just not hungry,” Luz whined. “Wake up not hungry, stay not hungry.”

Eda frowned as Amity offered a hand and helped Luz to her feet.

“Didn’t wake up hungry?” Eda repeated. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“No,” Luz said bluntly. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“Luz!” Willow scolded.

“What? I’m not!” Luz huffed, crossing her arms.

“Luz, when was the last time you ate?” Eda sighed.

Luz paused. She scrunched up her face for a moment before beginning to mutter and count on her fingers.

You could see the fear spike through everyone in the room.

“Uh, not yesterday,” Luz mumbled. “Not...yesterday-yesterday…”

“You haven’t eaten anything in over three days?” Gus exclaimed.

“Ow,” Luz grumbled, pointing to her ears before her pupil contracted. “But...yeah, think so. Wasn’t hungry,” She shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eda groaned, disturbed. “Come on, Luz, you’re eating something.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Eda snapped, grabbing the back of the girls shirt and tugging her into the kitchen. “You not feeling hungry in three days is the most worrying thing you’ve said. The no-pain thing is definitely second.”

“I swear we thought she ate before and that’s why she wasn’t hungry,” Gus said, hurriedly following after.

“Not your fault, I should’ve paid more attention.” Eda shrugged, dumping Luz into the kitchen chair where she pouted. “Add that to the list of vaccine symptoms.”

“No wonder she keeps falling over,” Willow murmured, casually shoving Luz back into her seat when she tried to get up. “I would too, if I was functioning on no food.”

“Shouldn’t she have gotten better by now?” Amity asked, pacing on the opposite side of the island counter. “Eda, when did you say she’ll get better?” “I…” Eda paused, one hand on the fridge door as she thought. “...a week. A week at most.” She said, glancing back. “We’ll be seeing progress between now and the end of this week, I promise.”

She almost winced at her own lie. Which was a rare sight for the con-artist.

“I’m fine,” Luz grumbled, slumping onto the table. “I’ve had worse,”

“While you weren’t inebriated, Luz.” Amity deadpanned. “It’s one thing when you get yourself into trouble on your own, this is worse.”

“Dramatic,” Luz muttered, but didn’t comment further.

“Willow, you're the strongest, right?” Eda asked, turning and placing a bowl of leftover meat chunks on the table.

“Yeah?” Willow blinked. “Why?”

“Hold her down,” She instructed the witch. “Because she will fight back.”

Willow didn’t react for the first few moments, allowing Eda’s words to sink in for Luz. She started to shoot up and make a break for it, but Willow quickly snapped out of it and shoved the human back into her seat with little difficulty.

Luz flailed and even tried to bite Willow, but it did practically nothing. A sharp shoulder squeeze at the human wincing and obediently sitting still.

“Is this...common?” Gus inquired.

“No, not really.” Eda shook her head. “I just figured since Luz was having such an aversion to eating for three days, she probably wouldn’t be inclined to now just because we asked nicely.”

Luz tried to mimic a hiss as Eda set down the bowl in front of her. Gus giggled at the sight, since it was more like her saying the word hiss than the actual noise witches made.

“Every day, I lose more of my sanity in this house,” Amity said, stepping away as Luz tried to struggle again and Eda searched for a fork.

“Welcome to the club, kid.”

Luz had been sent to bed three hours earlier.

It was the end of the third day.

Eda, for some reason, was wide awake.

This wasn’t out of the blue. She was usually up at odd hours due to her curse. She felt less inclined to do so now, but thirty-year-old habits die hard.

She figured she woke up on her own, so she got up to get a snack like usual, and to check on Luz in her room.

But when she left her own room and looked down the hallway, she saw that Luz’s door was wide open.

Panic seized her for a brief moment before she forced herself to calm down. An open door didn’t mean anything, get yourself together.

Eda poked her head inside Luz’s room and looked around. Sure enough, her sleeping bag was left abandoned, and the human was nowhere to be seen.

Her first thought was Lilith. Nothing specific at all, just that Lilith was responsible.

She shook her head and looked back towards Lilith’s ‘room.’ The light was still on.

She opened the door a crack, seeing Lilith was sitting on the floor, ready to pass out. She had books and papers strewn out before her, half of them medical, the other half everything on humans and their realm she could find. Eda knew Luz and Gus had already read through those before.

She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at the immediate blame before silently shutting the door.

Maybe Luz had just gone for a snack, like her. It wasn’t too unusual for her to creep out at midnight.

Granted, she wasn’t on the verge of toppling over at every step those last times.

Eda walked down the stairs and looked around. She checked every room, seeing no trace of the human anywhere, her anxiety growing by the minute.

She pulled out a fire glyph and lit the candles around the kitchen, forcibly keeping her breathing normal.

“Hello?”

Eda perked at the sound of the girl's voice and pricked her ears up. She saw that the back door was wide open, explaining why Hooty hadn’t noticed anything. He was asleep at this point, anyway.

She could see the outline of someone standing well outside the house, nearly at the treeline.

“Luz!” Eda called, rushing out the door. “What are you doing out here, kid?”

Luz whirled around, eyes wide and scared.

The bandage around her head was gone, revealing the injury on her head was at nasty cotting phase. Her eye was still dark and swollen, but she could open it far better than before. The healing glyphs had sped up the process, while they had been on.

“Luz?” Eda slowed, coming to a stop a few meters from the girl, the kitchen light from the house giving her a shadow that stretched out right towards Luz.

“It...it’s her,” Luz said, slowly turning her head back around to face the forest. “I can hear her.”

“Hear who?” Eda said, taking a step closer.

“Listen,” Luz said simply.

So, Eda did. She angled her ears to listen towards the forest, silent and still.

The only sound that greeted her was the wind through the trees.

“There it is!” Luz suddenly perked up. “That’s her!”

There hadn’t been a sound.

Eda knew her hearing was well more developed than Luz’s, all witches ears were. So the fact that Luz claimed to be hearing something even she couldn’t was...concerning.

“Kid, I can’t hear anything.” Eda shook her head.

“You’re not listening,” Luz huffed, her left pupil dilating. “It’s her! She’s somewhere out here, I know it!” She said, looking around.

“Who?” Eda demanded. “Who can you hear? What are you talking about?”

“My mamá,” Luz said, still scanning the treeline. “I can hear her.”

Oh.

Eda felt a painful twist in her chest. For a moment, she thought her gem was acting up, but it was still the same inky black as before.

“Luz,” Eda started gently, walking closer to the girl. “Your mother’s not here.”

“Yes she is, I hear her.” Luz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I think you need your ears checked. She’s somewhere out there, I just need to--”

Eda grabbed Luz’s shoulder and she whirled around, startled. Her eyes flickered and spazzed, reflecting Eda’s face before shrinking again.

“That’s not her,” Eda said softly, looking down at the girl. “You’re hallucinating again, kiddo.” She said sorrowfully. “There’s nobody there.”

Luz looked up at the witch, her brows knitting together in a frown. She suddenly jerked back to the forest, head raised.

“But I hear her…” She said quietly, a crack lacing her voice.

“I know you do,” Eda said, wrapping an arm around the teens shoulders. “But there’s no way that can be her. She’s back in the human realm, remember?”

Luz stared up at Eda with wide, searching eyes. She looked back to the forest, her body tense. Eda knew that look and tightened her hold around Luz’s shoulders, her hand placed just below Luz’s collarbone.

“Mamá!” Luz shouted, straining against Eda’s hold. “Mamá! I’m here!” She cried, raising a hand to grab Eda’s, but she didn’t try to pull her off.

Eda realized that the shouting must’ve been torture to Luz’s ears. She could even see the human wince every time she shouted. And yet, she kept calling.

Luz waited, listening intently. Eda sighed and gently tried to pull the human back.

“She’s not there. She would’ve heard you.” She said.

“She must be stuck,” Luz insisted. “Mamá!”

“Luz,” Eda breathed. “Please, she’s not--”

“She has to be!” Luz persisted, straining again. “She...she has to be...I can hear her…”

The girl looked back at Eda, tears shining in her eyes and already beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Eda’s ears pressed back and she let out a breath, drawing up her other hand to gently grab Luz’s arm, her expression full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Luz.” She said softly. “I’m so sorry, but that’s not her.”

Luz sniffled and hiccuped. She opened her mouth to shout more, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. She quickly closed her mouth again, shutting her eyes as tears freely rolled down her cheeks.

The girl turned and buried her face in the crook of Eda’s arm, her hands tightly clutching Eda’s dress as she tried and failed to muffle her sobs.

Eda enveloped the girl in a hug, feeling every shake her body gave as she wailed. The human flinched at every loud noise she made, but was unable to stop it.

Eda offered hushed whispers, holding the girl up and placing a hand on the back of her head. She stared off into the trees, only being greeted by the empty shadows.

The only sound now was Luz’s cries.

The witch, keeping her arms around Luz, began to guide her back to the house. Luz stayed clinging to her side, her face streaked with tears.

It was awkward maneuvering around her, but she didn’t complain.

Luz’s sobs had quieted to choked cries by the time Eda stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

She debated trying to turn off the lights, since she couldn’t rely on her magic to do that for her, but she decided to let the candles burn themselves out instead.

“Can you walk, kid?” Eda asked the girl.

Luz sniffled and nodded, slowly peeling herself off of Eda’s side.

“Come on, let’s hit the hay, eh?” She offered, nudging the girl in front of her. “When’s the last time we got a good night's rest, am I right?” She said, trying a half-hearted joke.

Luz paused at that, wiping at her eyes as she thought.

“I don’t think I’ve slept the last two days,” Luz said, glancing back.

Eda stared at her, praying that the girl was joking. And as hard it was to take Luz seriously with one pupil blown wide and the other taking up her entire iris, she knew very well she wasn’t joking.

“Great Titan, kid,” Eda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, my nest. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Luz nodded and began to climb the stairs, holding her hands together to try and stop their shaking. Eda stayed right behind her, fearfully shifting every time she saw the girl sway slightly.

Eda caught Lilith’s door quickly shutting when they made it up the stairs. She wasn’t surprised, Luz hadn’t necessarily been quiet.

Luz stumbled down the hallway, Eda hovering right behind her. She looked away for a moment to look at Lilith’s closed door, noting that the lights were off now.

She heard a thud.

Eda spun around, tensing.

Luz had fallen mid-step, crashing onto the floor in a heap. In a flash, Eda was at her side and pulling her up, terrified something bad had happened.

Instead, she was greeted by Luz’s soft snores.

“Of course,” Eda sighed, scooping her up into her arms. “Just my luck you’d pass out before we even got to my room.” She muttered.

Effortlessly, she carried the human to her room and kicked the door shut behind her. She lay Luz in her nest, leaning her head on the edge to keep it propped up.

Eda searched her room for a moment before finding the spare gauzes and healing glyphs she kept for emergencies. It was awkward trying to wrap up Luz’s head, but she managed and placed two healing glyphs on her, one over her eye and the other on the back of her head.

She searched her nest for a moment before pulling out an old blanket she rarely used. She wrapped it around Luz and lay her back down before slipping into her nest beside her.

Luz twitched in her sleep, but aside from that, she didn’t stir.

Eda lay on her stomach, her head squished against the edge of the nest. She glanced at Luz beside her before wrapping one arm around her, keeping the girl close.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Eda sighed quietly. “You never deserved any of this.”

All that greeted her was deafening silence.

“Are you sure you feel fine?” Gus asked for the eighth time that morning.

“Yes, Gus,” Luz sighed. “I swear that I am completely conscious now.”

“Guess your prediction was right,” Eda mumbled to Lilith, standing off to the side from the group. “Been a week, and she’s nearly normal again.”

“Thank goodness!” King breathed, slumping over Luz’s crossed leg. “I couldn’t handle being smothered by you again.”

“Sorry,” Luz winced, giving a sheepish smile. “I take it I…” She raised a hand and felt at her eye, which, while less swollen, was still noticeable. “Caused a bit of trouble?” She guessed shyly.

“Your hallucinations weren’t fun,” Willow nodded. “Or your unending thirst for every water bottle you could find.”

“And your refusal to eat and sleep,” Eda added.

Luz rubbed the back of her neck, hunching her shoulders and offering nervous smiles.

“Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Amity assured her.

Eda casted a sideways glare at Lilith, who looked away and held her hands behind her back.

“At least you’ll get to freely move around the beast keeping track now,” Willow added. “Viney will appreciate the help, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yeah!” Luz perked up. “No more sick day excuses!” She pumped a fist.

“Which means you’re helping out with the trash slugs now,” Eda reminded with a grin. “Because now you don’t have excuses.”

“Getting vaccines doesn’t mean she’s immune to all sickness, Edalyn.” Lilith grit her teeth and sent a glare towards her sister.

“Yeah, but she won’t get, like, ones that’ll kill her.” Eda waved a hand casually.

“Aw,” Luz slumped.

“A moment of silence for Luz.” Willow said solemnly.

“Do you wanna read about what happened?” Gus asked excitedly, already pulling out his notebook.

“Am I going to regret it if I do?” Luz turned to Amity.

“Fifty-fifty,” Amity tilted her hand. “I’d skip the part with the broken window and dumpster-diving.”

“And the kitchen incident?” Willow added, giving Amity a smug look.

Amity gave a guttural growl and lowered her ears.

“I’m already worried,” Luz said, anxiously glancing between her friends.

“How about we hold off on the trip down memory lane?” Lilith said, walking around and slowly pushing down Gus’s notebook that he was pulling out. “Luz, aside from the usual symptoms, is anything different?” She questioned the girl.

“Uh,” Luz frowned and thought for a moment. “A mild headache is normal, right?”

“Yeah, you got those all the time.” King nodded.

Luz hummed and thought, tapping her fingers on the carpet before perking up.

“Oh, I think I’ve got a better pain tolerance now.”

“I thought that faded?” Amity exclaimed, panicked.

“That was an issue?” Luz blinked. “I mean, it’s not that bad. I kinda fell down the stairs earlier but all I got was a regular bruise instead of a small gash like three weeks ago.”

“You really need to fix the stairs if this is a common issue,” Lilith turned to Eda.

“Oh, that’s not as bad.” Willow relaxed. “Your pain tolerance used to be so high that when you cut your head you didn’t feel a thing.”

Luz gave Willow a wide-eyed, very concerned look.

“Wasn’t fun,” Amity shook her head, shuttering.

“Yeah, no, my tolerance is nowhere near that high.” Luz assured them. “And I can sort of feel the magic from my glyphs? I dunno, it’s hard to describe.”

“Probably the magic the vaccines had,” Eda shrugged. “That might last a while longer.”

“Cool,” Luz grinned. “Oh, and my vision feels weird sometimes, but I think I’ll be fine after a few hours.”

“Yeah, that's normal. Your eyes acted up a lot.” Gus nodded. “It was really funny, your entire eye would be just black.”

“...human pupils can’t dilate that much.” Luz said, concern lacing her tone.

“They can now,” Eda snickered. “With the,” She broke off in a fit of giggles. “The power of witch drugs.”

“I’m going to admit,” King raised his head. “Now I’m curious what actual drugs would do to you.”

“You have drugs in the Isles?” Luz exclaimed. “Like, illegal ones?”

“Course we do,” Eda chuckled. “You can find them at the Night Market for, what, ten snails?”

“That’s the cheap ones.” Lilith corrected. “The very illegal ones go for fifty or more.”

“And you know this because…?”

Lilith stiffened and cast a fearful glance at the children all watching her expectantly. Aside from Amity, who looked very worried.

“...I used to catch a lot of people selling at the Night Market,” Lilith said, crossing her arms. “It’s hard not to take notice of how much they were going for.”

“Plot twist of the century, ex-coven leader Lilith Clawthorne snorts fairy dust.” Eda giggled. “Oh how the masses would love that.”

“Edalyn!” Lilith gasped.

“Am I wrong?”

“And this is our cue to leave,” Luz whispered to her friends as the sisters began their daily bickering.

Her friends didn’t argue, they just quickly got up and shuffled towards the door. Willow carried King with them in her arms like a football, much to his silent complaints.

Luz opened the door and guided her friends out, quitey shutting out the arguing sisters.

“Hi, guys!” Hooty chirped.

Luz winced and pulled away, rubbing at her ears.

“Ow,” She muttered.

“Are your ears still sensitive?” Amity worried, shooting Hooty a glare that made him shut up.

“Only a little,” Luz offered a smile, stepping away from the front door. “Anyway, what did I miss while I was out of it?”

“Nothing much,” Gus said, beginning to walk off as the rest followed. “Aside from, like, a ton of homework.” “I expect nothing less,” Luz muttered, pain etched into her face.

“You want me to ask Principal Bump to loosen up on you for a bit?” Amity asked.

“Teachers pet privilege,” Willow whispered under her breath.

“I heard that!” Amity snapped.

“Just a little,” Luz nodded. “I’m still emotionally recovering from being basically unconscious for a week.”

“I still have the notes if you want to read them,” Gus said, slowly pulling out his notebook again.

“On one hand, yes,” Luz said. “But on the other hand, I’m scared of what I’ll find.”

“It’s mostly just filled with you falling over a lot and singing random songs on repeat.” Willow shrugged.

“I have all of them stuck in my head at the same time and I can’t get them out,” Amity whispered, looking horror-stricken.

Luz chuckled nervously, rubbing along the edges of her black eye.

“You know, I think I’m glad I don’t remember much.”

176 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 4 years ago

Text

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom. :P

AO3

FFN

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them. With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes. His expression was strangely flat and blank. He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her. He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice. “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him. It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered. The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again. He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own. At all. Ever.

But that shouldn’t be an issue. Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah. There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan. The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.

Midoriya.

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things. It would fit right in.

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity. Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam. Or break a bone. Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk. Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way. Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.

Izuku bounced in place, excited. He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission. It was like a dream come true! Literally! He dreamed about this! Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh! Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it! It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him. Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward? But it had been a while since the sports festival. They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though. Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups. Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention. “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him. It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise. “Um,” he said. “Okay?” He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number. “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay. Harsh. But fair.

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait. Aizawa knew about that? Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though? At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right. Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.

“Yes,” said Aizawa.

“Er, are you sure? I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little. Was that what they were calling it now? Rude.

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.

Which. Okay. True. But also, rude.

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card. The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them. On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa. Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them. Which was typical, really. It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before. Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting. He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools. At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato! The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here! There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary. Izuku was almost jealous. He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.

Actually… All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks. How interesting! Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips. He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course. He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating. It was better to play it safe. His quirk was already weird enough as it was. He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out. Most of that day was a blur.

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki. He was relieved. Todoroki looked relieved, too. That made sense. With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right? Or did Endeavor not let him? Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but… Izuku had doubts. He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous. I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically. “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised. “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka. “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku. “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.” Like Iida. What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning. He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay. So. “Am I- Am I the only one that asked? L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…” He shrugged, helplessly.

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed. He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him. He did not need people looking into his life. Into his past. Into his quirk.

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those. Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.

He would just have to do his best to help them.

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms. A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor. Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls. Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket. What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes. “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today. You can call me Ito-san. This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind. All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group. The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass. However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito. “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment. Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.” Ito paused. “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand. “Who’s going first?” she asked.

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone. The man did a double take, then paled, slightly. He glanced at Izuku. “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku. “This is- This is my number? It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito. Then his phone rang. “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone. “It looks like I’m in the wrong group. You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!” Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.

Izuku swallowed. Something was going on behind the scenes. This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it? Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher… And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei. He’d almost been killed by the noumu.

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door. “Hello,” he said. “I am Suzuki Takami. I am your instructor. Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito. “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable. Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku. “But, I, um, I opted out? I filled in the paperwork and everything. I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork. He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa. “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out. Maybe you were misinformed. Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head. “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine. I can go with you, so you won’t be alone. No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license. He’d have to go through recertification entirely. When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you? I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.

Izuku’s mind was racing. He couldn’t lose his license. He couldn’t lose his ability to help people. He—What would All Might think? He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um. It’s fine! I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?” He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands. “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes. Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag. He put the bag down on one of the futons. “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive. We’re really sorry,” said Saito.

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa. He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless. “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei! Plus ultra, right?” He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that. He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern. He swallowed. Don’t think about it.

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something. Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed. Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.

“Alright!” said Saito. “Here we go!”

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed. She paused for a moment in the back hallway. She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes. Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was. The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.

Oh, well. Except for Midoriya, they were all clean. If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled. Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper. It shouldn’t be bleeding. That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself. This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight. She was still worried about Deku. He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe. She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe? Darker? Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise. Or was it sunset? Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach. He crouched, looking at the sand. “It’s really…” he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”

“Hm,” said Aizawa. “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki. “If I can have your attention, please. I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

#bnha #fic #fanfic #my writing #boku no hero academia #gen #long night in the valley

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