#Keep your eyes pilled over the next little while as I honestly cannot wait to introduce you guys to the new trio!
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powerovernothing · 4 years ago
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*~*Got some new, very big, and super exciting things currently in the works that are going to be happening soon!*~*
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witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago
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Hi Hi!!! I was wondering if I could request a reader treating their S/O's wounds after a fight/accident. Possibly with Diluc, Kaeya, and Albedo? Thank you so much I absolutely love your writing :D
^ I love Albedo so much - silly little forgetful genius 
Warning -> cleaning injuries, playful/joking 
Character X GN Reader | Anthology  
Includes: Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo⚘
Diluc
Diluc would be pretty angry if he got hurt. It doesn’t matter hoe either, it could be because he was out protecting the city or found himself in a fight, but his pride would be hurt the most if it was because of an accident 
He’d beat himself up for being careless and not paying attention - don’t mistake his terrible mood for being annoyed at you, it’s all turned inward 
“This is a pretty bad cut.” You take his arm in your hand and look over the wound. It’s hard to tell, but it looks as if it spans from his triceps to his upper bicep. The blood has soaked into his shirt and when you go to examine the rip he pulls away from you. 
“You don't need to fuss with it.” 
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” 
“Of course I do.” You reach back out to him but he pushes your hand away which makes you huff. It was admirable how much he did and how hard he fought for others, but sometimes his pride got in the way of what was best. You wished he would let those walls down easier. 
Diluc was always so much for you - in everything he did you couldn’t keep yourself together and you felt your body tingle from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your feet. You loved him and sometimes it was painful 
“Still, it needs to be treated.” You reached for him for the third time and his hesitancy began to slip. Carefully, you unbuttoned his shirt, keeping a close watch on his facial expressions. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is turned into a frown but he isn’t fighting you. Once you get enough of it unbuttoned, you slide it over his shoulder, and, as if you could forget, you catch sight of his beautiful skin. The muscles around his eye scrunched as you slide the sleeve of his shirt over the injury. “Sorry.” 
You’d seen him many times before, but the air in your lungs always escaped when you did, there was something beautiful about him with his shirt half off - how it accentuated his chest and back muscles, the way his vibrant hair complemented his dark shirt and pale skin 
You began to clean his wound. First, you wiping it with a cloth, making sure to use a gentle touch so as to not irritate the skin anymore before applying the medicinal cream you often kept on hand. 
Even as your eyes looked over the injury, you couldn’t help but glance at his face and look for any sign of discomfort. Soon, you found your gaze trailing down his neck and over his chest. It was unbelievable how attractive he was, and you couldn’t understand that out of everyone, he chose you. 
You rummaged through the medical supplies until your hands found the bandages. Shifting closer to Diluc and resting his hand against your outer thigh you began to wrap his injury as carefully as you could. 
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” 
“Not particularly, all that you need to know is the issue has been dealt with.” His chin rested in his free hand and he avoided your eyes. 
“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you’re more than capable. I’m nearly done.” You wrapped his arm a few more times for good measure before clipping the bandages together with one of the small metal clasps. “That should do. We should change the bandages tomorrow, but I don’t think you’ll lose the arm.” You chuckle and bend to your side, the items in the medical kit a disorganized mess and you work quickly to get them back in order. When you sit back up Diluc is still sitting in the chair in front of you, which you didn’t expect. 
You open your mouth to say something but stop when he turns to you. He runs his fingers against the side of your head, pushing strands of your hair over your ear. His hand rests there for a second, his thumb sliding across your cheek and you feel the goosebumps climb up your back and over your shoulders, seeping into your heart. 
“I’ll be more careful next time.” His eyes shift back and forth between your own, his face haloed by fiery hair. 
“Mhm.” You nod and he releases you. You gaze at him as he stands by the dresser and works his way into a fresh shirt. 
Kaeya
Kaeya loves being pampered by you - he cannot get enough of your touch anyway, and when you care for him, clean him up - all your attention on him - well he gets kind of a big head 
“How many times have I told you to be more careful.” You scold him as you position yourself behind the chair. 
“At this point, I’ve lost count.” He bent backward and tilted his head until he could look up at you. Even though the two of you had been together for some time, he still found ways to set your veins on fire. 
He looked at you and at this angle, you were given a perfect view of his neck and chest. You couldn’t help but notice the discolored skin where he had been injured in battles past. He may be quick on his feet, but he was still human. 
As nimbly as he could, he wrapped one of his arms around your back and pulled you close to him. 
“Who needs to worry about being safe when they have their own personal nurse.” You laughed and leaned down to place a quick kiss on his forehead. He hummed and the sound warmed your chest.
“I might be out of a job if you don’t be more careful.” You traced your fingers up his neck and along his jawline before giving him a gentle pat against his ear. “Now lean up so I can work.” 
He complied, returning his arm to rest on his legs and you settled back over his shoulder. With a light touch, you gripped onto his bicep and pushed it further into the light. The injury, while painful looking, didn’t seem to be too dangerous. 
Kaeya was cocky - sometimes more than he should be, and while he was perfectly capable of keeping himself out of harm's way, he didn’t know everything all the time 
Taking care of him like this was intimate in its own way. He wanted to be close to you and normally his hands were the ones trailing their way across your skin, but when these situations came up you had more justification to touch him without reservation 
The cut stretched across his shoulder blade, almost as if a blade was deflected from striking him in the back. You grabbed the cloth from the warm tub of water and wring it out until there were only a few drops coming off of it. Wrapping it around your hand so you have more control, you slip your pointer and middle finger into the cloth and hold it together in your palm, this way you can clean the skin around the cut more efficiently. 
You admire how flawless his skin is as you clean the blood. You hope this doesn’t leave a lasting scar, but honestly, it wouldn’t be the first and unlikely to be the last. As carefully as you could, you begin to clean the edges of the injury. When you hear him suck in the air quickly you stop. 
“Ah, did that hurt?” 
“Heh, nothing I can’t handle.” He laughs in good humor and shifts a bit in the chair. 
“Oh, so I can stop being so gentle then?” 
“Now hold on.” He begins to turn around, his confident smile already slipping. 
“I’m kidding.” You reassure him with a snicker, placing your hand on the side of his arm. “Be a good patient and relax.” 
You finish cleaning his wound and covering it with the healing ointment before working on placing the bandage. Thankfully, the Knights always had everything on hand so it made the whole process quick and relatively painless. 
“I think we are good.” You pack away the items and place them back into the medical cabinet, the door closes with a satisfying click. Walking over to the small refreshment table you pour water into a cup and make sure you take both it and the pain medication back to Kaeya. As you make your way back to him he’s already putting his shirt back on, a shame really. “Here, these should help with the pain.” 
You hold out your hand to him and wait for him to finish. When he turns around and his eyes land on the pills in your hand he smirks. 
“I know another way to alleviate pain.” He walks toward you and you already feel the urge to roll your eyes. 
“And what is that?” 
“Kissing.” He looks down at you and pulls at your shirt. He closes his eyes and leans down to your face but you hold him off. 
“Hey now. Why don’t you take these and then we can talk.” You knock your knuckles onto his slightly exposed chest and with a huff he concedes. Quickly, he takes the medicine in his hands and tosses them in his mouth, you offer him the water but he doesn’t take it. “Good jo…” He cuts you off. His lips connecting with yours and his hands pulling you close. 
He pulls away and looks at you, “See, my way is so much better.” 
“Cheeky.” You poke back and fail in your attempt to get away from his lips. 
Albedo 
He’s taken care of himself for so long that it’s still a shock sometimes to have someone dote on him as much as you do - you’re always around to help him and he’s starting to find your company quite enjoyable 
Here’s the kicker - Albedo wouldn’t notice if he had been injured until way later - so when you react loudly near him he doesn’t completely follow nor understand what has made you so upset
“Albedo! What happened?” You reach out to his face and when he disconnects from the papers that have kept his attention for so long you see the confusion in his eyes. 
“Y/N, sorry. I’m not sure I know what you mean.” 
“You have a cut on your face.” You brush his hair away from his forehead and shake your head as you see the cut across his brow. 
He reached up and touched his head, when he pulled his hand back to his line of sight and saw the blood on his fingertips his reaction was calm. “Well, this is a surprise.” 
You turn around and walk toward one of the cabinets in the research facility. It wasn’t uncommon for small accidents like these to happen here. Often, the experiments would become quite volatile or their reactions unexpected. You pulled the items from the shelf and remembered the time an unfortunate student lost his eyebrows. 
Quickly, you made your way back to Albedo’s side and placed the medical box on the counter next to you. As you rummage through the items in the box you start to talk to yourself, narrating out everything you were doing as well as your thoughts. 
“I know there should be some things in here that will help. I could have sworn that it had, ah yes. Here you are tricky thing.” You tear open a small bag and pull out a cloth. As quickly as possible you get it wet and feel it begin to lather under your fingers. “I’ll use this to clean your wound and then I’ll bandage it.” 
You walk back to Albedo and place your hand against his cheek. He’s been watching you this whole time and lets you do as you please. “Where is Sucrose when you need her. At least she seems to keep you out of harm's way … sometimes at least.” At this point, you are mumbling, and more to yourself than you are to Albedo. When he laughs you freeze, one hand resting under his chin and the other against his forehead. “What’s so funny?” 
“You’re so upset that you’re talking to yourself.” 
“Oh … really?” 
“Mhm” 
“… I didn’t even notice.” You feel your ears get warm and pinch your lips together. 
“It’s fine. I often talk out loud when I’m looking at my research.” 
It never ceased to amaze you how similar the two of you were - how you could both get so lost in whatever you were doing that the world seemed to fade away 
Still - Albedo was the only person in your life who could keep your attention on the here and now - from the day you met him he was your present and, hopefully, your future 
“This should be enough, does your head hurt?” You placed the bandage over his injury. The research facility was really to thank for the adhesive additions to small bandages like this. Somehow, they managed to make the edges sticky enough to adhere to the skin, but not too much to make it impossible to remove. 
“No, it seems to be okay. Thank you.” He reached up and grabbed your hand and let it rest in his lap. 
“No problem.” You avert your eyes and let them rest on the floor. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting you go and the warmth of his palm leaves yours chilled. The two of you just live in the comfortable silence for a second, he glances your way and you push the medical box along the counter. Finally, you break the silence, “I should put this back.” 
You pack up the items and close the box before walking back to the cabinet where you got it. As you slide it back onto the shelf the question you never got the answer to slipped back into your brain. 
“Hey,” you begin, turning around and leaning against the counter. “So do you remember how you got the cut on your head?” You cross your arms and stare at him from across the space. 
He scratches his head with his pencil and shakes his head. “I can’t recall. Oh, are you busy though?” 
“No, I’m free the rest of the day.” You reply. 
“Excellent, would you be inclined to stay and assist me? I have a number of things I’m working on and would appreciate the extra hands.” 
“Sure. Where can I start?” You push yourself from the counter and take a few steps toward him. 
“Ah yes, I need to organize the specimens in the closet back there �� ” he stands and begins to walk toward the back closet, you head that way and reach it before he does. “There were a number of things to do …” 
His voice trails off as you open the door and find a great number of items littering the floor. Boxes, books, papers, and other random items spread about in complete disarray. 
“Oh … I think I remember how I got injured.” He stares over your shoulder and in defeat, you cover your eyes with your hand.
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hold-him-down · 3 years ago
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✋ - A hand carding gently through their hair for Leo :)
A response to this ask thing.
Takes place like ~2 months into Luke's contract.
TW: Legalized Slavery Setting, general pain and sadness.
“I know you’re hurting,” Luke whispers, knelt beside a visibly shaking Leo. He is curled on the floor next to the bed, his arm covering his head. It’s a trauma response, and if Luke’s heart wasn’t already shattered from the day, this would have done the job. His hand hovers over Leo’s cheek, the only part of his face that is visible, but he is reluctant to make contact there. Leo’s eyes close slowly, as silent tears trail along his jaw, puddling onto the wood beneath him. “I know, buddy.”
Luke sets the two small pills on the nightstand, and then softly pulls Leo’s arm away from his head. Leo offers no resistance.
“You can bring him in on your own, Senator, we’ll take him for a few hours, we’ll have him home by dinner. Hell, you can even stay with him if it makes you feel better,” Edison said, as Luke paced in the kitchen, his phone clutched tightly in his palm. “Or I can get a court order, and we’ll keep him here for a week. We’ll provide you with a substitute during that time.” There was a pause, and then for extra punch, he added, “We can even do some light retraining if we find it’s needed.” After spending the last three days reading and re-reading and re-reading the contract, Luke knew it was not a bluff; they would forcibly remove Leo if they needed to.
Luke isn’t sure how often Leo winds up on the floor, but this isn’t the time to bring it up. Instead, he sits down next to him; he’s shivering. Luke pulls the comforter off of the bed, gently draping it over his shoulders.
“Can I… can I go lay down? For a… for a couple minutes, p… please,” Leo asked, his voice shaky and his eyes red and his shoulders tense. He barely waited for Luke’s pained nod before he hurried to his room, leaving the door characteristically ajar.
Luke set the bag from the pharmacy on the table, then filled a cup with cold water, dampened a washcloth, and took two pills out of one of the bottles. This was always the hardest part. Of all that he’d learned about Leo, his distrust of medicine was one of the things that came up most frequently. Paired with a very questionable medical history, this was a near constant issue in some form or another.
“Lift your head up,” he whispers now, rearranging himself underneath it. Leo is desperate for physical attention, he craves it, and he doesn’t access it nearly as often as he wants it. It’s one thing that Luke cannot, no matter how many therapy sessions he spends trying, come to grips with how to handle. He knows by now that there are deep-running issues of consent, and of power, and of conditioning at play. But he also will not idly allow Leo to suffer through his contract, through his life. So he’s done his best to categorize ok touch and not ok touch, and it’s honestly all a fucking mess. This isn’t the time to dwell on it.
Leo’s head sinks onto his lap, and he grips tightly into Luke’s jeans. Luke lets his fingers press into the soft black hair, offering a little bit of pressure as he cards his fingers through it, down to Leo’s neck. Tears are still spilling silently from Leo’s eyes, and Luke repeats the action. Back to the top, down to the neck. With his free hand, he sweeps the cloth over Leo’s face, wiping the tears and cooling him down. He lets it linger on his forehead, while he gives a little more pressure at Leo’s scalp.
“It’s alright,” he whispers. “It’s over.” It’s probably a lie, he realizes, as he reaches for the pills on the nightstand. “I want you to take these.” He tries to very strictly limit how often he explicitly directs Leo, and it’s become almost universally linked to taking medicine. He hands him the pills and Leo hesitates, just for a moment, before closing his eyes and swallowing them dry. Luke notices the tears intensify, and mumbles a soft, “Good,” which tugs at his gut uncomfortably. Leo’s body immediately reacts, curling up a little tighter as a tense breath is released. He’s tried to describe it before, he tells Luke that it’s palpable, that sometimes when he hears it, it’s like he can breathe a little easier. Luke is careful not to think too deeply about a lot of things, and that one is always at the top of his list. He keeps his attention on Leo’s head, running his fingers down his scalp.
Leo’s eyes close, and Luke watches the tremors that roll through him, the pattern of gripping his pants tighter and then slowly loosening, over and over, until eventually, the remaining tension dissipates from his body, and Luke knows he’s asleep.
He keeps going, but lifts the blanket and peeks under his shirt to make sure his bandages look okay. Leo doesn’t stir, or move, or do anything. Only when he’s sure that Leo is completely, totally asleep, does he let his own eyes slip shut, a few unexpected tears sliding down his cheeks. He ignores them, he breathes deeply, and he makes sure that none of the images from the day creep into his thoughts. Even as he drifts to sleep, his fingers stay tangled in Leo’s hair.
@peachy-panic, @whump-cravings, @afabulousmrtake, @crystalquartzwhump, @maracujatangerine, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @distinctlywhumpthing, @thecyrulik, @highwaywhump
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some-dr-writings · 4 years ago
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Kiibo takes care of sick reader
·       At the time you didn’t think much of it. Awaking that morning it just felt like any other bad, allergy season ridden day. Though you had not left your apartment for the last several days, cooped up trying to get your work done, it seemed the fresh autumn wind and pollen had gotten to you once again just as it had any other year. You simply took some pain medicine and kept a box of tissues by your side, making sure all windows were closed and fans turned off just as you had done every other year. You were simply thankful it was not spring, that, was a true nightmare… Or so you thought. The day carried on as usual really, some chores got done such as scrubbing down the bathroom, cooking your comfort food to cheer yourself up a bit, going through that final edit before submitting your work. By the time bedtime had rolled around you were actually feeling a little better and hoped by the next morning you’d be right as rain.
·       Through the night as you tried to sleep something inside you quickly morphed. From a dry, runny nose to this dull throbbing, stinging pain that seemed to course through you. At first you assumed your nose dried up so much it was in pain again so you simply took more pain medicine, but… it just wouldn’t go away. You heard and felt your every last breath grow heavier, quivering and quaking under some strange pressure. The quilts of your bed, unbearable, suffocating and drowning you in that oppressive heat, yet even when you kicked them off, that heat still just hung there. You just wanted to sleep. You hated this, you hated being awake so early in the morning, but. You. Just. Could. Not. Sleep. You tried sleeping. You really did. You laid there for hours with your eyes shut, but that dull throbbing pain just would not let you. You didn’t want to, but you caved into the temptation of doing… something! If you had to be awake, you could at least be productive, right? Yes, it stimulated your brain, certainly keeping you awake, but… You were exhausted and you hoped that pushing your body a little would be enough to get you to collapse so you could drift off and not be conscious of the pain for even a little while… But that hope was in vain. Try as you might, you couldn’t concentrate on anything, only making your frustrations increase just as rapidly as that stinging pain seemed to zap your muscles forcing them to endlessly tense up, causing them to become sore and tremble under the constant pressure of being so tight. This quickly evolved into the back of your neck killing you as well as forming a wretched headache.
·       You hated this.
·       You just wanted sleep. Was that truly so much to ask?
·       Laying back in bed you stared into that inky darkness as thoughts tried to form but were quickly cut off by that… everything.
·       You just couldn’t do anything, but were forced to stay awake through it all? Really? “That’s just cruel.” You mumbled that to yourself, rolling out of bed, and trudging into the living room. There you found your charging phone and mindlessly picked it up, fiddling with the messages, then some app you downloaded long ago but soon forgotten.
·       With that constant ringing in our head and ears muffled, hearing proved to be a challenge. Something you were normally rather fearful off, but in the moment, couldn’t care less about. At this point, you honestly couldn’t notice new symptoms in the ever-growing pile.
·       You mindlessly droned on, sliding fluffy puff balls to make them explode came to a stop when some text suddenly appeared at the top of your screen. ‘I’m at the door. If you’re not feeling up to unlocking it, would you tell me if anyone has a spare key so I could ask them to let me in?’
·       … huh?
·       Someone was at the door you guess.
·       On unsteady footing you stumbled to the door. Too bad you couldn’t hear the distinctive soft metal clicks you oh so enjoyed hearing when unlocking the door, it was one of the little things in life you loved so much, perhaps it would have put you at ease a little.
·       “Ah, Y/N! Here.” His voice was quiet, yet you could still make out the words, the concern seeping from his tone striking you the most. He held your shoulders in a firm grip, keeping you from wavering and toppling over right then and there. “Kiibo? What?... why are you here?” This momentarily caught him by surprise. “You texted me. Do you not remember? Is our condition worse than I thought?” He placed down the bags he had on hand and lead you back to bed. “Wait? I… I did look through my messages, but I texted you?” He sat beside you and placed his hand on your head. “Yes. I’ll show you.” Scrolling through the messages on his phone you saw you had indeed texted, Kiibo. It was semi-coherent with spaces missing or not where hey should be, capitalization seemingly popping up out of nowhere. You were listing off our many aches and pains. Last time Kiibo had sent you, other than saying he was at the door, was how he’d be over to your place right away. “oh, sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t want you to stay here and get this bug too if I’m sick and it’s not my allergies acting up again.” For a moment Kiibo simply stared at you quirking a brow up, smiling, amused by something. “… You must really be out of it. But it’s no wonder, you’re burning up. Lay down and leave the rest to me!” Before you could say another word, he had already left.
·       He soon returned with two small paper bags. “Have you taken any medicine?” “uh, just my prescribed pain meds.” “And when was that?” “Twenty-one, about an hour before I tried going to bed.” “It’s two now, can you take more?” “… Uh. I think so?” “Where is it?” “Ah, yeah, we can just check! Bathroom, lowest shelf on the right, behind the mirror, door, thing. That thing.” “Got it!” After placing the two small bags on the bedside table he sprinted away.
·       Being here, trying to care for you, it was a little funny to Kiibo. As he opened the mirror cabinet he recalled how when Shuichi was trying to help him find jobs and they tested out him being a nurse robot. A faulty endeavor since he only had the strength of an old man and could not carry Shuichi, but the main premise was not truly tested. Closing the cabinet with the pill bottle in hand something caught his gaze in the reflection. A small hand towel that hung on the shower door. Perfect! He turned on the faucet, setting it to as cold as it could go before placing the small hand towel under the water. Waiting for the towel to absorb the cold he thought more on the premise. Long ago Kiibo had accepted he was not human but a robot. But that did not mean he was not a person. It was also useful. As a robot he could do things humans cannot. Like care for a sick person and not get sick himself. He’d just need a thorough cleaning to make sure he didn’t spread anything which could easily be done. After wringing out the towel he swiftly made his way back to your room.
·       Entering the room, he found you with your hands on your face, breathing heavily, your voice lightly seeping out in quaking rasps. “You can take more pills. Time ran out.” “yay.” Taking a sip of water and the pills you hoped this would help, even if last time didn’t work, maybe it would this time. It was all you could do. “huh?” “Does this help?” He had placed the cold moist towel on your forehead, gently leaning you back onto the bed from sitting up. You sighed, placing your hands on his, pushing down on the towel a little more, adoring the cooling feeling. “Thank you.”
·       He gently retracted his hand much to your disappointment. You then noticed he was looking through one of the small paper bags. “… what’s in the bags you brought?” “Ah! Doctor Idabashi let me take some medical supplies from home. Pain medicine, some ingredients for a light meal, he even quickly wrote down the directions so I could make it for you.” “aw, he’s nice, just like you. Like father, like son I suppose.” For a moment, he froze, those words completely catching him off guard. He softly smiled, holding the folded-up paper, ‘best oatmeal recipe’ written on it in neat, albeit tiny writing. “… Yeah, he is. He said this should only take eight minutes. I’ll be right back.” “Wait, you don’t know where everything is in the kitchen. I’ll cook with you.” “No, you’re sick. You need to rest.” “W-we don’t know that.” “Fine. Clearly you are unwell.” Shakily you sat up. “at least let me rest on the living room couch so I can be nearby and tell you where I keep everything.” “Only if you don’t enter the kitchen and try to cook.” You grumbled as you used the bedside table for support. “Okay.” Holding onto Kiibo’s arm, he gently led you to the couch.
·       You flinched hearing a loud metal crash that was able to pierce through your muffled ears. “… Need help?” “N-no!” Though he found it to be rather silly, he was annoyed. “… Maybe.” You chuckled at the sheepish tone in his voice. “Where are the cups?” No matter where he looked, he could not find them. “And the tablespoons and teaspoons… And the knife block, and- HEY!!” He pointed at you taking on what you assumed to be a fighting stance. “No going into the kitchen!” “Just… getting the suff. I won’t cook.” Reluctantly he let you pass, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his arms crossed, watching as you shambled about. “Anything else?” “Uh… just a microwave safe bowl.” “okay.” “Then right after it’s straight back to the couch!” “uh-huh.”
·       Kiibo wondered what it felt like to be sick, for one’s body to be working to fight off something within yourself. Was it like when he didn’t maintain his vents and fans? It was odd and saddening how in trying to protect yourself, you were left so miserable. When letting you hold on to him he got a close look at you, seeing how your whole body trembled, pale skin slightly shiny and clammy from a thin layer of sweat, the bags under your eyes a deep dark purple, your cheeks and nose flushed a bright red. Once you were sat down, he went straight to work, a newfound determination coursing through him!
·       You were surprised at just how quick Kiibo was. You though he had just sat you down, but there he was sitting beside you, a hot, steaming bowl and spoon on the table before you as Kiibo held your shoulders looking absolutely worried. “Y/N, how are you feeling?” “Uh, dizzy, really dizzy.” “Wait right here.” He then dashed away. Suddenly there was pressure on your shoulders and head. It was cool. Your water bottle was held out to you. “Thanks.” As you were twisting off the cap you noticed what was placed atop you. “My towel? I see. Tha-thanks.” Your head felt so light suddenly, and you were terrified. That was till Kiibo leaned you against his shoulder. “What do you need? Can I get you anything? Should I take you to a hospital?” “… just pass me the oatmeal please.” “Uh… are you sure that’s all?” You simply nodded. It wasn’t hot, or was it? You weren’t sure you could tell, since almost everything felt hot right now. You huffed after taking a bite. “Is something wrong?” “… there’s apples, raisins, cranberries, but… I can’t tase any of it.” Solemnly you took another bite.
·       When finished you placed the bowl on the table before you. “I’ll cle- Y/N?” He was perplexed and a little flustered by how you wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. “you’re cool.” Was all you muttered before falling silent. “… Okay.”
·       Through the night and day no words were exchanged. You simply slept as Kiibo held you close. On occasion he’d wriggle out of your grasp, taking the towel, placing it in ice water and wringing it out, finding you slowly awakening before draping the towel over you and holding you again. It was alright. He didn’t need to sleep or eat, and his batteries could last him for a week without rest, so he’d stay by you for as long as you needed. He simply wished he could do more, but… maybe this was enough. Though just to be sure of that Kiibo looked up your symptoms online, only to start internally panicking thinking you were dying, hurriedly texting Doctor Idabashi who despite having a difficult time, managed to calm Kiibo, convincing him the internet was not a good place to look up medical diagnoses much of the time before Kiibo had called an ambulance… Hopefully him being with you was enough, and eventually when you got better, he realized it was… and vowed to himself not to seek the internet’s advice when trying to diagnose something ever again.
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hongism · 5 years ago
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finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 9
➻ Pairing: reader x ???
➻ Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Angst, Fluff
➻ Word Count: 5894
➻ Warnings: strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable
➻ Rating: PG-13/PG-15
➻ Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there. aka Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn’t work out according to his plan.
➻ a/n: so i know this has been a loNG ass time coming but here’s chapter 9!!! i hope you all enjoy it, i don’t have much of a preface to this so let’s just jump into it!
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Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places Chapter Nine: Control
"W-What?" Jungkook asks, still in too much shock to think straight or say anything else. You laugh at the expression on his face and release his shirt. Jungkook falls back to the floor unceremoniously, hitting the tile with a small thud, and watches as you stand up straight.
 "Y/N, come on! You can't push him around without warning, the poor kid. You knocked him down too." Seokjin chastises you for your actions, and Jungkook looks back to see the man close behind him. You stick out your tongue in response as you squat down beside Jungkook to be more at eye level with him.
 "I'm certain that I know exactly where Taehyung's bear is." You grin again, the smile unable to be contained, and Jungkook notes that. He notes how the smile reaches your eyes, the usually dull film over them gone and replaced by a shining new resolve. Is it… is it because of the bear?
"Where is it then?" He asks, propping himself up with his hands.
 "It's obvious. I can't believe we didn't look there sooner. I should've known." You stand up straight once more, the smile never leaving your lips as you look down at Jungkook. "Come on, follow me." Jungkook does as asked and hastily gets to his feet. You are already on your way across the room, not waiting to see if Jungkook will follow you or not, and he looks back at Seokjin. The older man merely shrugs.
 "I'll see you later, Jungkook." He waves at the younger before heading in the opposite direction and leaving Jungkook to chase after you.
 "H-Hey, where are we headed?" He asks as he falls into step with you.
 "Oh? The library of course."
 "Why—why would it be there though?"
 "Early on – when Mingyu was still new to the clinic – he would hide things on top of the bookcases in the library because he was always so much taller than most other people. It was rather easy for him to keep things there instead of risking having the nurses find them in his room. Since he never spent time reading, people never assumed that he would keep things there. Namjoon caught him in there once putting things on the top of the shelves and told me about it, so we used to keep an eye on things in there. We never… well, we haven't done that recently because we assumed Mingyu had outgrown his childish shenanigans. But anyway, I should've known that he would've put it there. Makes so much sense looking back on it now."
 "How do you—how did you confirm that it was Mingyu who took it?"
 "There's no need to confirm anything, it was already obvious. Having known Mingyu for so many years now, I guess I could say it's an inevitable outcome." You shrug, slowing your pace a little.
 "You seem very happy about it," Jungkook comments. He realizes a moment later when your expression flattens and turns deadpan that it was the wrong thing to say.
 "Of course I'm happy about it. Taehyung will stop being upset with me once I give him the bear back. Things will go back to normal, and Hoseok will come back to the clinic soon as well. Everything will be fine again. Normal and fixed, at least for the time being."
 Jungkook panics. The black water swirls around his ankles again, he feels its presence looming, feels it biting at his skin, the cold of it sending chills through his whole body. It swells around him, filling his vision until all he can see are your eyes. Your dark eyes filled with hope. Hope that is about to be dashed and crushed and swept away because of his actions. He can't say anything in response, he can't agree with you or offer any encouraging words. He knows things are about to crash and burn. It's about to turn sour, and Jungkook isn't quite sure of what will happen when it all crumbles, but he knows it won't be good for anyone.
 The two of you reach the library as Jungkook's black water reaches his waist. Namjoon sits inside, in the same position he was in the first day Jungkook came to the clinic. Although it was not all too long ago, Jungkook notes that it feels like forever since that day.
 "Oh hi Namjoon," you greet, the small smile returning to your lips. Jungkook hates it. He despises it, realizing that he would rather you be hopeless than see your hopes be crushed by his actions. Selfish. Selfish. "Jungkook, give me a hand and help me reach the shelf, yea?"
 "What are you two doing?" Namjoon asks and snaps the book in his hands shut. You barely spare him a glance as you usher Jungkook towards one of the shelves near the wall.
 "I had an epiphany last night and realized something," you explain.
 "She came to visit Yoongi while I was gone yesterday." Seokjin's words are still fresh in his mind, and they still sting a bit too much for Jungkook's liking. He doesn't bring it up to either you or Namjoon, although it continues to linger in his mind as he watches you glance around the bookcases.
 "Hey, are you gonna help me up, Jungkookie? I think I see something up there." You point to one of the shelves, and Jungkook follows your line of sight to the top of the shelf.
 "Why do you need up there?" Namjoon asks. He sets his book to the side and watches you turn back to look at him.
 "I'm certain that Mingyu put the bear up there. Do you remember what he used to do with the smuggled cigarettes and alcohol?"
 "Yea yea, I remember that. I'll get it for you." He gets up and moves towards where you're standing by the shelves, nudging you aside with his elbow.
 "No, you aren't tall enough to reach the top either," you complain, elbowing him in the side as well.
 "Oh shush, Y/N, I'm gonna help you up." Namjoon catches your elbow before you can hit him again and tugs you closer, then hoists you up by the waist. Jungkook can't do anything except stand back and watch the scene, feeling strangely out of place. "Hey, don't kick me."
 "I didn't mean to!"
 "Sure you didn't."
 "Oh fuck off, Joon. You know I would've kicked a lot harder if I meant it."
 The scene is oddly domestic, something out of place in the clinic, something Jungkook isn't used to seeing or witnessing, and certainly not something he is used to seeing from you and Namjoon. Namjoon laughs at your response and lifts you up a bit higher. You pad around on the top of the shelf, swiping something from the top. It falls to the ground in a cloud of dust. Jungkook blinks down at it, eyes wide.
 Sure enough, there lies a stuffed bear, greyed by dust, and his lips part in shock at the sight of it. Something much smaller lies next to it, also dark with dirt and dust, but Jungkook can't make out what it is from the distance he's at. 
 "Y/N…" He starts, not sure what to say. Namjoon lowers you to the floor again then bends over. He misses the bear completely; instead, reaching for the plastic bag and lifting it. He wipes the dust away with his thumb.
 "Fuck," he mutters under his breath.
 "Wha-at is it?" Jungkook inquires, leaning over to look closer.
 "A bag of pills." You lean over as well. One hand rests on Namjoon's shoulder, the other lingers at your hip, and a sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the bag. "Why is it here though, Joon? Who's is it?"
 "I don't know. I rarely see anyone come in here, but obviously, it belongs to either Yesung or Mingyu. Don't know why they would keep it here of all places though."
 "It doesn't look like the pills either of them take."
 "Did they… did they take the pills from someone else for some reason?" Jungkook asks. You look his way, head tilting to the side as you mull over his words. 
 "Has anyone discussed leaving soon, Jungkookie?"
 "Um, yea actually. Jimin mentioned that Mi-Miyeon? Yea, Miyeon could be on her way out." You shake your head at his words. 
 "That can't be right," you say as you shift your gaze to Namjoon. "Miyeon doesn't take any pills, does she?"
 "No, she's strictly in the ED division as far as I know. No reason for her to take pills in the first place. Besides, these are narcotics. Among all the patients, I'm the only one who is assigned to take them. No way in hell I'd give those pills to anyone, let alone Mingyu or Yesung."
 "So…?" Jungkook trails off, waiting for Namjoon to follow up on his comment.
 "So they must be getting the pills from a staff member."
 "Why on earth would they need them though?" You ask. Your grip tightens on Namjoon's shoulder, and he glances down at you with a darkening expression. "And why the hell would they keep them here?" Your tone increases in fervor. Namjoon shakes his head, not saying anything for a moment. He continues with a quiet voice.
 "They're up to something, I know it but… honestly, we cannot worry about that right now. If someone were to find us with the pills, we would get in serious trouble. That may be exactly what Mingyu and Yesung want. So please, Y/N, please just forget about it for now. It's not important. We should just leave them here for the time being." A frown comes across your lips.
 "Mingyu and Yesung have never done anything drastic, Joon. You don't think – do you think they might try something?"
 "I'm sure Yesung isn't the one behind it if they are. He just does whatever Mingyu says because that's what is easiest for him. Y/N, please try to trust me on this. I'll try my best to figure this out so you don't need to worry about it." Namjoon brings a hand up, resting it atop yours, and he squeezes gently. You blink back at him.
 "I already trust you, Joon. You don't need to ask that."
 "I know but…” Namjoon trails off, not finishing his train of thought as a sad gleam overtakes his features. He looks away and shifts his gaze to the floor instead. "Take the bear to Taehyung. He's been waiting long enough, hasn't he?"
 "You're right," you murmur before retracting your hand from Namjoon's shoulder. Bending down, you lift the bear into your grasp and give a few measly swipes at the dust.
 "Jungkook, could you hang back for a minute? I'd like to chat."
 You glance between Namjoon and Jungkook, eyes narrowed and skeptical. Jungkook bites at his lower lip. Your stare is lingering, increasing his discomfort and the anxiety bubbling in his gut. A moment later, you turn away though and do not question Namjoon's request.
 "I'll see you both at dinner then." You slip out of the library without further comment. The moment you're out of sight, Namjoon grabs hold of Jungkook's arm and tugs him further into the room.
 "Things are getting worse between Y/N and Taehyung. And by worse, I mean quite a lot worse. Y/N thinks it's all because of the bear because Taehyung hasn't said anything." 
 "I know that. Seokjin mentioned it earlier."
 "Well, yes, that's fantastic, Jungkook. It's a big problem. If she gives him the bear, it is not going to fix anything. She will continue to think that she did something wrong because of what you did. To make matters worse, Hoseok is coming back to the clinic tonight."
 "Wh-What?"
 "He's scheduled to come back around mealtime, which means he will most likely be there during dinner. Y/N still doesn't know about the pills or him trying to overdose," Namjoon explains in a hushed tone. Jungkook merely shakes his head as he looks back at the man. 
 "I don't – I don't know what you want me to do. I don't understand what you want me to do, Namjoon. You already told her to take the bear to Taehyung. What am I supposed to do?" Namjoon laughs at Jungkook's coming, a breathy sound that lilts through the air for a moment. He quiets down even further with his next words.
 "She's not doing that though. She's in the hallway trying to listen in on our conversation. I know her all too well. But, Jungkook, she can't sit at Hoseok's table tonight. She really can't. I don't even think she should see him in the first place."
 "No…" Jungkook mutters. He leans away from Namjoon, eyes crossing the older man's face. "No. She needs to see him, and she needs to give the bear to Taehyung. It will make her happy, Namjoon. She needs that."
 "At what cost, Jungkook? For what? A sliver of happiness? I refuse to risk her sanity and wellbeing for a brief moment of happiness."
 "Yoongi would. He'd want her to be happy and do whatever it takes to make her happy." Jungkook pulls his arm away from Namjoon, but the man only grips him harder and keeps him rooted to the spot.
 "I'm not Yoongi, Jungkook! I have lost more than one person because I just wanted them to be happy. It fucking backfired so I refuse to risk that for Y/N as well. She is all I have left."
 "Things change. It doesn't mean it will be the same for Y/N."
 Namjoon's arm falls limply by his side. He looks down at the floor, and Jungkook can't see the expression that rests on his face but he isn't sure that he really wants to out of fear of what he might see. 
 "I can't risk that, Jungkook," he whispers, voice so quiet that Jungkook has to lean in to hear him better. "She's the only one I have left. Everyone else has abandoned me. I don't have anyone else in my life, not even outside the clinic. I was dropped here when I was 16. My family never came back to check on me or talk to me or anything. She is all I have left. I can't lose her no matter what."
 "Then are you going to keep her here forever? Just because you're being selfish? How long has she been here because you refused to let her go?" Jungkook steps away from Namjoon, nearly tripping over his own feet. Namjoon… how long have you forced her to stay? Namjoon doesn't answer his questions, and Jungkook continues to glare at him with fury in his eyes. "I refuse to help you keep her miserable. That's not what she deserves, that's not what anyone deserves. If it makes her happy, then I'll do that. That's how you know someone truly cares about your wellbeing." 
 Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the library without further comment and anger boiling in his gut. As soon as he turns the corner outside the door, he spots you. You're standing a couple feet away from the door, leaning against the wall with the stuffed bear hanging loosely in your grasp. Just as Namjoon said you would be.
 "Take the bear to Taehyung," you say. You make no comment on whether you overheard his conversation with Namjoon or not, but Jungkook certainly does not want to press the matter. "Just leave it on his bed or tell him that you were the one who found it, I don't care."
 "Why don't you want to do it yourself?" Jungkook says, head tilting to the side as he asks the question. "You deserve to give it to him."
 "I really don't," you answer with a small shake of your head. "At the end of the day, I don't deserve anything, so it doesn't really matter."
 "That's not true," Jungkook protests. He frowns back at you, your face stoic in comparison to his. "Taehyung would be more than thrilled if you gave the bear back to him." As soon as he concludes his sentence, you chuck the stuffed bear at him without warning. It bounces off Jungkook's chest and hits the floor with a soft thud. "Don't... don't do this, Y/N."
 "What am I doing wrong? Tell me why I can't do this. It's my life. I deserve to make these decisions for myself, don't I?"
 "You're trying to throw away your relationship with Taehyung," Jungkook bites out between gritted teeth. 
 "That's not true."
 "You are pushing him away to save yourself."
 "You're lying." You push away from the wall. Spit leaves your mouth as you hiss your words at him, pure vehemence in your tone. You begin to walk down the hall, and Jungkook rushes to pick up the bear from the floor and chase after you. "Stop fucking following me." 
 Jungkook persists still, hot on your heels as you move. "I'm not following you," he says under his breath. 
 "Fuck off, Jungkook. I won't say it again."
 "Is it because of what Namjoon said? Did you listen to our conversation?"
 "No, I actually didn't. I heard about ten percent of your fucking conversation and decided I didn't want to hear the rest. God, I could really use some cigarettes right about now." You bring a hand to your head, rubbing at the skin there as though it'll alleviate any of the pain Jungkook knows you must be in. "Before you make a smartass comment, I know it's bad for me and it won't help in the long run. I need that fucking temporary relief now."
 "I know you do," Jungkook mutters. You opt not to acknowledge him or his words, continuing to march through the clinic with Jungkook following you like a lost dog. It isn't until the two of you reach the hall of bedrooms that you decide to speak to Jungkook again.
 "I am still here for no other reason than that I am a bad person. I cannot get better. That is all. Don't sling accusations at anyone except for me." You slip into a room without even checking to see if it belongs to you. Jungkook blinks at the floor where you just stood. If he knew what to say, he might say it but he falls short. Yet again. I don't… I can't help. I don't know how to help. I caused this and yet – and yet I can't even try to fix things.
 A sigh leaves Jungkook's lips. He turns away from the door and moves for his own, carrying the stuffed bear still. Stepping into his room, the chill is what hits him first. It's a cool draft from the AC, and Jungkook shivers under it, subconsciously bringing the bear closer to his chest. It's pointless really because Jungkook sets it down on Taehyung's pillow a moment later. It's only when he puts it down that he realizes you didn't step into your own room in the hallway. Rather you stopped at the room just before yours – Yoongi's. Jungkook hesitates just before sitting on his bed. The conversation he shared with Seokjin earlier in the day returns to mind, the older man's words coming to the forefront of his memory. 
 "They care about each other – Y/N and Yoongi that is – but it's always seemed as though they have a really twisted way of showing it."
 It makes much more sense now. The differences in your relationship with Yoongi and your relationship with Namjoon. How any time something goes wrong you run to Yoongi rather than Namjoon, you search for Yoongi for comfort when Jungkook imagines Namjoon is a better option. How you and Yoongi cannot seem to hold a conversation without arguing. You mentioned that you had a different kind of trust with Yoongi, and now that Jungkook has an insight into Namjoon's feelings and mind, he sees why Namjoon chooses not to ask personal questions of you. Perhaps Namjoon is scared of what he might hear or he's worried that you'll say that you are doing better.
 Had someone asked Jungkook whether he thought Yoongi actually cared for you on the first day in the clinic, Jungkook would have said he didn't without any hesitation. Now, however, Jungkook sees that Yoongi is the only one who truly cares about your well-being.
 "I know it won't help, and it's certainly not good for her in any way. I'm just doing what I can though. If that's the only thing I can do for her, then so be it. It would've been a bad idea no doubt. I can't say no to her though."
 Jungkook can't figure where the line is. Caring about someone so much that you would be willing to do things that could hurt them in the long run versus refusing to give them momentary happiness because you know it could hurt them in the long run. He doesn't know which is better. Is it better to risk hurting someone or prevent them from small happiness? 
 "I didn't need to know why. I don't need to know every little detail about what's going on in her life, to be honest. The things I do for her are enough, and I do them because I care about her. That's that."
 He can't say no to you. Maybe that's the secret behind it all. Just not be able to say no, yet Jungkook thinks that would be an issue in the long run regardless. I wonder... does Y/N think the same about Yoongi? Does she want the same things he does? Jungkook clenches his palms around the fabric of his sweats, knuckles turning white from the pressure. She claims to know, she says she knows that it's bad for her. And yet Yoongi would still drop everything to give them to her.
 Jungkook turns on his heel. It's not any of his business really. It doesn't involve him or matter in the slightest. In the long run, what is it going to do for him?
 Selfish. Selfish. Why? Who are you? Why does it matter?
 Jungkook shakes his head. The voice intrudes, pushing through logic and replacing it with emotion.
 Think. Think. Jungkook. Think. Don't you know? Can't you figure it out? Stupid. Useless. Fucking idiot. Think. You're so useless. 
 Jungkook stumbles and nearly trips over his own feet. Grabbing for the wall, he steadies himself long enough to scoot towards the door.
 Quit fighting. Are you fucking stupid? Just let it happen. Let me in. 
 Jungkook slams his head against the wall. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Fuck off. I don't need you right now. Jungkook hits his head a bit harder. The pressure helps alleviate some of the pressure for only a few moments before the voices are rushing back in, rushing to disturb Jungkook's peace of mind yet again. He slides the door open. I need you to leave me alone. Go away. Go.
 Slipping back into the hallway, Jungkook slaps the side of his head with the flat of his hand as though that will help the voices leave. They are only relatively quiet when he's in the presence of other people, talking, chatting, listening, just doing anything other than being alone with his own head. He isn't wholly sure where he's walking to, but his feet take him past your room, Yoongi's room, and the one beside his. He stops before one of the white sliding doors and without thinking twice knocks on it.
 It slides open with little effort seconds later, and the girl behind it blinks up at Jungkook with confusion gleaming in her brown eyes. 
 "Uh… hello?"
 Jungkook stares down at her, an equal amount of confusion on his own features no doubt. Why… am I here?
 "Oh, are you here to see Hyewon?" The girl asks, head tilting to the side as she looks back at Jungkook. "It's Jungkook, right?"
 "U-Um, yea, yea I'm Jungkook. Is – uh, is Hyewon available right now?" Jungkook asks in response, a similar tilt to his chin. 
 "She is, yes," she answers. Jungkook can't quite place her name but knows that he's seen her sitting alongside Mingyu and Yesung with Hyewon before. "But… you aren't supposed to go into other patient's bedrooms without permission or accompaniment by a nurse?"
 "It's fine, Hanuel." Hyewon steps into Jungkook's line of sight, her platinum blonde hair tied up behind her head in a high bun. Jungkook glances away from the girl in front of him – Hanuel – in favor of looking at Hyewon. "He already got permission from a nurse."
 "O-Oh, I'm sorry for assuming." Hanuel shifts and steps out of Jungkook's path.
 "Can you give a few minutes to talk one on one, Hanuel? It won't be long I promise."
 Hanuel nods in response, her hair bouncing along with the motion, and slides past Jungkook to step into the hallway. Jungkook takes her place in the room, eyes still on Hanuel. The door slides shut behind him, the brightness from the hall dissipates and leaves Jungkook and Hyewon in a dark room.
 "You can turn on the lights if you wish. Hanuel needs it to be dark in here, but if you'd rather turn them on, that's fine." Hyewon motions over Jungkook's shoulder towards the light switch. He just shakes his head in response, fingers coming back to toy at the material of his sweatpants as the black waters of anxiety lap at his ankles. "Why are you here, Jungkook?"
 "Wh-Why did you cover for me and lie to Hanuel?"
 "Oh? Did you not ask a nurse for permission?" Jungkook denies it with another shake of his head. "Then whatever you want to talk about must be important. I don't mind. It's not like you're breaking any big rules."
 "Oh… yea."
 "Why are you here, Jungkook?" Hyewon repeats. She doesn't move, still glued to the same spot on the carpet as before, and Jungkook doesn't move either. 
 "I-I don't kn-know. I guess, I guess I just need a distraction?"
 "What do you mean?"
 "I want to – I don't know. I want to just get my mind off things for a bit. I'm sick of thinking so damn hard. I just want to stop for a bit."
 A laugh breaks through the lingering tension in the room. Jungkook peers at Hyewon as though she's grown a second head, the laugh out of place in the hush of their exchanged words. She clutches at her stomach as she laughs, the crisp sound echoes in the small room, and she slides down to sit on the carpet a moment later.
 "Well then… how may I assist you, Mr. Jeon?" Hyewon motions towards the space in front of her, the invitation clear. Jungkook moves forward with hesitant steps and falls into a similar sitting position across from her. 
 "I don't know. You can talk about anything, I guess."
 "I doubt you really want to hear my life story, Jungkook."
 He shrugs. "Try me."
 "Hm, if I tell you a bit about myself, then I expect the same in return." Hyewon points at Jungkook with her index finger, a narrow to her eyes that Jungkook winces at. "Oh chill, Jungkook. It's not an attack, it's just a fair exchange."
 "Okay, y-yea. That's fine, I guess."
 Hyewon pauses at Jungkook's stutter and hesitance. The narrow of her eyes increases. "Is something wrong with you?"
 "What? What – Why would you think that?" Jungkook blanches at her question, panic arising quickly in his gut, the black water swirling up to his hips, and his breath starts to leave him a bit quicker.
 "Well, don't take this the wrong way but you seem… relaxed? Confident? Maybe not confident, but just weirdly out of character. No offense but you normally act like a blubbering mess and can barely speak without stuttering at every word. Not to mention how you freeze up whenever someone asks something personal of you."
 "I'm just listening to your earlier advice," Jungkook says. It's a quickly uttered white lie but a good cover nonetheless. 
 "My advice? What do you mean?"
 "A-About Yoongi, Y/N and Namjoon. Uh, I know – I know what kind of people they are now." Hyewon's eyes go wide, and her lips part at bit at Jungkook's words.
 "Really? That didn't take much effort on my part. So, do you remember what really happened the night of Hoseok's episode now?"
 The question catches Jungkook off-guard. He leans back, spine straightened and rigid, and blinks at Hyewon with no words coming out of his open mouth. I know what happened. 
 "You're doing a shitty job at distracting me," Jungkook hisses. Hyewon answers with a laugh, another clear and crisp sound that tears through the room. She throws her head back while laughing.
 "Sorry about that." Hyewon clears her throat, tucking a strand of hair that's fallen from her bun behind her ear. "I could tell you a bit about my story. If that would help in any way?"
 "Sure, yeah, that sounds… fine."
 "Ha, don't sound so enthusiastic. Well, I guess I can start with my childhood? As a child, there was this – this sort of terrible accident in my life. I don't want to go too in-depth on it, and frankly, I don't remember all too much about it. But I know I lost some people who were very important to me. My struggles started there, I guess, but the remaining people in my life tried to brush it off as a normal reaction to tragedy. For a while, I believed them and wanted to brush it off the same way they did, so I tried shutting it out of my mind.
 "Well as I got older, I tried taking away the pain with other things. Drinking all sorts of things, every drug in existence, sex – anything to try and block it out for even five minutes. After a debacle, I was stuck in here because they thought it was the obvious solution. I mean, what else could they do?" Hyewon pauses, looking up at the ceiling and focusing on something up there. Jungkook peers at her as a cynical smile crosses her lips. "It's funny, you know. It's funny how only when you start doing things for yourself and trying to help yourself, people think something is wrong with you. Taking care of yourself is equal to being crazy. They never believe you when you say something is wrong with you. It's only when you take control. When they disapprove of what you're doing with your life and how you're behaving, they take control. They make the rules. They lock you away because they don't understand.
 "I was happy. I was enjoying myself, I was doing what I wanted. Free from pain and misery and the horrors I had to survive. Every damn day I asked myself, "Why did I survive and not them?". I didn't have control until I took control for myself. It wasn't until I did that I finally started living. And yet they told me that I didn't deserve to live. Sure, I would've ended up dead at some point from all the alcohol and drugs I was taking. At least… at least I was feeling something other than pain. At least I was living. They don't care about that one bit. They don't care about the pain you're in. All they care about is what image it presents. How it looks to people on the outside. The lack of control."
 "Control…" Jungkook mutters to himself. The words strike a chord, bite deep at his skin, resonate so much in him that it physically hurts. His chest tightens, heart clenching at the walls around it, and he blinks at Hyewon with narrowed eyes. A mirror, but not. Same story, different telling. Same life, different paths taken. All leading to the same place...
 "It stressed me out, to be honest," Hyewon says, voice falling to a broken whisper. Her chin dips to her chest. "Thinking about how no matter what you do, it's never enough for them. But at some point, you have to realize that… it's not about doing it for them. You don't owe them anything. It's about what you owe to yourself. The things you do for yourself are enough, and that's the truth of it. So, how about you, Jungkook? What were your juicy methods of taking the pain away? And how did they land you here?"
 "I…" Jungkook trails off. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat, the black waters of anxiety quickly rushing to lap at his feet in the moment of weakness. A mirror. A mirror. She's a mirror. Vulnerable. Trust. I can’t trust her. No, I can. I can trust her. "I just would work out and control what I ate. I needed control. Had to have some sort of control in my life. Those were the only things I knew how to control. Just work out until I couldn't even feel my body anymore. Control what I ate until – until I was perfect. It was just easiest to do."
 Hyewon laughs. "Why did you never try alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, or sex? That would've taken care of the problem in an instant."
 "I wasn't interested."
 "In what?"
 "I never wanted to do something bad for me or that I would regret eventually. I've never been interested in alcohol or cigarettes, drugs are off the table. I never wanted to put more drugs in my body than I'm forced to already. Didn't want to add to the growing list of issues I have with my condition. As for sex, I've never been in a relationship, so I didn't even consider it."
 "I have never regretted a single thing I did. Besides, you don't have to be in a relationship to have sex." Hyewon smiles at him, and the expression sends a surge of embarrassment through his system.
 "I-I know that. I know. I know but I would rather it be something meaningful and worth something. Not something to take the pain away."
 "Don't knock it until you try it, Jungkook," Hyewon scoffs. A knock interrupts Hyewon's train of thought. The door slides open, Hanuel steps back in, and Jungkook leans away from the girl across from him. 
 "I'm sorry. The lights outside were bothering me."
 "It's fine, it's fine. I was just leaving." Jungkook gets up, moving back from the carpet. "Th-Thank you, Hyewon. For talking with me."
 "No problem, Jungkook. Drop by any time you need me."
 "I'll keep that in mind." Jungkook turns away from Hyewon and heads for the door where Hanuel stands. He steps past her, moves into the hallway, and walks back to his room with heavy feet. He barely has time to think about his conversation with Hyewon, everything is moving quickly again. He has enough time to make it to his door and find it wide open. Again, he finds an unexpected sight. Again, he finds Taehyung sitting on the edge of his bed, something in his hands. Except this time it isn't Jungkook's journal. It's a small stuffed bear covered in dark dust.
...
a/n: okay first of all, so so sorry for such a delay in updates for my series!!! i’ve been doing requests for such a long time that i completely lost track of time! i hope you all like this chapter, please let me know what you think of it 🥺👉👈
tag list: @succulentjinkook​ @mxrzan​
consider sending me a ko-fi!!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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chappedandfadedvds · 4 years ago
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Dec 17th, Thursday 22:18
Could the day get any worse? 
Jens thought as he wearily stared at the swirling soapy water behind the little plastic window, as it went round and round and round. With a quick glance up at the digital screen above he dully noted that he had stood here across from the mashine for over fourty-five minutes now. Hs back uncomfortably resting against the cold tiled wall behind him, as he steadied himself to stay upright.
The time honestly surprised him. He would have been assured that this much time couldn’t have passed, if he hadn’t been proven wrong by the numbers he had read. Had he drifted off in between then and now? Jens didn’t think that he had closed his eyes once. Maybe he had though? It was hard to tell, as his mind felt awfully robbed of actual thoughts to grasp at. However he was too tired to really care in the end, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other without steering from his position. He had nothing else to do than wait. And if he would begin to ponder remotely on anything, he might as well just start to cry he felt like.
Certainly it was bad timing for Lucas to pass Jens in his quest to remain perfectly silent, inside and out. Because his boyfriend stopped by the doorway, as he had descended the stairs to make his way way to the kitchen. Jens couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the younger boy was looking for him. Fourty-five minutes was a long time to be missing after all.
Jens unfortunately had made the mistake to turn his head, as it lead him to see Lucas softly smiling at him. A faint distinct anger was bubbling up inside him, ready to grow and show itself. Jens would let it, if it came to it.
„Here you are, I was wondering where you had...“ His boyfriend cheerfully declared, but haltet as his gaze fell to the washing mashine and realisation hit him hard. His face fell into shock. „Shit.“
Shit, indeed. Jens wholeheartedly agreed.
„I forgot.“ 
„I saw.“ Jens’s voice was brisk yet still quiet, nonetheless pressed in a way that should tell Lucas not to continue to talk, and instead leave. The younger boy seemed to simply overlook it or somehow be deaf to his tone.
Jens had finished cleaning the kitchen counter, when he had looked forward to get upstairs and end the day cuddled up to his boyfriend to get his well deserved rest. He was still a little indecisive over the question if he should be glad or upset over the fact that he had looked into the downstairs bathroom. If he hadn’t, he would have been happily in bed by now probably. But he also would have had a full load of laundry left in the washing mashine for hours over night and possibly the whole school day. 
The washing mashine had been done for hours already, when Jens had wondered way it’s door was closed, after he had entered the room. Because everyone in the household always left it open, if it wasn’t running. So he had checked up on it and found the laundry forgotten in it. Which meant that Jens had quickly opened it to sniff one or two pieces and then immediately closed it again, to start the programm anew. Not much else for him to do here than wait.
And then he had gotten up to stand in the position that Lucas found him almost an hour later.
„I’m so sorry.“ Lucas apologised, knowing exactly well that it wouldn’t change anything about the situation right now. Truth be told, it only made Jens more angry. He could feel the electricity of tension in his fingertips, his hands balling into fists. 
„I asked you to do one thing today and you said yes, so I...“
„I know. I’m so sorry.“ Lucas’s voice interrupted him, his eyes definitely looking the part. Jens would almost feel sympathy with him, just not quite as he went on. „I can wait and hang them instead, you can already go...“
„No.“ This time it was Jens who broke his sentence off midway. He knew Lucas meant for him to lay down and sleep. „I shouldn’t have asked you in the first place. It is not your responsibility in the first place. These are all my clothes anyway. All the clothes that I only need to pack tomorrow for the trip. All of them.“
„I...“ Lucas began, but stopped when Jens hold up his hand to gesture to him to shut up. His blood began to boil under his skin. He felt on edge. How couldn’t the younger boy see that?
„Today was hell.“ Jens stated, and meant it. His voice was getting louder. He tried his best to not shout though. The last thing he wanted was for Lotte or his mom upstairs to wake up. But he was getting furious with any passing moment that his boyfriend wouldn’t just leave. For god’s sake, Lucas didn’t even seem to listen to him, busy to once more apologise to Jens.
„As I said, today was hell. The last couple of days were fucking hard, Luc. Lotte had trouble sleeping. My mom was either in pain or sleeping. I had to deal with my father on top of the whole guardianship case. And today was just an accumulation of all.“
Jens tried to take a deep breath, it just didn’t calm him down. He honestly felt more enraged the longer he thought about it. If he wouldn’t feel as exhausted, he would have gladly punched something. Preferably the boy, but as his heart probably wouldn’t allow him, the wall behind him would have done perfectly well instead.
„Lotte woke me at fucking five in the morning with a headache, where only a pill two hours later in the end had helped enough to convince her to go to school. So she was late, I was late. You know I stormed into class fifteen minutes after the bell rung, right? My french teacher told me to see her tomorrow beacuse of my test, which probably doesn’t mean it went well. I come home with Lotte, trying to stay cheerful and relaxed enough for her to not suspect anything. And tell her to go to her room to play something. Because my mom called for me from the bathroom, once we entered the house. So the next twenty minutes I hold my mom’s thin hair out of her face as she barfes her heart out, crying through all of it because it hurts her even more to throw up than to eat. There was barely anything to vomit, other than spit and blood. And I cannot just break down next to her, you see, because she is a mess and needs someone to take care of her and lean on. I barely managed to get her collapsed body back into bed and collect myself enough for you to show up half an hour later with your packed bag. And I ask you for one thing, Lucas, one fucking thing, while I prepare dinner and clean up afterwards. To hang the fucking laundry.“
Okay Jens was livid, no use in denying that any longer, when his voice was audibly pressed as he spoke through his teeth to keep himself from yelling. He was furious to the point he found it hard to stop himself from going on rambling about his miserable day. Furious. Not just with Lucas, but also with himself and the world in general.
„I’m sorry.“ It was barely a whisper his boyfriend whimpered under his breath, but it send Jens to glare him down. Anything to get him stop talking. Lucas was swallowing on something, as he stared back at the older boy with wide eyes. Jens was pretty sure, he hadn’t expected that when he found him. But here they fucking were.
„Stop apologising! Christ!“ 
This was probably the worst part of it all. To see and hear Lucas’s genuine regret plastered across his expression and deeply anchored in his voice. Jens would have preferred to tell him all about his day differently. He had prefered them to already be in bed, and have Lucas understand and support him, as they hold each other in a tight embrace. Instead he got this. And yes, Jens probably could take a deep breath and calm down and concede that it was too late to be angry anyway. But he was left to his emotions eating away on his rational mind.
„Why, are you still here?“ He asked, almost shouted, as Lucas flinched still standing in the doorway. The poor younger boy didn’t even get to answer.
„Leave! Go home. Go to my room. I don’t fucking care. Just get your damn face out of my sight! I don’t want to fucking hear or see you, Lucas!“
„Jens, I..“
„LEAVE!“ This one Jens in fact yelled at the startled boy inside the wooden frame, before he tore his eyes away to watch the bubbles gathering on the other side of the hatch. It did calm him enough in order for the beating of his heart to slow, and the rushing of his blood to died down.
He didn’t see Lucas leaving, but he heard the shuffeling of feet for a moment, before Jens tuned everything out around him. Except for the laundry continuously spinning around inside the mashine, unbothered by the scene that had unfolded outside. 
He didn’t wanted to know if Lucas had actually left or stayed.
It would break him to see the pairs of shoes and jacket gone.
The exhaustion was crushingly tearing at his consciousness.
Just thirty more minutes and he could hang his clothes up to dry. Allowing for him to finally seek out his bed and get some proper rest. God knows, he needed to close his eyes and feel his muscles able to relax, all of him tugged under a heavy blanket.
He hardly felt the trembling of his body, before his vision blurred and he slid down along the wall to sink in on himself. He drew his knees up, to prop his chin on them and hug his legs as tight as he could. Jens knew he was crying the moment he tasted the salt on his lips and his shoulders began to shake violently in the white lit room.
This day just needed to be over.
__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots
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katsukikitten · 5 years ago
Note
Hey :) would it be possible to have a fluffy scene with Bakugo taking care of s/o reader who has bad period cramps and suffers panic attacks when they can't take the pain? (The suffering is real lol) Please and thank you 💛
Period Panic
A/N Thank you for being so patient bb. Here is your request and I hope it is fluffy enough and that you like it 😊😊
Your quirk was unique and tricky to get right at first.
You had the ability to make the smallest paper cut feel like a laceration that was bone deep.
Pain amplification is what they called it and for the most part there was no draw back to your quirk.
That was until you got your first period.
Any pain you had amplified was done unto you during those seven days while your uterus shed, angry that you would not be used as a vessel for new life.
Crippling, imobilizing pain that only heightened your anxiety.
Most men and even some women thought you were exaggerating. Brushing off your agony as mere teenage dramatics.
That was until you pushed through the horrific cramping to make it to school only to end up collapsing.
Doubled over, clutching at your gut as if your apendix had burst.
That or your uterus literally burst through your abdomen wall. At least thats what it honestly felt like.
So nothing was new this month, the usual heavy flow and cramping except this particular week your sweet boyfriend demanded he stay home.
It was something you hid from him for years, a mixture of embarrassment and fear of discredit causing you to shy away from his gruff helping hand.
He said he needed to see it all, especially if you were to ever bare his child, how would he know what to do to help you.
But sometimes you didn't even know how to help you. Sleeping most days, getting obscene amounts of overtime and using all of your PTO every month to get out of work since uterus go stabby stabby wasn't a valid enough excuse.
You're curled into his neck, breathing in his sweet caramel musk as he strokes your hair. While his free hand holds his phone watching videos with his wireless head phones.
So far so good. Your period has been mild, Bakugou has been attentive if not borderline smothering although you'll take it considering he is not normally so lovey dovey, and there hasnt been a bad cramp in sight.
Maybe you had grown out of it.
It feels as if a knife is suddenly plunged deep into your gut, before being removed to be swiftly plunged again only a few inches away.
Your bite your lip to keep in a groan, curling into him further. His hand goes from your hair to your back, bringing it up your spine slowly still beautifully ignorant to the intensity.
You needed to keep it this way. Bakugou did not take kindly to weakness and showing how pained you really were was the very definition.
The invisible knife takes a new route, plunging into your back before multiplying, twisting as it finds purchase before stabbing you between the legs.
That one makes you grunt and worry compels the hot head to move.
"Oi." He says voice husky with disuse, "Are you okay?"
You nod in way of answer as your heart rate increases, your skin becoming flush as you feel the rise of panic begin to take hold.
But nothing grips you tighter than the disembodied hands that hold fast onto your uterus, wringing it out as if it were a rag.
You push away from him quickly, between the panic and the pain you're about to empty the contains of your stomach.
You rush to the en suite bathroom in your small apartment sure to lock the door as you grip onto the cool porcielin. Inhaling the all too familiar oddly fresh smell considering the things done to this particular throne.
The scent alone earns a retch that encourages your stomach to heave and heave hard before an even more concerned ash blonde is at the door.
"Y/N." He snarls when he finds it locked.
"Go away Katsu I'll be nnngg." You cannot finish as another column of pain shoots right through you. Your breath hitches and you fight the bile rising up your throat trying hard to even your breathing.
But you lose, you flush as the last of your stomach empties itself into what was once clean porcielin.
"Like hell you were going to say okay. Open the door or I'll open it my God damn self." He growls and this is what you feared most.
Not of his aggression or his inability to take your word for it that you were fine but of him seeing you like this.
Hair damp, clinging to your forehead, cheeks flushed from panic and raise blood pressure. Splattered bile on your shirt and underwear that was now heavily bleed through from the exertion.
He would see you looking every bit repulsive and never want you again.
A loud bang takes place in the bedroom before the door falls off of its hinges landing with a harsh slap on the tile km the bathroom.
His scalding gaze turns tepid with worry when he sees you, going to gather you up but you push away.
"S...stop..." You gasp for breath with sharp inhales, spots begin to form in your peripheral as your body overheats. Useless sweat dripping down your brow.
This was it.
This was the pinnacle moment in time where Bakugou would see you for what you really were.
A fragile glass cup sitting on the edge of a high counter top.
Tears prick your eyes as you think of your uterus falling out of your fucking body with a wet thump.
And Bakugou was going to pack his shit and move out promptly.
The room spins.
He clutches onto your hand with his own strong palm, fingers lacing with yours.
"Copy me baby." He snarls, harshly contrasting his pained look. He holds your gaze as he breathes in through his nose deeply, holding it for a moment and letting the air naturally push out of his lungs through his mouth.
After a few tries you mimic him perfectly slowly regaining your thoughts.
He smooths your hair out of your face before picking you up and setting your on the cool counter.
He steps away to yank up the handle to the bath, steaming hot water pours out, filling the tub. He turns to the linen closet produces a fresh towel and two rags.
He dips one beneath the steaming water before setting the other two items on the vanity top.
"Bakugou..." You fight back tears as he wipes your mouth, folding the rag as he moved along your face. He places the dirty rag in the bowl of the sink before pulling at the hem of your shirt.
"Arms up." He hisses when you resist, you meet his gaze and obey. He pulls the dirty shirt over your head before pulling at your underwear.
"NO!" Embarrassment floods your cheeks and pain bites into your stomach again.
"Fine. I'll turn around but you better get in that bath." He sucks his teeth at the end. He listens as you finish undressing, waiting for the sounds of sloshing water as you adjust yourself.
You see now he has put Epsom salt to help ease your muscles.
Suddenly your chest is tight from a feeling other than panic, as you look at his strong back flexing as he reaches for something at the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.
He produces an orange bottle with white top that you hate. Shaking out two pills for you before wetting a rag in cold water.
"Here." He holds out his hand but you refuse the two white pills with a shake of your head, "Why not?"
"Makes me too numb." You admit and he gives you a look, slamming the pills on the counter before pressing the cold rag to your forehead.
He sits next to you on the floor, scarlet eyes roving over your body for any physical pain that he can see.
You watch it bother him that he cannot help but in these last few moments you've been more in love with him than you ever had.
"S..sorry I'm so weak." You whisper and the air becomes charged.
"When did I say you were weak? When did you need to apologize for something you cannot help?" Your cheeks burn when you realize he did not once look at you in such a way.
"Now focus we are going to do an exercise." He gets up enough to turn off the rushing water before returning to his sit by the tub.
"What do you do to amplify the pain in someone?" He asks and you think of how to word it, normally you just acted on instinct.
"I...I concentrate on their nervous system. I make their body panic and send distress to the brain."
"Can you see your own nervous system like that?" You blink at his question slowly before answering
"Yes. It's difficult but when I really close my eyes." Another sharp pain sinks into your abdomin causing you to wince.
Sharp eyes cut to your feminine pouch he loves so much, he notes that it is a little swollen and silently vows to look up diets better suited for less painful periods.
In his mind food fixed everything.
"So close your eyes." He says, sliding the cool rag over your eye lids. It some how soothes the second heartbeat there that you did not realize you had.
He begins to breathe deeply, like before and out of habit you follow suit until your nervous system stands before you.
A mess of angry nerve bundles through out your lower back and stomach constantly sending messages to your brain as your uterus contracts.
"I...I see it."
"Now do the opposite of activating the nerves. Slow them down or turn them off."
"Bakugou I can't." You go to move the rag, moments away from breaking what you can see before rough hand settles over your eyes.
Applying just the right amount of pressure as it rests there.
"I didn't ask you if you could or couldn't." He says flatly but you can imagine the harsh look in his eyes.
So you listen, you try as you focus, mentally stroking the nerves, begging them to become less hyperactive, one by one they begin to obey.
And your mind numbing pain begins to dull to a light ache.
For the first time since you were eleven you didn't feel as if you were Kane from that iconic scene in that 1980s movie.
You felt like a normal woman who had normal cramps.
You pull at his hand to make eye contact, gleaming with excitement.
"I did it!"
He just smiles in confirmation, as if he knew you could do it all along that is until your face twists and your uterus is being rung out again.
The pain comes flooding back and with it frustrated tears. A slam of a fist agaisnt tile as you let out an audible sob. Bakugou smooths back your hair before tilting your face towards his.
"I will be with you until you can ease your own pain." He kisses your lips gently before adding, "And if for whatever fucking reason you can't I will *always* be here."
He presses his forehead to yours gazing into your eyes and you had never realized how much you needed this.
Him.
That even his support was enough to ease your suffering. He stands, rewets your rag with cold water, places it gently onto your forehead as he returns to normal rough self.
"Now soak in this bath and don't fucking move while I make dinner." He plays soothing music on your phone before slamming the door to the bedroom shut.
Hastily opening google onto his own phone as he makes his way to the kitchen to prepare you a meal plan that will help strengthen the nervous system and dispel inflammation.
Thinking only of how he will always support you, even if it meant putting everything on hold once a month for the rest of his life.
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maxbegone · 5 years ago
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Safe
The other night, in our discord with @roguebabyinyourstore​ and @bestwisheswarmestregards​, Megan ( @stuck-on-your-heart​ ) posted this, so I took it and ran with it, maybe a little too far.
Also on Ao3
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WARNING: Mentions of past drug use, drug abuse, manipulation, and that pretentious cock known as Sebastien Raine. 
It’s raining today. A heavy downpour that hits against the windows in a way that seems to encompass the entire apartment with white noise. The weather, simplistically, is lousy.
Ever since the rain started early that morning, David’s been nursing a dull headache. He hasn’t done anything for it, mainly because he and Patrick have been in bed the whole time fading in and out of sleep. He got up once to use the bathroom and stole Patrick’s zip-up on the way back.
It’s really just one of those wonderfully lazy days where the weather allows him to do nothing until he gets antsy around seven o’clock and he begs Patrick to order a pizza.
He hopes they order pizza.
They bed is cool on Patrick’s side when David wakes from his second nap of the day, thrusting him into the late morning. Before long, though, his fiancé is padding back over to the bed with two mugs of steaming tea and a smile that he reserves only for him. David gives Patrick a sleepy blink and smiles back.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Patrick murmurs as he plants a kiss into his hair, carefully balancing the mugs. His own hair is a little wet from the shower, and he smells like the spiced bergamot body wash they’ve begun selling at the store. It’s intoxicating and David loves it.
“How long was I out?” He grumbles into his pillow. Patrick’s pillow, actually.
“Forty-five minutes. Sorry for leaving, I really needed to shower. Sit up so you don’t spill this on yourself.”
David obliges as Patrick climbs back into bed with him, dressed in a new pair of sweats and a faded blue tee. Definitely a lazy day. He passes the mug and two Advil over to David.
“Caramel shortbread and a teaspoon of sugar,” Patrick recites, sipping his own tea. “And I figured your head would be hurting with all this rain. Not too hot?”
“Mh, no. Perfect,” David hums into his mug. He downs the two pills, leans back against the fluffy pillows and lets out a contented sigh.
Patrick sets his mug aside to pull his guitar from where it’s laid carefully in its open case next to the bed. He does this sometimes, and David will just sit and watch. Patrick will absentmindedly pluck away at his six-string, moving idly up and down the fingerboard. Sometimes he’ll play a song that David will recognize, other times it’ll just be a slew of random notes both sharp and flat. Regardless of what Patrick does, it sounds beautiful to David. It always sounds beautiful. Patrick will sing sometimes, too, and on occasion he makes a whole show out of it. But it doesn’t seem that way today.
Today he’s just strumming away as he stares somewhat dreamily at the ceiling.
David watches him closely. He studies the way Patrick’s fingers move, the way his hands flex and the veins pop out, and how his ring fingers seems to be moving around the most. It’s all meditative for him. David notes the way the corners of Patrick’s mouth have quirked up as well, like they always do when he’s playing without any singing, his lips just slightly pursed together. Patrick’s eyes flutter closed, they always do. Slowly, David’s headache is subsiding, and as much as he wants to credit the smooth sound of his partner’s guitar playing, he knows it’s the painkillers.
He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until Patrick opens his eyes again and looks over.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” David hides a smile in his now-empty mug. “Keep playing.”
Patrick laughs a bit. “Would you like to hear anything in particular?”
David shakes his head, “No. I like whatever you’re playing now.”
“Well I’m not really playing anything, so.”
He shifts a bit to make himself closer to Patrick. “Yeah, but I still like it.”
Patrick lets out a breathy “Oh,” and leans in to kiss him softly. When they pull away, he knocks at the underside of David’s chin with the length of his index finger. He carefully places his guitar back down in its case.
“I like this,” David whispers, almost at random.
“Like what?”
“This,” he gestures vaguely. “Us together like this, with nothing going on. You playing your little guitar while it rains, making me tea.”
“Yeah? And what are you doing for me?” Patrick teases in return.
“I’m wearing your hoodie, which I arguably look very cute in.” David bounces his head little bit in emphasis.
“You do look very cute in it.” Patrick takes the mug from David’s hands and places it on the nightstand next to his own.
“It’s all really nice,” David continues. “It feels nice, it feels safe. I feel safe here…”
He knows Patrick’s looking at him, maybe a little quizzically, or maybe he’s giving him that careful look that says, “Keep going, I’m still here.” But saying that aloud just now pricked something deep inside him, and it’s making David feel a little off-center. Instead of looking over, he shimmies himself down until he’s on his back. He feels a little shy from having said anything at all.
“David?”
He wants to say silent, he really does. He wants to let the moment pass and just force himself to fall asleep again. But he doesn’t. It’s like his mouth is moving faster than his brain at this point.
“No one has ever made me feel like that,” he begins. “I was usually this one-and-done thing for people. Wasn’t worth the effort.”
Patrick knows this, they’ve talked about it ad nauseam before. It’s a touchy subject, but David’s just added this whole other layer and he keeps going.
“It was always me getting something from them, or them getting something from me. Pills, mostly, access to people I knew, like, really high up. Honestly at one point I was always looking to get a stellar high, so. There were days where I was barely sober because of it.”
Patrick is completely still beside him, so David continues.
“Um…This one girl stole from me a few times, but I didn’t realize until it was too late because it always happened when I had a bunch of people over and when I was in the middle of hooking up with someone else. And there was this guy who basically ridiculed everything I wore, so. There was a time where I wore very plain things and he would decide on that for me.” David tugs at his sleeves a bit. “It was really short-lived though. Only lasted a month and a half before he got bored.” He waves a hand, feigning nonchalance. He doesn’t look to his right where Patrick is.
“David, that’s not okay.”
“I know it’s not. And I knew it then, really. I was just trying to prove something, I guess.” He inhales and holds it for a second too long. “Sebastien was on a whole other level, though. We were usually completely smacked whenever we were together.”
David’s world rocks a bit, and the white noise from the rain outside becomes a bit more piercing. He shakes off the feeling and purses his lips.
“Photos,” is all he says, and Patrick really already knows this.
He told him before they got together when Sebastien Raine came to town. Patrick had sensed David was very off that week, and in the middle of setting up a shelving unit, he told his then-new-business partner everything about the sleazy bastard.
Patrick’s moving to lay down next to David, facing him.
“Hey.” His voice is soft and soothing. “Can you look at me?”
David turns his head slowly. “Sorry,” he mutters, it’s almost inaudible.
“I know that you already know this David,” Patrick begins, “but I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“And I never intend to.” Patrick reaches out to brush against David’s face. “I love you, you mean the world over to me, David. Those people in your past who wronged you are long-gone. They don’t matter. You matter.”
David blinks. He sniffs a bit, swallows thickly to suppress threatening tears. It takes a few minutes for him to speak again, but looking at Patrick, the words come out so easy.
“I’ve never felt this safe before. I’ve never had anyone who makes me feel this way. You make me feel safe.” He laughs a little at how cheesy it all sounds, but Patrick isn’t laughing. Instead, he’s nodding, gentle and understanding. His hand trails from its spot on David’s cheep down to play with his left hand. It’s sans his rings at the moment, since he tends to not sleep with them.
David continues. “In New York, with those people, I had to play it up. If I didn’t, they’d drop me. I didn’t know who I was so I just followed along. I learned to be someone I’m not, clearly. I, uh…Do you really want to marry me, Patrick?”
Those words nearly hurt today. He feels so small in this bed. He didn’t expect to get into such a heavy conversation today, but here they are. If he didn’t take the Advil earlier, David is sure his head would be pounding much harder with an anxiety-induced headache.
Patrick shifts again, this time so he can wrap himself against David’s curled-up form.
“David Rose, I have never been so sure about anything in my life. I cannot wait to marry you.”
Patrick’s voice grounds him. It does, it really does, but David’s in it now and he feels the need to press onward.
“I have a lot of, I don’t know, emotional baggage?” David squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I’ve never felt so safe with anyone in my entire life, Patrick. I didn’t think that I ever could.”
When he opens his eyes again, Patrick’s own are wide and doe-like.
Out of all the things everyone in his past life made him believe, David never thought that he was worthy of someone as beautiful and caring as Patrick Brewer. The fact that they were engaged, the fact that Patrick wanted to marry him despite everything in his past made him feel good about himself and where he was in his life right now. He thought, a long time ago, that he was destined to roam the Earth somewhat alone as he bounced from stranger to stranger, and on occasion have a fling that would last for more than a week and a half.
Patrick brings him back to the present when the pad of his thumb brushes against his under-eye.
“David. I will do everything in my power to make you feel safe for the rest of our lives.”
It’s a strong statement. It’s bold, it’s powerful, and David knows with his whole being that it’s very true. When Patrick makes a promise, he keeps that promise. He’s proven it over and over again.
Finally, he says, “I love you,” and Patrick’s expression softens just a bit.
“I love you, David,” he whispers back.
Patrick’s lips trail along the stubble on his jawline, leaving little kisses from there all the way down his neck. When he gets to the hollow of David’s throat, he nips a bit and kisses the spot. It both warms David and sends a chill down his spine.
Patrick drags himself back up to kiss David’s lips. It’s sweet.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he swears against his lips from where he now hovers over him. It’s so quiet, it’s only for them, even though they are alone in the apartment. It’s intimate, really.
A tear slips from David’s eye, leaving a cool mark as it caresses his temple. His smile grows wide and sweet. He blinks slow, and Patrick is still there above him.
David pulls him into his chest, holds Patrick tightly and whispers, “You, too.”
David means it.
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grumpyhedgehogs · 5 years ago
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Home Coming
Summary: TUA AU, Vanya stays at the Academy with Luther.
Vanya stays.
She stays through Klaus taking off in the middle of the night, fear making his eyes wide and his teeth splitting his face in a grin too large to be nice. She stays through Allison gathering her belongings neatly into a shiny new suitcase and stepping into a taxi to the airport without a glance backward. She stays through Diego’s last tantrum and screaming match with their father and the door slamming so hard their family portrait is knocked off the wall.
Luther is left alone.
Vanya stays through it all.
~
Luther doesn’t know why Vanya sticks around. He knows why he can’t leave, sure. It’s simple: he has been raised to save the world. He cannot resist his calling, even if their siblings can shirk their responsibilities so easily. He’s a hero. He’s here to keep being a hero.
Vanya, though. He feels bad, a little, to call her nothing, but that’s what she is. She has nothing here. Staying is useless.
She stays anyway.
~
It goes like this: The mission alarm goes off when Luther is downstairs trying to distract himself from how big the Academy is. He goes upstairs and gets dressed and stands before Dad and is told what he must do. He goes. He saves the day. He comes back.
It goes like this: Vanya is playing her music and stops for the alarm. She watches from the doorway as Luther leaves. She waits for him when he comes back and makes him eat something. She leads him to Mom and helps patch him up. She places a palm over his forehead and pushes his hair back, every time, and looks in his eyes.
They go like this: “You did good,” Vanya says. She says this every time. She makes up for where their father lacks. Luther doesn’t look her in the eyes and he nods and he goes to bed.
They don’t go like this: Luther tells her what happened to him, the kick in the chest or the gunshot near his ear or the hands around his throat. Luther apologizes for the ache behind her eyes, in her music. Vanya hugs him. Luther asks why she stays. She smiles and he smiles and they are fine.
~
Vanya stays and plays her violin and it is sad, now, with the emptiness of the house seeping into her music. Or maybe it has always been so sad and Luther simply never noticed.
She plays and plays and plays and when he gets angry and yells and tells her to just go, to get out and don’t come back, she stops. She waits him out when Luther rages and asks her why she thinks she’d be useful staying here. She waits him out when he tells her she’ll never be a hero. She waits him out while he shouts that she was never part of this family.
She plays and she waits and when he’s done, wrung out and empty, she makes him a fluffernutter sandwich.
He only ever throws that tantrum the once, three years after everyone else left. The next morning, Luther wakes up to the strains of Bach floating through the air and stares at his model planes and cries, just a little. The tears sting at the cut on his temple, the one preventing Dad from placing his wires there like he thinks he’s clever.
Luther doesn’t know who he’s crying for.
~
Their father hates Vanya with more passion than he is capable of in any other venture.
They don’t talk about it.
~
They go like this, one night: Vanya applies to the New York Philharmonic. She gets a call back. Father slaps her and she falls.
Luther’s throat closes up.
They go like this, one night: Luther finds her in the wee hours of the morning, slumped in a tiny huddle in the corner of the hallway. She is wearing a sweatshirt that used to be Ben’s. It is too big on her. She is crying.
They go like this, one night: Luther sits beside her and tucks his legs up to his chest as best he can. Vanya doesn’t look up. She sniffles and Luther doesn’t know how to help.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Vanya shakes her head.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” Luther points out. She looks up, face red and blotchy and he shrugs. “A little bit.”
“Maybe a little bit,” Vanya says after looking at him for a long time. She looks away, at her hands curled in her sleeves. She sniffles again. “Thanks.”
“Please don’t thank me for not being a shitty person,” Luther says. It startles a wet giggle out of her.
Nerves make his hand shake when he flips his palm up, knuckles gazing the hardwood floor. It takes a moment, but Vanya fits her palm in his. He marvels, for a while, at the differences.
Her hand is thin and pale and cold. Her fingers are calloused like his, but he has a kink in his right pinkie knuckle where Diego broke it when they were ten. Her bones are defined and fragile and not useless at all when she fills her hands with music. Luther's are useless without something to punch. Her hands are important; his hands are perfunctory. Tools of the trade, both.
Vanya has always reminded Luther of a bird; she flits and flutters at the edges of his life, never quite able to settle down. She makes sweet music but cuts off at the first sign of movement. Her bones are so very delicate. He’s watched, for years, as her face sharpened under their father’s unrelenting thumb, as her cheekbones threatened to break through the paper-thin surface of her face, as her knuckles grew more defined and less pretty as a bird’s wings. Luther wishes, sometimes, that he could take her bones in his hands and smooth out her sharp edges, rub away the hollows in her cheeks with his thumbs, gentle some kind of warmth back into her skin. The cold set into them both a long time ago, but Luther is willing to help her fight it off.
They go like this, one night: “Why can’t I be good enough?” Vanya asks in a voice too small.
“I don’t know,” Luther says honestly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
They go like this, one night: The bruise under Vanya’s eye darkens with the passing hours. Her hand stays in his. Luther could break her fingers with a single twitch and ruin her life forever.
She holds his hand like she has nothing to be afraid of.
~
Luther gets hurt; chemicals burn into his chest, his thoughts goes hazy, he barely makes it back home before collapsing on the front steps. The last thing he remembers is the fear in Vanya’s eyes as she leans over him and mouths his name.
He wakes up later--much later, apparently-- and Vanya is there. Vanya stayed.
It’s been weeks, she tells him. She gave him her blood so that their father could save his life from the chemical burns, she tells him. He’s lucky she’s around because the only other option was Pogo, she tells him, laughing. They share blood now, like a real family, she tells him, smiling.
She doesn’t tell him what their father had to do to save his life. She doesn’t tell him how she survived their father without him. Luther doesn’t ask.
She holds his hand in hers and pushes her own warmth back into him.
Maybe Vanya isn’t the one who needs saving, Luther thinks to himself, and holds her hand just a little tighter.
~
“It’s the new dosage,” Vanya gasps. She breathes harshly, in-out, in-out, in-out, into the toilet bowl.
Luther doesn’t know what to do.
Vanya’s hair is very long. Luther hesitates, but Vanya leans fathering into the toilet, groaning, so he reaches out and threads his fingers through her hair. He pulls it off her neck with a gentleness he’s only now learning. The nape of his sister’s neck is soaked with sweat.
She hacks dryly into the bowl twice, says, “I can’t--” and vomits again.
Luther waits her out. He’s learned more about patience in the past few years than he ever knew.
“What’s in those pills, Vanya?” Luther asks.
Vanya doesn’t seem to hear him. She shakes her head, coughing, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. He is struck, again, by how very small she looks. “It’s fine, I’m just not used to the new dosage. I’ll get better in a few weeks, when I’ve been taking them for longer.”
“Vanya.”
She looks up and her eyes are wet. It’s suddenly a little harder to breathe.
“What’s in the pills?”
Vanya shrugs helplessly.
~
Luther goes to Pogo. Father is locked up tight in his study and Luther feels the skin on the back of his neck prickle at the thought of cameras watching him as he enters the library.
Pogo is sitting quietly beside the fire.
“Pogo,” Luther says. He waits for Pogo to jump and clutch at his chest and then settle down. Luther does not take a seat when Pogo offers it.
“Can I do something for you, Master Luther?”
“What’s wrong with Vanya’s medication?”
Pogo shifts. Luther’s teeth grind down hard. People think he’s so stupid, but it is very obvious this is not what Pogo wants to talk to him about. Which means it is what Luther needs to know.
“Miss Vanya has always been very nervous even as a child, and your father--”
“I didn’t ask what was wrong with Vanya.” Luther says. “I asked what was wrong with her pills.”
Pogo goes still. His face is different from a human’s, but not enough for Luther not to notice guilt. “Pogo.”
“Your father only wanted to help, Master Luther. The consequences of Vanya going unmedicated--”
A memory flashes in Luther’s mind, unbidden. Vanya, playing the violin when they were twelve, fingers clumsy, missing more notes than she hit. Vanya, at sixteen, her medication upped by their father that afternoon, speaking at the dinner table like her tongue was too thick for her mouth. Vanya, at twenty-two, dazed and confused when Luther found her in the garden in the middle of December without a coat on.
Vanya’s hand, so thin and fragile, hollow bird-bones in his meaty palm.
Pogo speaks of powers going unchecked and adolescent aggression and fear and control like a professor giving a lecture. Vanya is sleeping off the rest of the drugs upstairs. She doesn’t have to know what Luther knows.
Luther has heard enough.
~
His sister looks up at him with a bleary gaze when he shakes her awake. She’s slept for several hours. It’s the middle of the night. She wants to know what he’s doing here.
Luther almost shoots the question back at her, used to wondering about it by now. He doesn’t ask.
“If I told you a secret that would ruin your life,” Luther says instead, gripping her shoulder firmly, gently, “would you trust me to keep you safe?”
Vanya is awake now. Her face has always been so serious.
She thinks about it for a moment. Luther waits. Father’s study was surprisingly easy to break into; the doorknob wasn’t even reinforced steel. Dad’s journal is tucked into the backpack Luther took from Klaus’s old room, strung over his shoulder and comically small.
They don’t have a lot of time.
Luther waits for his sister anyway.
“Yes,” Vanya decides.
It feels like something unclenches in Luther’s chest.
“We’re leaving,” he tells her. “Only the essentials. We’re not coming back.”
Vanya looks at him. He asks her to hurry.
She does.
~
“Why did you never leave?”
The question burns his throat on the way up. Luther has been wondering this for a very long time, but as things got worse and worse, he couldn’t quite make himself say it. He doesn’t think he really wants to know.
Vanya looks out over the rooftops. The city lights reflect in her eyes, big as dinner plates. She’s still not alright. She may not be alright for a very long while. Luther takes her hand and she laces their fingers together. She doesn’t look away from the skyline. Dad’s journal sits abandoned in her lap, open to the last damning page. Luther is glad Allison is across the country right now.
The sunrise reflects in the tear tracks left on his sister’s face. He doesn’t try to wipe them away; sometimes, you need evidence of your own suffering.
The rest of her pills had rattled in her pocket when they got into the car. He wonders if Klaus could help her kick them. He wonders what she’ll look like, a Vanya with powers. A Vanya with feelings.
But that’s not quite true, is it? Vanya feels more than Luther could have ever guessed when they were children.
Luther looks out at the city too. New York seems much larger now.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
Luther closes his eyes. It is easier to breathe out here.
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angelsofaurora · 5 years ago
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What Are The Odds?(Part 3)
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Pairing: Reader x Izzy Stradlin
Word Count: 2096
I’m gonna try and keep the updates coming quicker now, however I cannot promise anything:( Hope you enjoy!
Tags: @slashscowboyboots (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!)
_______________________________________________
The sun has never been so bright in the morning as it was today. Or at least that’s how it felt when you opened your eyes. As soon as the light stung your eyes, the increasing headache started to form.
“Fuck, I’m never drinking again”, you whined, trying to cover your eyes from the brightness. You let out a small laugh, knowing that’s exactly the words you always tell yourself but yet to this day have failed to keep that promise.
After a few minutes trying to fall back asleep to get rid of the pounding pain in your head, you got up and headed for the kitchen. You desperately needed a glass of water and painkillers. Crossing your small bedroom, you opened the doors to get into the hallway. That’s when you finally started to realize that you don’t actually remember much from the night, except for getting to know a guy named Axl and him introducing you and your friend to his band members. After that the only thing you remember is getting in a car and someone talking to you. It was a guy, that’s what you recalled and he had dark hair, but you couldn’t remember his face for anything. After all, this guy got you home safe and as you also remembered he stayed to make sure you got into bed safe and sound, yet you couldn’t remember his face? Great.
Just as you were popping some pills into your mouth, the phone rang. Was it always that loud?
“Hi?” you answered the phone, hoping the caller could identify your annoyed tone. It was way too early for someone to call. It’s rude, right?
“You hungover bitchhh, you up yet?” your best friend’s voice rang into your ear. Damn, she was such a pain in the ass sometimes.
“Nope.” Finally, you actually checked the time. It was 1 in the afternoon. Oh, well, maybe it wasn’t that early never the less.
“Yeahhh so listen you should get dressed and get your ass here!”
She convinced you to come to the band’s apartment, where she stayed the night with Axl. Not that you really wanted to go but she’d call as many times as it would take to get you there.
One hour, a shower and a few glasses of water later, you were heading towards the address she gave you. Thankfully the weather chose to have mercy on you, as it was cloudy but not cold. Just the perfect weather for a hungover young lady.
Once at the apartment, Steven came and opened the door for you. You remembered his name. Progress.
He led you to the main room or so called, living room, where the guys were sat. The room was not that big, but a light rug and a big window made it seem bigger. On a grey sofa sat Axl and your friend, not really noticing your arrival as they were too busy with each other. On the other end sat Duff, the bassist. Right next to his legs on the floor was a mess of fluffy black curls and the rest of a man’s body. That was the guy who you wanted to fuck yesterday, right? You knew that much, however, his face was also a blur in your memory and him lying on his stomach, facing down, didn’t help you much to remember his face. As you later on found out, it was Slash. Wait, was that the guy who took you home? You really couldn’t bring yourself to ask.
Steven joyfully announced your arrival and all the heads popped at your direction. You awkwardly smiled but thank God, your friend spoke.
“Y/n finally! You do still remember the guys, don’t you?” her sarcastic tone told you that she knew there was no way you’d remember much, judging by how fucked you were.
“Of course she doesn’t, she was fucking pissed,” commented Axl, but not really sounding rude. “Iz literally dragged her to the car so I doubt she even remembers who got her home.”
Bull’s eye. You stood there dumbfounded, not really knowing what to say except for smiling awkwardly. He mentioned Iz? The guy who got you home? You begged whoever was listening to you mentally babbling, that it was not the guy you had a bit of a feud with.
Your questions were answered a few minutes after you sat down on the rug, next to Slash, who was now waking up. Your heart sank, when Duff called: “Yo, Izzy, look who got here on their own!” It was clearly targeting you.
A dark haired guy stepped into the room, and at that very moment when your eyes met you remembered. How could you forget those piercing green eyes?
He kept the stare for a bit longer and then looked away, asking Axl something about their next gig. Wow, he wants to ignore you? You decided it’s gonna be his way. You won’t even bother saying thanks.
The day went on and you and your friend spent it with the guys.
You and Slash got along extremely well and soon he got a bit touchy. Considering the fact that you liked him and that you could use a little distraction from Izzy’s non-stop stare that you could not put a label on as to what it meant, you were quick to accept his invitation to his room. You tried your hardest to ignore Izzy as you and Slash got up and went across the room. But as you were almost out of the door, you caught Izzy’s stare. Your eyes locked and for just a split second you thought you a saw a hint of- what? Disappointment? No, you probably just imagined it.
After your wild evening with Slash, you fell asleep in his bed. You didn’t even know whether (Y/B/F/N) has left or stayed here with Axl. But you honestly didn’t even care.
At around 4 in the morning you woke up to a sound coming from what you guessed the living room. Soon you realized someone was playing guitar.
Many minutes have passed before you decided you won’t be able to fall back asleep, so you carefully removed Slash’s arm from your waist, trying your hardest not to wake him. Slipping your feet to the ground, you put his hand onto now empty space beside him and got out of bed.
You didn’t really want to bug the person that was playing since you were staying at their apartment and you felt you had no right to tell them what to do.
When you passed what you assumed to be Axl’s room, judging by the familiar moans that were coming from the inside, you realized two things. First thing was you were not the only one who got it tonight and the second one you were sure your friend had stayed.
Hearing them made you uncomfortable so you made sure you passed the room as quickly as possible.
The living room was dark but you had now confirmed your theory that the sound was coming from here. Stepping inside as quietly as possible you noticed one of the boys sitting on the floor by the big window, guitar in his hands. Not wanting to let him be aware of your presence, you leaned on the door frame and took in what you were seeing. The moonlight fell so delicately over half of his face, highlighting his black long hair, thin long nose, the cigarette trapped in between his red lips and his sharply sculptured chin. His white button-up shirt sat loose on his torso and he left it unbuttoned so you could make out his chest under the fabric. He still wore the same black jeans you first saw him in. His gentle strums over the guitar and his quiet humming took you over completely. Izzy. You hated to admit it to yourself but the sight made you aware of how beautiful he actually was.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that he stopped playing and was now looking at you. He startled you when he spoke in his raspy voice.
“What?” You could hear annoyance in his tone and all the previous admiration for him was gone.
“Could you keep it down for fucks sake, it’s 4 in the morning.” Well... it’s not impolite to ask him to keep it down, right? You did ask... in your own polite way, right?
“Fuck off.” Now his annoyance was pretty straight forward.
You decided it was not really worth it so you got to the kitchen and tried to find a glass. After some struggling and you opening almost every cabinet’s door, you heard shuffling coming towards you. You turned around to face Izzy. Just as you were about to ask he opened the cabinet you were yet to get to and pulled out two glasses. He gave one of them to you and kept the other one for himself. He then turned around and opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Night Train. He poured some into his glass and offered to pour a glass for you too. You just nodded, surprised he even offered it to you. He then left the kitchen with his glass and, what now was apparently his bottle.
Not knowing what to think of his weird behavior you waited in the kitchen for a few minutes. He started playing again, now it was a song you’ve heard before. You walked into the living room and sat down next to him, while trying to be quiet and not bother him.
He eyed you but didn’t comment and he didn’t stop playing. You recognized the song now fully as he began murmuring the singing part.
As the song hit the chorus you started singing along since you really liked this song and you caught onto the words after the second time you’ve heard the chorus at the club the other night.
“I think about you, honey, all the time my heart says yes,
I think about you, deep inside I love you best,
I think about you, you know you’re the one I want,
I think about you, darling, you’re the only one,
I think about you...”
At first he ignored you but soon he was looking at you, his eyes not missing one movement of your face and lips. He stopped playing and now your eyes were locked together, neither of you looking away. You could feel the tension radiating between you and it was becoming overwhelming. What the hell?
“Thank you.” You managed to form the words after looking away.
“For what?” Now Izzy was lighting his cigarette and looking away too, just giving you a confused look as you thanked him.
“For getting me home yesterday.”
He looked surprised when he looked at you. You couldn’t really figure out why he was surprised.
“Oh... yeah, it’s fine.”
After that an awkward silence filled the room but he cut it when he sighed.
“You didn’t strike me as that kind of a girl, (Y/N).” He spoke in a small voice, almost as if he hoped you wouldn’t hear him.
“What do you mean?” You were legit confused as to what he was referring to.
“Well the typical groupie of the Sunset Strip kinda girl.”
You absolutely did not expect to hear that. Did you really come off as that type of a girl? But why should you care? It really wasn’t any of his business at all. It enraged you, who the hell does he think he is?
“What the fuck is your problem Stradlin?” You raised your voice a bit now but hoping the others won’t get woken up by the argument that is about to go down.
“I can fuck whoever I want and that is none of your business!” You were beaming with anger now.
“That’s what they all say.” He scoffed at you.
“But judging by how loud you were I’d say he at least fucked you good, huh?”
For some reason his words hurt you. You felt as if you’ve done something very wrong and now you were being scolded for it.
“Fuck off, you’re a fucking dickhead!”
You got to your feet, not wanting to hear or see him anymore. You were so confused and angry. Your encounters with him were ridiculous to say the least. One moment you’re talking and singing as if you’re best buddies and the next you’re each other’s worst enemies. What the hell is that?
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gyromitra-esculenta · 5 years ago
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Even If the Waters Rise 1/3
Talked myself into Mermay. But it’s Shadowrun based mermay with (something that resembles) plot. Mermaids are now metahuman, and, boy, do I have the issues with Sea Dragon’s design. It got 6k words on the first chapter.
Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.
(...)
Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure up and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.
He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.
(...)
Coming off the sedation after being cut was always a mixed bag. This time, though, the bustle of the street outside filters in slowly, rising like a wave over the ocean of static and breaking when the stims start doing their job.
The first breath is always the hardest, some kink in the lungs that kicks them into filtration mode each time the loss of consciousness occurs and demands focus from Jack to consciously switch back into the atmospheric intake.
"With us again?"
"You tell me, you're in my brain."
"Being obstinate will net you no points," Sombra mentally scoffs. "The pain?"
"No worse than usual."
"Arms up. Good, neural's working with no lag. And thank you very much for that kick, the legs are doing fine too."
"All?" Jack looks over the utilitarian metal surfaces of his limbs, the make and the model different from anything else he has seen on the market.
"Now, yeah," Sombra winces, pulling the plug out. She doesn’t need it but had told him once there were times she felt safer working with one. "For final calibrations, I need more data, so let's slap synthskin on those."
"What are they, anyway?"
"Scrubbed milspec, last year's model, or so I'd been told."
Sombra directs the assistant. Each applied sheet of layered synthskin gives Jack a lurch of unpleasant sensations before settling into annoyance, tension, and oversensitivity. A dance he's familiar with - a day or two before the brain puts a dampener on the sensory input when it integrates properly.
"I know why you're doing this for free, but why is he spending so much on this?"
Sombra flinches.
"The last batch you got rid of was worth more than those."
"It won't stop the demand, only the price of the meat went up."
"And the ability to process it for consumption went down. You know what's my take on it," she signs something on her pad. "Anyway, have fun tonight. I'll get in touch with you tomorrow to finish the calibrations."
"Not seeing much of a difference now," Jack pulls on his clothes, mindful of the temporary sleeves making sure the skin stays in place. "Tell me I won’t control and crush anyone."
"Implemented mental blocks. No limiters, so they can over-perform and get bricked, too."
"Taking bets on when I brick them?"
"Honestly!" Sombra throws the pad at him and Jack deflects it into the wall - looking back to her with a sheepish grin as it falls to the ground. "Too slow. Also, I don't want to see you in the professional capacity for at least half a year, but I'm giving you a month."
"Not very generous, and you're making me think you don't like it in my head."
"I don't, it's a jumble there since..." She stops herself, glaring daggers at the assistant who, granted with the rare ability to read the room, makes himself scarce - finding something urgent to do in the back.
"Since the glorified accident at work I don't even remember, seriously, five years, it's enough to stop treating me like I'm going to break about it." Jack pulls up the hood. Sombra's thinking about something, her brows drawn together in a worried frown.
"Aren't you curious?"
"Not really. Nightmares are a clue enough that something took out a lot of bites, and really, can't blame them, can I?"
"That's enough." She sends him a slightly nauseated look. "Scram now, have fun."
"Do you think he will tell me where he got milspec from?"
"He didn't tell me, so he's not going to tell you."
"But you've got an inkling how he got it."
"Maybe." She waves him off and Jack rolls his eyes, shrugging. Needling her for information has never worked before, anyway, and probably never will.
"See you when I wreck those."
"Fuck off!"
In less than an hour, there will be no trace left of her inside - and of Jack himself - the room is already being stripped down as he makes his way out of the basement up the concrete stairs with walls covered with dangerous amounts of mildew. Pushing past a corner stall encroaching on the doorway, he picks up a wrapped piece of barely seared meat waiting for him and waves his bracelet at the chit reader.
The air is wet and salty, like waves on the harbor, not even the smells of the market drown it out. The corners of his lips curl up at the thought tomorrow, or the day after, he'll be back out there, out on the sea, taking a dive into its depths, water everywhere, below and above, invisible current carrying him on its whims. Jack hails down the cab, the smile still on his face.
It remains there even twenty minutes later as he gets off by the hotel, both far too expensive and far too cheap at the same time. Too expensive for his own tastes, too cheap for Gabe to rent a room in it. Alas, here they are - and he sends a quick text.
'I'm coming up.'
Almost to the top, feeling vaguely claustrophobic in the humming elevator thankfully bereft of the usual muzak (apparently some taste did come with the money, but not enough for the interior to keep consistent style), he gets the customary message back. 'Open.'
Jack lets out the breath he's been inadvertently holding in when the doors open and he's left in the corridor, looking for the right entrance. A suite, of course, worth a chuckle as he walks inside, the only source of light the city's glow coming in through the windows.
And Gabriel, of course - again - standing with his back to the window, the only discernible features of his in the dim the almost glowing red irises and the white markings creating a vague outline of some animal face. Dramatic asshole, as usual.
"Show me."
The tone of authority and ownership demanding obedience - the order itself - coming from anyone else but the man who one way or another did own everything that made him, would have Jack snarling and pouncing whoever dared to speak to him like that. Hearing it from Gabe, though...
"Not even 'hi, how are you' or 'greetings, mortal'?"
Jack rolls his eyes, stripping down completely out of his clothes, leaving them lying on the plush carpet as Gabriel comes closer. Always smelling faintly of the deep ocean, or rather, of how Jack would imagine it to smell if it did.
Fingers dig around the edges of the sleeves on his shoulders, feeling the joints underneath, moving down to repeat the same around his hips. Synthskin sends confusing signals, not quite the pain yet, and a pinch of irritation.
"Looks fine."
"Will you tell me how you got your hands on last generation's milspec?" Gabriel ignores the question - no acknowledgment of it being asked even - as he's wont to do. Instead, he picks up a pillbox from the dresser. "I still got them."
"I know. You're dosing too low."
"Orgasm in a pill seems a bit too convenient." Jack massages the joint of his shoulder, moving to the bedroom. The carpet, probably soft on any other occasion, scratches his soles. "And a bit awkward."
"A fortunate coincidence of it interacting with your physiology."
"Yeah, coincidence. You're sure it's not another leash to keep me on?"
"If it were, you wouldn't be able to skip a dose. I'd make sure of it."
"I'm pulling your leg. I rather suspect you wouldn't do that, or would you?" Jack climbs the bed and props himself on the pillows - eyes focused on the single pill held between Gabriel's fingers, tracking it as he puts it in his mouth advancing - crawling over the covers, and Jack himself, with the grace of a predator playfully stalking a prey he knows cannot flee, the kill only a formality decided beforehand.
Drowning, always drowning in those eyes, black sclera and red irises blurring together into one, always looking too deep into him until he feels they don’t see him at all, his tongue brushing against sharp pointed teeth in an open-mouthed kiss, electricity traveling back and forth the nerves of phantom limbs with the speed of light coming to stop in a single burst leaving him breathless and shaking under Gabriel.
"Dutiful boy. You deserve a prize."
Jack chuckles at the first trace of any emotion in Gabriel's voice. The possessiveness is never truly gone, it's as much an integral part of him as are his looks, but there's a note of fondness giving Jack the incontestable impulse to almost preen: lower his lashes and incline back his head, hand sliding along dark red lines on Gabriel's arm.
"She's going to touch up off this."
"Are you worried about your privacy?"
"I'm used to having none with her. That was," he inhales sharply, feeling the bite on his collarbone, "for your benefit. I can see now you don't mind."
"I do not."
Jack merely snorts, rolling over and promising himself again to figure out Gabriel's trick with the clothes, there one moment and gone in the next, probably magic, but if he ever had any spark himself it was long lost with all the work done on him since the accident. Blunt as a troll's fist, this one.
Not that he has the ability to dwell on it while getting drilled into the mattress.
Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.
He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.
"Lungs are still giving you problems."
Bathed in the sunlight, Gabriel looks as striking as in the darkness - minutely less dangerous now, however surface and not representative of his true nature the impression is. Regal. Focused on the multitude of holoscreens floating in the air before him.
"No. Not really."
"You were choking."
"Only a bit." Jack stretches, still feeling relatively boneless and exhausted, sticky with perspiration, too tired yet to consider the shower to be a genuine need right now. He slips off the bed only to retrieve the wrapped meat from the pile of discarded clothes in the other room and climbs right back into it.
"It's almost raw," Gabriel mentions when Jack's well into a third of his snack.
"Yeah. I'm finding it's not that bad at all, all things considered. Are you going to comment on my obviously poor dietary choices?"
"No. I'm rather curious about why would you consume it raw." A note of amusement, rare as it is, floats in Gabriel's voice. Jack shrugs.
"Started as a fucked up way to get closer and understand them better, and it grew on me. Not like I'm doing it a lot, wanted to treat myself tonight. Want some?"
To his astonishment, it does take Gabriel's attention away from the screens, as if he's considering the offer seriously - not that Jack would mind - and he leans in, hand trailing on Jack's shoulder for a moment and coming away with blood on the fingertips. Which he licks off.
One of the bites must’ve opened.
"No."
"Shit," Jack chuckles, pulling knees closer to his chest, resting his arms on them, just looking. "Could you just tell me what you are?"
"No. Probably never will."
"Suit yourself then, Knife-ears."
Soon afterward, Gabriel disappears in the bathroom and emerges back fully clothed, the suit so plain and unassuming it has to be worth its weight in diamonds, at least - and leaves without a word. Nothing about it bothers Jack, really, that's the only way he has ever known him to be: someone who's either rich or influential enough to never have had to conform to any social standards so they're like an alien concept to him. If anything, it tickles Jack's ego, the fact Gabriel spends both money and time on him regardless of his inscrutable reasons for it. And even if the time is scarce, the money comes in sums so high Jack’s not going to bother trying to figure the specific amounts out.
With a sigh, Jack plugs into his own pad, trying to ignore momentary vertigo any kind of connection, even the shallow one, gives him - waiting for Sombra to get to him. If she wanted anything from him, she always found him the second he jacked in.
The mental equivalent of a giggle has him rolling his eyes.
"You can say it."
"Boy, did you get screwed silly."
"I feel like I got some of my brain matter fucked out, that one's a freebie."
"What the hell are you eating now? Feedback from your tastebuds is giving me shivers."
"You too?" He bites off another chunk.
"What are you eating?" Sombra repeats, the tone akin to the one used towards a pet that definitely got into trash or picked up something suspect on the way.
"Almost raw meat."
"Interesting," she says after a pause. "Anyway, I'm done."
Jack flexes the free hand, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times.
"Not seeing any difference."
"You shouldn't because I know how to do my job. Also uploaded keys to the blocks, the data on the job, and you've got incoming charter on the roof in five hours."
"So I do have time for a bath then," he hums, smiling.
"Knock yourself out, I'm leaving you alone, you get weird in water."
"Thanks, Som."
"No biggie." Her presence warms up before blinking out, leaving Jack to sort through everything she's left behind both in, and on the pad. Processing plant, the floor plans from several flybys, one drone shot down by a spirit, two points of entrance, Genji on the spot, Jesse and him coming from the water with a few hours to spare, full carnage.
Jack smirks, pulling out the plug. Just how he likes it. He moves to the bathroom, the alarm set for two hours.
The bathtub is nothing spectacular, at best a tight fit for more than two people - still a fancy one with an array of controls barely anyone bothers to use. He picks the temperature and plays a bit with oxygenation and flow. Jack lowers himself into the water slowly, the cold playing havoc on the still sensitive synthskin. The nonexistent heat regulation of milspec freezes his joints with pain. All par for the course as he exhales before submerging in full.
And then, he breathes the water in.
The surface breaks with the remnants of the air pushed from his lungs. It's a poor man's substitute for the real thing but the pressure and the dampened hum of the surroundings, however dissimilar to a swim in the ocean, bring his mind some respite.
Running down the pier barefooted with the warmth of the sun on his back - jumping - the whiplash of the impact - diving deep, to look back from below at the light glimmering on the waves, the rays reaching for him - the hands reaching for him from the depths and pulling down.
With the sound of the alarm, Jack jolts up to a sitting position, coughing out the water. Another bout gets rid of the rest of it from the lungs, and he changes the temperature. The bath heats almost immediately.
The dream changes, but the ending remains always the same.
Head leaning against the rim of the tub, before properly washing, he spends minutes motionless except for the occasional shiver until his core warms up. Remaining two hours Jack idles away eating a late breakfast and not really watching some show on the holo while sprawled in the bed still smelling of sex.
Moving to the pad grants him some suspicious looks he can't fault people for because he does stick out here in his clothes like a sore thumb - and then surprise as his bracelet lets him pass through the gate and into the waiting Osprey with rotors running hot. A waste to use the craft fitted for carrying almost forty personnel merely for him, but he's not the one paying. At least, there's room enough to stretch his legs and to think very hard on how much he's unafraid of flying, his stomach doing backflips as it takes off.
The fact the crash might have been involved had occurred to him long ago.
Fifteen minutes in, Jack gives up and reaches out to Sombra, for which she ridicules him mercilessly but keeps him company. Getting angry helps to take his mind off of how fucking terrified he is. Even if he could run fucking laps inside the cabin, the changing tilt reminds him he's in the air, and the moment Osprey touches down three hours later, Jack's out like there's a pack of devil rats on his heels, relieved to have solid ground back under his feet.
Jesse, holding his hat down against the draft waves at him. The coyote stitched on his serape seems to stretch and yawn with the fabric moving, probably does so in truth, but Jack can never tell.
"Lúcio's finishing on the sub, we're going to drink tonight, coming too?"
Jack looks to the harbor and shakes his head.
"Not this time. I'll check the gear and maybe go for the swim."
"Dude, no, not in this water, trust me. Too much industrial, and many critters out here. Best case, you'd break out in boils after a dip."
"Can't be that bad."
"Well, Lúcio says that a pyramid had been hit hard some months back, there's been some runoff and an uptick in critters. Really want to chance it with whatever's in the water now?"
"Guess not." Jack shrugs, walking away from the powered down craft towards the only building on the pier.
"So how's about that drink?" The coyote on the red cloth sits down and scratches its ear. If he were to associate Jesse with any other spirit than it, he would be hard-pressed to find anything fitting.
"Pass. Just don't get in trouble with the locals. Or old pals."
"Hey, don't bring up my stalker vampire ex, the next time I see 'er, I have a stake with her name on it." Jesse throws his hands into the air, pausing in the doorway, letting Jack pass him.
"You know it doesn't work on her."
"It will slow her down."
"If you manage to stake anything vital."
"Oh, I will, because this," Jesse points to himself with a wide smile, "is absolutely irresistible to her."
Jack laughs, eyeing the crates set up inside.
"Yeah, there's no accounting for taste."
"Dude, harsh. Anyway, that's yours."
"Everything's in here?"
"I wouldn't know, I try not to touch your shit," Jesse gives an exasperated sigh while digging in his pockets for a cigar, the coyote snapping at it as he puts it between his lips. "Well, see you in the morning, dude," he adds before turning around. Jack nods, moving his attention to the boxes and working his way through their contents.
The story behind the coyote Jesse tells is as outlandish as the man himself, and a question for the ages of how he wasn't rad-insane or sporting another head. Yet.
In the German wasteland (the only place on earth one could be a real cowboy anymore, Jesse insisted), drunk off two shit beers because his ex fed off him earlier, and high on some local shrooms, staring at the dying campfire, the coyote came to him and took him on the trip. Jack would gladly chalk it up to alcohol, hallucinogenics, radiation, and exsanguination, all working in synergy - if not for the hard fact the coyote itself was very real, and as helpful as it turned out to be an impediment, or a bother, the other half of the time.
Methodically, Jack picks out the gear - the rest going back to their crates - and then he double-checks the selection, looking for any identifiable problems and defects. When he's finished and satisfied, it's well into the wee morning hours. He drags a random deck chair to the end of the pier and lays down in it. The city, as small as it is comparable to the majority on the coast, doesn't sleep - there is no escaping the lights and the sounds - but in his chosen spot overlooking more water than the land he can doze off.
If either Jesse or Lúcio notices him gasping for breath as they finish loading the sub, they don't mention it.
"I'm not hauling your shit," Jesse gestures to the container Jack left outside, by his chair.
"Hi, man," Lúcio smiles. "Also, I dig your new set, what's the specs?"
"You'd have to ask Sombra for technicalities, I'm only using them." Jack stretches, there's a kink below his left shoulder blade he tries to work out by rolling it. Almost manages to, too.
"Cool, will do. By the way, he tried to throw hands only once."
"Dude. Squeal much?"
"It's called being the responsible one," Lúcio shrugs and Jesse groans in response, muttering something sounding suspiciously like 'don't need a chaperone'.
"Sub's all ready?"
"She's right up purring now, the lady she is." Lúcio's eyes light up. "Nothing left to squeeze out."
"I'll hold you up to it." Jack gets up and drags the container to the sub, the box grating on the concrete, and brings it into the cabin, pushing it behind the seats.
"Oh, man, do that, love to see the data after you push her."
"Will do on the way back. Jesse, inside."
"That wasn't me sleeping when me and Lúcio were breaking our backs," Jesse snarks sliding into the pilot's seat, knowing well Jack's impatience and what they will use the spare time for. He doesn't mind, usually.
"Good hunting, guys." Lúcio mock-salutes as the hatch seals.
Before they're out of the harbor and submerged completely, Jack's out of his clothes, save for the boxers. Despite the sub being state-of-the art, with two people in it gets hot inside in less than an hour.
He starts on the sleeves, peeling them off slowly.
The synthskin underneath is still oversensitive, but no longer tries to overload his brain with conflicting or extreme stimuli. It just feels like blanched with boiling water and any negligible otherwise touch almost painfully tickles.
"Kinda creepy, like a snake's molt."
"Note to self, I look better with my skin falling off my frame."
"Hey, I'm just stating the bare facts. Fuck, ew!" Jesse leans away to evade the sleeve Jack waves in his direction. "Dude. No. That's uncalled for. I'm driving, I could crash us."
"Into what?"
"I'd find something!" It's either a threat, a promise, or a commentary on the nature of Karma.
"Out of the two of us, I'm the one who can breathe underwater, so..." Jack lets his voice hang as he reaches for the pillbox he left on the shelf earlier. It's a short debate if he should take one because even if he could take them as he felt like otherwise, risking going into implant rejection on the job was far from reasonable. As soon as the aftershocks fade, Jack leans back into the seat, lazily watching the water on the screen.
"And that's also creepy as fuck," Jesse comments, sounding a bit more somber. "You look like you just got your dick sucked off, every time."
"Honestly? Feels like it, every time."
"And you know what makes it even fucking creepier?"
"You're going to tell me and I can't stop it."
"Because this shit looks goddamn miraculous and I may have helped myself to some," Jesse begins, waving one arm in the air and Jack mutters that of course Jesse fucking did, "and they fucking don't work. And you know what's in them?"
"Not that interested as long as they work."
"It's people, dude."
Jack sends him a blase look.
"And you ate it."
"Yeah, but I didn't go looking like I creamed my pants after that."
"It's for implant rejection, so it only makes sense it has reconfigured genetic material in it. Also, do not eat my drugs, it's people."
Jesse grimaces.
"Dude, you made it sound weird."
"I made you getting into my stash of pharmaceutical drugs you personally can't get high off sound weird?"
"Dude, it's even weirder now. How do you do it?"
"What?" Jack chuckles. "You mean, use my brain, sometimes?"
Jesse mutters some expletive under his breath and Jack closes his eyes leaving it without comment as the whole chat makes him revisit more or less cloudy memories of the first months he's spent either half-conscious because of pain, or half-conscious because of drugs and pain.
At least, until the pill, and the moment when the pain finally went below the...
"Amida Bongo Christ Almighty!" Jack turns immediately at the sound of the genuine panic in the voice to see Jesse try to become one with his seat, pushing back with his feet against the floor, pointing at the screen where a shadow in the water comes into focus, massive, gliding with deliberation. "Of all the fucking things to run into, the Sea-Fucking-Dragon... we're all gonna die."
Jack kills the engine in his stead and swipes at the screen, focusing the image. He can't deny his own heart is hammering in his chest when he lets out the sigh of slight relief while trying to ignore Jesse's doom-saying.
"It's not her."
"What?"
"It's not her. Doesn't look like her, and it's much bigger."
"That's supposed to help us exactly how!?"
"Take her five hundred to the left," Jack, already climbing over the back of his seat and almost falling in a hapless heap on the container in the process, barks at him. "I'm going out."
"Are you fucking serious, dude? Of-fucking-course, you are!"
"Chance like this isn't going to repeat itself!"
"A chance to get fucking eaten by a dragon?"
"That too!" Jack locks the airlock behind himself and fits the propulsion module as it fills with water. There's no time to wait for the slow pressurization. When there's no air left inside, he forces the emergency release, pulling himself to the outside, and pushes away from the body of the sub.
"Dude." Jesse, switched to the comms, sounds appalled compared to the earlier panic, which is considerably better for the situation. "Did you just lewd a dragon?"
"Maybe possibly." Jack smiles, cutting across at an angle. "Remember, five hundred, match speed, if I do get eaten, go silent and wait, rendezvous with Genji, do the site rep, and then decide what you do."
"You're literally the last person who should give orders."
"Next to last. You're even less qualified."
"True what they say, the truth hurts."
The dragon is massive, its form much more suited to the open ocean than what footage of Sea Dragon there is shows of her. He's yet too far to discern if it has limbs or only the fins. It moves with a misleading slow grace, the powerful twists of the wide tail propelling it forward. Getting caught in the vortex of the currents pushed with each beat could be - is - deathly dangerous.
Smaller shapes swim with it, congregating around the middle part of its body.
At first, Jack takes them for merrows, they're known to attach themselves to big predators and form codependent relationships, but it's the perspective lying to him. They're bigger, more agile, gleam occasionally with reflective scales. A brood of young, maybe? If yes, the endeavor is even more foolish than in the beginning, but even that won’t deter him from undertaking it.
Two of the smaller creatures break away from the formation as he gets closer and approach, their tails swishing wildly in the water. Mermaids. Mermaids traveling in a pack with a dragon. Not something he had expected.
They're coming both from the above and the below, a male and an older female, judging by the scars and veils, still colorful but ripped and missing pieces. It's hard to keep up with their rapid movements. Jack curls his hands and legs to his body as they circle him.
"Please, don't bite," he tells them. "There's almost no meat and you will probably break your teeth on me."
The mermaids observe him warily. The female chirps once and turns back, the male following in her tow. She's green and yellow, the pattern reminiscent of the stripes on a perch or other fish known to thrive in greenery. When no light catches on her scales she blends with the deep green agate hue of the water, but Jack wonders if she's maybe better suited to sargassum forests. Her partner, on the other hand, with his solid canary yellow, stands out like a sore thumb - at least until both of them gain distance and rejoin the group amid some agitation from the closest mermaids, the reactions playing out like a change of direction in a school of fish.
It's his first close encounter with live mermaids since the accident, and he has been judged as neither a threat nor a meal. In this moment, Jack feels some of the rush bleed away, allowing him to slip into simple sensations, focus on them, and appreciate them: the steady pressure of water against every inch of his skin, the additional tension in his scalp when his hair, however short, drag with each movement, the cold seeping into him from the inside, the weightlessness - even if he knows his limbs would pull him much further down.
The ocean is far from silent - never silent - full of sounds he can hear with his ears, and the ones he cannot - he hears with his whole body - the symphony of the dulled hum of static and single notes played on different instruments, not unlike the sounds of traffic in its structure.
His eyes drift back to the dragon.
It's foolish. It's not borderline suicidal, it's just plain old suicidal. And he won't let a moment like this slip like air between his fingers.
Hand on the controls of the drive, Jack resumes the approach.
The dragon looms closer, its body at least thirty meters long from the tip to the tail, probably more. He can now see its limbs tucked close to the underbelly - the fins reminiscent of underdeveloped wings.
He swims parallel to its head, advancing.
Bone-like white crest covers its front. The black scales, even if they seem to have an inner shine to them, appear to consume the light voraciously. The dark red lines streaking along the sides twist and mold with each move of the powerful muscles hidden underneath.
Jack's heart does not fit into his chest, so hard it hammers against his ribs from the inside - with fear, with excitement, with awe - and that's before the low rumble resonates within him as the dragon opens its eyes, one after another, five of them on the side he's facing - each an abyss of darkness ringed with glowing red slowly focusing on him: an insignificant speck in comparison.
"God. You're beautiful."
No. It was a worthless descriptor when applied to the apex predator wrought with raw power both physical and not.
Sublime.
The dragon disregards him - its eyes swivel to look forward - he cannot fathom expecting to keep such creature's interest for longer than this. But it's also an invitation, he's considered to be harmless, hence nothing to bother with, and Jack slows slightly while swimming up. Above its bulk, he notices some mermaids just clinging to the body, clawed fingers curled around the edges of the scales. Stupid, again, but he is going to try the same: hitch a ride on a dragon.
The thought is intoxicating, sends his mind reeling with unsuppressed glee.
He dives forward, his fingertips brush the hard surface - with caution he digs his fingers underneath the scale - the other palm he lays flat against it as the propulsion module switches off.
Jack pulls himself closer against the current, that rush of underwater wind. Never has he wished for his limbs back more than now, to touch and feel with his real skin, not even when the bones that aren't his anymore burn with that deep ache that sends all the thoughts skittering away with no control. Instead, he pulls flush against its body, forehead pressed into the scales, each contraction of the muscle below them felt intimately.
At the moment, he doesn't count time, not until another rumble, one he feels against his skin, makes him realize almost two hours have passed.
He looks back to see the mermaids otherwise swimming try to grab onto scales as it continues. In the front, what he took for vestigial wings - the fins - slowly unfold to reveal skeletal-like frame filled in with dark ethereal filigree straining on the currents.
It's a profound kind of sadness Jack feels loosening his grip. Drifting - falling - sinking - away.
The wings spread and angle. The dragon's back winds up like a spring.
Then it soars underwater, deep in the ocean, each beat of the wings carrying it further away into darkness.
The rush of water pushed by the dragon sends him spinning. Jack instinctively curls his limbs to his core to wait it out, losing all sense of direction in resulting vertigo. When it stops, it takes him a while to orient himself, the leviathan nowhere to be seen anymore.
"Jesse, it's safe to approach. Can you get to my signal because I'm fucking lost?"
"I see you," the response comes with a delay. "Coming from your general six. Dude, do you know how much is the footage worth?"
"It's worthless." Jack turns around with a few kicks.
"All would kill..."
"You can't put a price on it, it will put a price on your life." He can see the incoming lights blinking for his benefit as they draw near. "And you want to put out there a proof of a dragon that had remained away from the public knowledge until now?"
"Fair, even I'm not that stupid. I think. With the way you put it."
Jack swims towards the sub and grabs one of the railings, pulling himself towards the airlock. Minutes later, he climbs into his seat, dripping water everywhere.
"Got what you wanted outta that one? Besides getting eaten?"
"I think I've found god," Jack smiles, genuinely. It's a memory he's going to treasure, one unlikely to be eclipsed by any other in the foreseeable future.
"You going to be one of them dragon-worshipping freaks? I've heard things, and none good, I say."
"Not like that."
"So," Jesse turns his head to look at him. "You want to dick down a dragon."
"When you get down to it," Jack starts carefully, eyeing Jesse with a certain degree of suspicion, "yeah, basically."
"Heard about that one club you can meet one, violet eyes and..."
"I don't want to dick down a dragon, I want to dick down this one."
"Okay. It's important to have goals in one's life. I'm not judging."
It's at this point that something about a much earlier conversation occurs to Jack and he stills before covering his eyes with his palm.
"Jesse?"
"Mhm?"
"When you said you have a stake with her name on it... Did you mean your dick?"
Jesse raises his eyebrows, makes finger-guns with his hands, and goes for a pithy imitation of 'badum-tss' sound.
"You fucking moron." And Jack can only laugh.
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diveronarpg · 5 years ago
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In fair Verona, our tale begins with RENZO CAROZZA, who THIRTY-ONE years old. He is often called RODERIGO and works as a SPARROW. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.
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TW: DEATH, ADDICTION, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP
Love me, love me, love me. He knows that it was the first thing he said in the form of infant wails -- he screamed it at the nurses that held him, at his mother who cooed her adoration, at his father who watched with ill-disguised indifference. LOVE ME, he cried, cheeks coloring with fury at the thought of being deprived a necessity at so young an age. He would soon found out that not everyone will. There are some people that simply don’t know the pinnacle of beauty and charisma, though it glares at them quite blatantly -- as he often did when his father refused his demands and shut the door in his face. His mother, though, recognized beauty and the limitless potential that saturated everything her sweet Renzo did and for that, he always recognized her as the better of the two. When he called, she simpered at his feet. When he DEMANDED, she made sure he got what he deserved straight away. There was a relentlessness to her devotion that he knew he deserved and could not help but appreciate, though, reflecting back on things, perhaps he should have appreciated it a little more. Then again, he appreciated her as much as she was able to and if she knew him, and truly loved and adored him as she claimed she did, she would have understood that what he affection he gave her was without reservation. And, because of that, he made his PEACE with her death, dew-drop tears glistening like diamonds as they streamed from his eyes. 
He thought then, that perhaps his mother’s death might have spurred the long sought-for clarity that his father needed to recognize the gift that was his son, the GLORIOUS and dashing Renzo. But instead their relationship became even more estranged, despite the young Carozza’s best efforts. It was a rather easy thing to do when two men lived inside a villa so large that neither of them had to cross paths, should they wish it -- and it became quite clear that was his father’s intents. So he made due with the servants and the caretakers that would frequent the halls and go about the rooms, enchanting each and every one until it was clear they were besotted with them, that they simply couldn’t help but eat out of his hand. The one time that he crossed paths with his father, it was with a young woman in tow, a guest of his father’s who was closer to Renzo’s own age, an oversight that the often-benevolent Renzo couldn’t help but note. Kind as he was, Renzo gave his father the benefit of the doubt -- perhaps the woman clung to his father for the riches that he offered, but CLEVER little Renzo could not be taken for such a fool. So ( now pay careful attention because this is where this Aphrodite-kissed boy truly shines ) he learned to tug at her heart-strings, slowly, carefully -- until she was half-crazed by the sudden onslaught of adoration she held for him. While in the act of WORSHIPPING at his altar his father, unfortunately, had been left at the wayside by the pretty little thing who dared to think she could love someone other than Renzo.
All in all, he took his father’s fury in stride, thinking it far more romantic that he be cast out of the house and forced to live with his artist boyfriend, who thought of Renzo as nothing less than Eros-incarnate, of LUST and BEAUTY personified. Their romance was heady, intoxicating, and reckless but it was the romance that only he could garner from someone; obsessive, crazed, and grand. Although, after careful consideration, perhaps it was a little too grand. When he finally thought it was time to wash his hands of his lover and move onto the next, his poor lover took to the bottle, seeking happiness in the form of PILLS on the day that it came for the young Carozza man to move out. When it came time to pick up his final box, he was rather dismayed to find that lying next to it was the dead body of his lover. Unfortunately, there was no room in the moving truck for him. So he called an admirer of his, a woman that worked as a Sparrow, and asked for her assistance. As they did away with his poor lover’s body, he couldn’t help but charm her, couldn’t help but tug at her heartstrings in such an easy and effortless way. You could make a pretty penny as a Sparrow, she sighed as she helped him wash the scene of crime, it is so very easy, Renzo, to fall in love with you.
There was no reason for him to doubt the truth of her words -- in fact, it was only affirmed because, he thinks, that Mona fell a little in love with him too. Him and his coquettish, playful ways. His transition into his role as a Sparrow was SEAMLESS, the title fitting him as easily as custom-made Gucci rings. Although, even with all the attention and adoration that is lavished on him each and every day, he can’t help but feel his discontent grow as the years drag on. What would have once satiated him is now leaving a yawning, hungering HOLE in his heart. Even with the many clients that come calling at his door, he cannot find it in himself to be contented -- not with the gifts that they offer or the many shiny things they bring. The secrets that they whisper in his ear are worth so much to many others, but so little to him. Love me, he demands while his fingers seek purchase on his lover-of-the-day’s throat. Love me until I beg you to stop. He knows in his heart, though, that Renzo Carozza will never be one to beg. 
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IVAN RAHAL: Frustration. There are a handful of people that don’t fall at his feet the moment they meet his eyes and the most frustrating, by far, is Ivan Rahal. There are times when Renzo thinks he can see it, a flicker of interest and something dangerously warm in their gaze, but in the next second it’s gone and he is left clawing for it all over again. When Ivan steps foot in the Dark Lady, all the other Sparrows know that Renzo is at the top of the pecking order and they make way for him as he tries, time and time again, to capture and hold the attention of his elusive man. Though he wouldn’t dare muse on it for longer than a half-second, Renzo knows why he grows so frustrated. When he is with Ivan, it seems that the yawning hunger in his heart pauses, breathes, and purrs -- for once, well and truly satiated. 
RONAN IVARSSON & FELIPE CASTRO: Client & Inconvenience. There is one thing that Renzo simply cannot abide and it is keeping incredibly juicy secrets. A person might think, Wait, Renzo, isn’t that your whole entire job? And he would honestly answer, Yes, but none of them are that interesting. Sleeping with a city councilman, though? Often times he has to bite his tongue because it is simply that difficult for him to not gloat about how he thinks the great Ronan Ivarsson might very well crawl on his hands and knees to spend another night with him. Better yet, there is also the mouth-watering specimen that resides with the Sparrows at the Dark Lady that makes concentrating on his job rather difficult. Why he lives there, no one quite knows, but if he doesn’t move out soon Renzo can’t help but take advantage of the situation. How could he let such an opportunity go amiss? 
DAPHNE ALLARD: Fascination. He wonders if she notices how his gaze lingers on her. There are few people that he thinks are as beautiful as he, but there is an allure about Daphne he finds oddly arresting. It snatches him and holds him captive, begging him to lure her close and closer in, to make her sit at his feet and yet he also wants her to sit right beside him. For the longest time he thought that his hold over her was unshakeable, could never be reckoned with or tempered, but recently he has realized a frightening truth; that her hold on him is just as unforgiving. Renzo is a clever man, he can play people’s heartstrings like a virtuoso, but he has never once thought that they were capable of doing it to him. He knows he should watch his steps with Daphne Allard -- he couldn’t afford to be placed in her pocket as an informant -- but there’s something about her that dares him to come a little closer. So he does. 
HELOISE MAKSIMOVICH: Echo. Narcissus and Echo are far too romanticized. He did not realize this until he met the unrelenting Heloise. It’s a pity because that was one of his favorite stories he has ever unearthed, but when he met her a new understanding of the age-old tale came with it. Narcissus loved himself so much that he practiced self-care by ignoring the creepy, longing gaze of Echo -- but, unfortunately, he can’t quite find it in himself to do the same. Although she’s rather incessant, the time that they spend together gives him the opportunity to practice which ways he can get his clients to adore him all the more. A careful drag of his hand along her shoulder, a sweet sigh that has her swooning that much more. If he keeps on like this, she’ll be the Echo to his Narcissus to the end of time. 
Renzo is portrayed by DON BENJAMIN and was written by ROSEY. He is currently OPEN.
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punishandenslavesuckers · 5 years ago
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(For the fic summary post) In lieu of Fjord's confessions to the group in ep 72, a fic following Fjord as he studies and views Caduceus as an inspiration and those feelings as an almost idolization and protectiveness is a concept sitting in the back of my mind since that stream
AO3 Link: HERE
So there’s a bit of protectiveness that naturally generates among their group when Caduceus joins up.
Not a surprise. There’s a few reasonable reasons for it.
A: because Caddy has (if possible) less practical experience than Jester (a literal shut in). B: He’s a cleric and you guard your clerics because they’re the vicious beating heart of a combat unit’s anatomy. C: Molly is fucking dead.
It goes without saying because saying it would be awful, but Caduceus is very literally filling a void left by a violent death in the party and there’s no getting around the associations that come with that. The times that Fjord has accidentally called Caduceus ‘Molly’ out loud: 1 time. The times he’s started to call Caduceus ‘Molly’ and stopped himself: a fucking lot. Honestly, just, an embarrassing amount of times and Fjord would rather not too closely examine why it’s taking him so long to get it right.
“Fjord.”
“Hmm?”
It’s the middle of the night (or whatever passes for night in a city that sees no sunrise) and the interior of their Xhorhasian home is gently lit by the fire-fly glow of magical string lights and the flicker of interior lanterns. Fjord’s been sitting in the main common area, contemplating the falchion blade where he’s laid it on the table so he can stare at its golden gleam in detail and ponder the pieces of the Summer Dance rapier subsumed by the living sword. An echo of Mollymauk’s weapon still in the blade.
Beauregard climbs over the back of a chair and takes a crouched position next to him with her knees drawn up like a monk-ish gargoyle. She glances furtively across the room, then takes an overly casual posture with one elbow on the table to appear casual, but just ends up looking odd half scrunched in her seat but leaning her weight wrongly. She commits tp it though, eyeing him.
“What’s up?”
“Why… why’re you sittin’ like that?”
“I – what?” Beau self-consciously sits up, adjusts her hair, and pats her ribs down for some reason. “I don’t know what –” She shakes it off, annoyed, and yanks the chair around so she can sit backwards straddling it and facing him. “Fuck it. You’re staring at Caduceus. What’s up?”
Fjord blinks. “I wasn’t starin’ at Caduceus.”
“Are you wondering if his face is, like, velvety?” Beau lowers her voice in a conspiratorial way. “Because I’ve totally wondered that. Answer: Yes. Totally. He’s, like, slightly fuzzy all over. I dunno. I think it’s a firbolg thing.”
“What? No.”
He has, in fact, wondered precisely that.
“Well, okay, then that means you’re just staring at him. Unless you were zoning out and he was just, like, there. I’ve done that. Been there.” She nods. “Had to run from the city guard. It happens.”
“Beau, not to be rude or nothin’, but I wasn’t staring at Deuces. I was just thinkin’.”
Caduceus is on the other side of the room sitting with Jester who’s showing him something in one of her sketchbooks. The long blue length of her tail lashes around, flipping back and forth while she gestures grandly at what might just be a collection of smutty looking scribbles from one of Caleb’s smutty history novels or whatever. Cad looks politely baffled.
“I dunno, thought you might be…” Beau pauses as thought to reassess her commentary. “Look, a lot of other shit has gone down recently, but back in the City of Beasts, Cad went down. Like, for real. If jester hadn’t had that diamond…”
Fjord feels a slow tension crawl through him from his belly outward, recalling. “Yeah, that certainly did happen. Uh-huh.”
“Caduceus almost dies a lot and it kinda bugs me since, like, we kinda asked him out there with us after Molly died. Does that bother you? Cuz it kinda bothers—”
“Yeah, it fuckin’ bothers me.”
Beau looks at him. Dammit, that maybe came out a bit quick. Fjord by the nature of his innate half-orcish complexion cannot actually blush, but he feels his face get hot all at once and clears his throat while Beau’s eyes narrow. For all that she’s bad at talking to people, she’s pretty decent at reading them from time to time, not that he’s 100% certain himself what she might perceive.
“You worried about losing him?” Fjord rejoins.
“I was standing right there when Molly died.”
There’s a moment of silence. Beau is staring at the table now, but isn’t seeing it. It’s the first time in – what? – how many months since Mollymauk took his last breath that she’s actually said anything beyond the most basic and brutal facts about it. She drums her fingers on the table after a second of quiet and goes on.
“Yeah, I just don’t want to do that again, you know?”
“Hey, I’m not gonna let anything happen to Caduceus.” A pause. He clears his throat. “Uh, none of us are gonna let anything happen. I think he’s got some big stuff he’s supposed to do, you know?”
Beau nods. “He doesn’t freak you out anymore, Fjord?”
“Freak me out? He never freaked me out.”
“Coulda fooled me the way you kept grimacing every time he, you know, is Caduceus and does something eerie as hell and a little morbid. Because, like, he does that. A lot.”
“Well, sure, at first. But I guess I’m used to it now.”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s kinda nice having someone in the group who seems to have confidence in where he’s going and what he’s doing.”
“Right? He’s so, like, sure.”
“I don’t know if sure is the right word,” Fjord says, shaking his head. “He definitely doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. And the stuff we do scares the hell outta him sometimes. But he just… I dunno. He fuckin’ abides. Bad shit happens and he just… has something else to lean on and he doesn’t know if that something is gonna let him die or keep him alive, but he’d be… fine with it. Does that make sense?”
Beau blinks. “That sounds like a thought that didn’t happen over the course of a short conversation there, Fjord.”
Shit. Fjord feels heat spread through his face but shrugs to hide it.
“He just ain’t scared of the same shit I am, I guess.”
Beau tilts her head. “What’re you scared of?”
Shiiiiiit. Why the hell did he say that?
“Nothing specific. Just saying. Different views on the world and all.”
Beau squints at Fjord. Fjord maintains his casual demeanor with the professional control of a man for whom deception has come as second nature for about half a year now in the company of friends. He puts a real effort into appearing casual, lest Beauregard somehow glean from the angle of his eyebrows the constant underlying current of gut-clenching fear that’s begun to grip him every night.
The nightmares coming faster now and more confusing – the oceans, darkness, Avantika’s laugh interrupted by the crack of her neck breaking, and the sensation that someone touched him while he was asleep. He wakes up certain there’s a rope around his neck or a hand over his mouth, fingers on his tongue, a fist around his throat and bone-crushing sinew wrapped around his wrists, his knees, his chest and dragging him down, down, down fathoms deep until the crush of darkness is so deep he just –
“So Caduceus is hot, right?” says Beau.
Fjord sputters. “What?”
“I’m kidding! Yeesh! Calm down, team leader, or you got that whole ‘doth protest to much’ thing going on.” Beau gets up, grabbing a sitting pitcher of water from the table. “Just saying, you’re staring.”
“I am not staring.”
“Whatever, man. If you want a sweet pink undercut, I’ll bet he’d tell you how to get one.”
“That aint remotely it.”
“I know,” says Beau, looking at him.
She waits.
Fjord isn’t sure why, in that moment, with her staring at him, the random impulse to just tell her comes to him. He almost opens his mouth and forgets Vandren, almost swallows that voice like a pill he’s held under his tongue all this time. But the moment passes even as the pale blue curiosity of Beauregard’s stare holds steady and in the wake of that feeling of almost release, he feels tired.
Fjord sighs. “The truth?”
“Or whatever you feel like telling me. No pressure. You just… seem to be thinking is all.”
“I was thinking that his goddess, Melora, seems pretty cool.”
Beau blinks, visibly surprised.
“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” She grins. “Any goddess that says ‘get high and pray to me’ is pretty cool.”
Fjord glances at Caduceus who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with their other cleric.
Jester appears to be showing him lewd diagrams, which he’s regarding with the same academic mien that one might regard anatomical drawings of flora. Fjord can’t begin to understand the compound flush of fondness and jealousy that takes hold of him looking at Caduceus; the fact that the closest thing he’s felt to that was when he first met Avantika – this confusion of response.
He realizes now that his impulse toward Avantika was certainly desperate self-defense and attraction, sure, but having more time to study a similar feeling now, Fjord thinks he got it wrong. He didn’t want to possess the person he was looking at or be possessed by them. Looking back now, he wanted to just be her.
He wanted to inhabit the body of someone who knew what the fuck they were after so badly it felt like arousal. So he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that, lately, when he looks at Caduceus he feels the same unformed impulse to occupy the same damn space as him.
The waking fantasy where he crosses the room, ignores the disinterested academic look Caduceus levels at anything suggestive, and finds out exactly what it would feel like – sliding your fingers into unkempt mane of pink, gripping hold, and pressing your mouth against his. Tasting his tongue, feeling that strange and intimate vibration in his throat when he tries to talk through a kiss so you can just swallow that sound.
Fjord doesn’t know what to do with the notion that doing so would tantamount to worship – or blasphemy – but he knows that the impulse is taking root inside him. Sure as a notion to touch something he shouldn’t just to know the feeling of it. He doesn’t know what to do with this raw, ugly ideation.
So Fjord just grins back at Beau.
“I mean, I sure wouldn’t mind that,” he says.
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pengychan · 5 years ago
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[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 14
Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.
Art by Dara.
[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]
A/N: Aaaand shit hits the fan. You knew it was coming.
***
“I honestly cannot figure out if they’re dancing or fighting.”
“A bit of both, really. Brings out their best, through. You know, makes it more, er… passionate?”
“Oh, it does,” Armando agrees, staring at the scene through the glass. “Absolutely.”
Héctor smiles a little and follows his gaze. In the next room over, Imelda and Ernesto are singing - more to keep the tempo than for any other reason, they already recorded their cover of La Llorona with Héctor playing and that will be the audio - and dancing in front of a green screen, several cameras recording every move. Ernesto looks dashing in his best white charro and oh, Imelda is a dream in purple.
It was Armando’s idea to involve her in the music video, really, soon after the three of them had recorded the cover. He hadn’t been so keen on the idea of having Imelda sing with them as a guest - he had a couple of big names in mind - but after listening to the less-than-professional recording Héctor had on his phone, he was willing to give it a chance... and loved the result.
Truth be told, convincing Imelda to star in the video as well wasn’t easy; she was uncomfortable at the idea and honestly, Héctor was ready to drop it at the first ‘no’. Ernesto seemingly dropped it as well, but made a few sly remarks on how he couldn’t blame her for being worried she couldn’t keep up with him and his dancing. 
Which gained him, of course, a raised eyebrow from Imelda.
“You do realize, I hope, that this attempt at goading me into it is about as transparent as it gets.”
“Is it working?” Ernesto asked, only for her to roll her eyes. 
“No. I have no interest in humiliating you in front of your agent.”
“Oh?”
“You’re the one who wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“Then prove it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Chickening out, I see.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“So you’re just going to pass on a chance to show me up in front of our manager?”
“...”
And… that was it, really, and here they are now, going through the routine time and time again, each refusing to give ground and dancing at their absolute best. It is the last thing that still needs doing - everything else is done, their debut album ready - and Armando wants to wrap up the filming within the day. If Ernesto and Imelda keep going like this, which Héctor is fairly sure they will do, they’re going to be exhausted by evening, but that’s not going to be a problem.
Héctor will very gladly take care of both of them.
***
“Don’t tell me you’re tired, Ernesto.”
“Absolutely not. Are you?”
“Not at all.”
Héctor bites his lower lip not to laugh at the conversation, which they’re carrying out sprawled at the opposite ends of the couch in a way that belies their words - both of them laying back, boneless and so obviously, utterly exhausted. Ernesto’s hair is dishevelled, whatever product he put on it clearly having given in, while Imelda’s hair is loose on her shoulders in dark waves. Even tired, she is beautiful. Ernesto is… not quite as much, but Héctor doesn’t mention it. 
Instead, he grins and picks up his guitar. “So, who’s up for another round?” he asks, and barely ducks under two pillows thrown at him at the exact same time. Dante leaps to catch one, only to miss and crash against a chair while Pepita takes possession of it, to sit on it with the dignity of a queen. The other pillow is snatched by the Chihuahua pack; it takes all of them to carry it across the room, and they disappear beneath an armchair. 
Normally, Imelda wouldn’t tolerate any pets but Pepita to take possession of those pillows; now, she seems very much beyond caring. As for Ernesto, he really never gave a damn.
“... I take it we’re not going out to celebrate wrapping this up?” Héctor pushes his luck again.
“No,” Imelda drones just as Ernesto mutters, “Tomorrow.”
Héctor’s grin widens. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re tired-- ouch!” He yelps, in surprise rather than pain, when something - Imelda’s slipper - smacks against his thigh.
Still sprawled on the other end of the couch, Ernesto nods. “Good shot.”
“Thanks. And I have another one.”
“Just kidding, just kidding!” Héctor protests with a laugh, holding the guitar up and almost hiding behind it. “But there is a fun activity I can suggest. One where I do all the work!” he almost shrieks when Imelda’s hand reaches for her other slipper. 
The hand pauses in mid-air, and her eyebrows go up. “All the work?”
“Yes!”
She glances at Ernesto. He tilts his head. “Am I included in the fun activity?”
“Oh, like you would accept any answer but yes,” Héctor laughs, finally putting down the guitar. “All right, step one - you get your clothes off.”
“That sounds like work to me.”
“And you said you’d be doing all of it.”
“Ay, since when are you so laz--” Héctor ducks suddenly, and Imelda’s remaining slipper through the air. He jumps aside, and gives a victory grito. “Hah! Missed-- ouch! Ow! Seriously?”
Now missing a shoe, Ernesto gives him a satisfied smirk. “My aim is better,” he tells Imelda.
“I didn’t go for the head,” she points out. 
“See, that’s the problem. You don’t aim high enough.”
Héctor rolls his eyes. “... Is either of you interested in what I’m suggesting?”
As it turns out they are very, very interested. But also very, very tired. 
Half an hour later, buried beneath their snoozing forms - they stayed awake through the process of taking off their clothes and getting to the bedroom, but not much longer - Héctor sighs, trying to will his erection into going away, as he’s clearly not getting to use it at all tonight.
Ah well, there will be time to make up for it in the morning. Then maybe they’ll go out for a late breakfast someplace fancy, to celebrate the fact the album is done - their first step into proper stardom, as Ernesto calls it. Not that stardom matters much to Héctor, but it will be nice to have some extra income. So that Imelda can get a proper shop soon, and maybe they can start thinking… maybe…
Above him, Ernesto shifts sleepily and yawns. Héctor finds himself yawning as well, and the thought stays incomplete. He shuts his eyes, smiles at the tickle of Imelda’s breath against his neck, and lets sleep claim him as well. The future may hold a lot for them as Ernesto says but, for now, Héctor is happy to simply enjoy the present as long as it lasts. 
It doesn’t last.
***
“Mierda.”
That is far from the most original thing to say; probably the very same word countless women found themselves uttering in various languages in the privacy of their bathroom, staring at two small lines on a pregnancy test stick - but at the moment, Imelda is unable to think of anything else to say. She can only lean back, heart in her throat, trying to think through the buzzing sound suddenly filling her ears.
No. No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be - it just cannot be - she’s on the pill, has been taking it religiously for the past several years, every day at the same time without fail. And she was lucky, too, never had any complications or side effects. Take the pill every day, stop a few days - cue period - and then on with the pill again. Nothing has ever gone wrong… until now. 
Because she stopped taking it as usual, and there was no period to speak of. She tried not to worry, because sometimes human bodies are odd like that, and picked up the pregnancy test as an afterthought, thinking a negative result it would give her some peace of mind before she booked an appointment with her doctor to figure out if she needed to change brand of birth control. 
Looks like I’ll have to call her for entirely different reasons.
Despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her that pregnancy tests are not infallible, Imelda can feel panic beginning to tighten her throat - because she knows that neither is birth control. But the pill is supposed to be effective in… over ninety-nine percent of cases. It worked until now, how can this be happening? What has changed in the past month? She can think of nothing, no big changes other than adopting a hyperactive and particularly stupid stray dog, full of ticks and with an infection--
… Wait. Wait just a moment.
Mind in turmoil, Imelda stands and throws open the medicine cabinet. There are some blisters of painkillers ‘just in case’, disinfectant, bandaids, some tampons, hair products she had told Ernesto to store somewhere else - and something else, the open box of the medication they all had to take after taking in Dante to find out he had a contagious fungal infection. Imelda tears it out of the cabined, pulls out the instruction booklet, and reads through it. 
As it turns out, she should have done it much earlier. 
Caution: when taken alongside birth control pills, it reduces the level of the hormone--
The booklet falls off Imelda’s fingers, floating slowly down on the tiles. She stares down at it for a few moments, then a few minutes, her ears buzzing. Now she knows what went wrong; later, once she shock has worn off, she will kick herself for being so careless. But right now, the one big question in her mind is what is she going to do about it.
It shouldn’t make her feel gutted. She and Héctor do want children; they agreed to wait until her business properly took off - and it has - and he got a foot firmly in the music industry - and he just did. This is... earlier than they planned, but it is what they wanted.
Except that, when they made plans, Ernesto was not yet in the picture. Not the way he is now.
At least… yes, at least there isn’t the issue of not knowing who the father is; in all the nights they have spent together, Ernesto has never been in her. At first because she didn’t want him to be - she considered that something for her husband only - and then… it had simply not happened. It almost did last week after they finally went out to celebrate the wrapping up of the album and oh, thank God, thank God he was too tipsy for it.
The father is Héctor, it can only be him, and it spares her the ordeal of not knowing and all the mess that would come out of it - because what would they even do, if it was Ernesto’s? Tell the truth, and force a child to deal with the stigma for the arrangement the three of them were in? They could decided to lie about it, pretend otherwise, but what if the truth got out? What if the child grew up to look far too much like their good family friend? Someone would find out, and… ah, she can’t imagine anything good coming out of it. It is a relief to know it will never happen.
But along with the relief, there is a burning sense of shame. Did she truly nearly get herself in the position of getting pregnant without even being certain who the father would be? That was… irresponsible of her. It had been meant to be a one-night deal, but it got well out of control and now it’s been… God, almost a year. How could she let it get this far?
Much, much too far. It cannot continue.
No, it really cannot, with a baby on the way. She will be a mother, Héctor will be a father, and Ernesto… he needs to be only a family friend again. She won’t object to Héctor and him being something more than that, as long as it is done discreetly and away from their home, but the three of them sharing a bed… that needs to end. The third wheel - she ignores the thought that Ernesto has come to be more than that, she must, if she’s to carry this out - needs to come off. 
It would be far too dangerous with a child at home, asking questions. A child who would take the fall if word got out that their mother and father share a bed with another man, because it would be delusional to think their arrangement would simply be quietly accepted. Imelda could face the disapproval with her head held high if need be, but how could she ask that of a child? What kind of mother would let that happen?
It had to end, eventually. He’ll understand, he must. It is for the best. For everyone’s sake.
By the time she leaves the bathroom, the positive pregnancy test in her hand, Imelda has her mind made up. It hurts more than she ever thought it possibly might - a dull ache in her chest - but that’s not relevant right now. There is a baby coming, and she needs to do the right thing. 
Even if Ernesto doesn’t agree, he must come to accept it. He’ll bounce back, Imelda tells herself, and she can believe that. Maybe she’s overestimating how attached Ernesto actually got. He’ll probably go back to his flings and one-night stands, if those ever really did stop. 
Maybe he’ll throw a tantrum, as he often does when he doesn’t get his way, but she’s sure he’ll eventually be glad to have bailed out once the realities and responsibilities of having a child in the house become clear; he’ll mock them over the lack of nights out as he used to do only last year. She’ll get annoyed, and he’ll laugh it off. Like old times - arguably better than old times, because she refuses to think the understanding they have reached can simply vanish like that. 
He’ll still be welcome in their home, just not in their bedroom. If she and Héctor are to be parents, it is time to put childish things behind them. She understands that and, she’s sure, so will her husband. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would see it is the only way forward. 
“Héctor.”
Her voice is flat when she calls out, still somewhat numb, from the door of the living room. It causes Héctor - who is sprawled on the couch, song book in his hands and a foot braced against Dante to keep him from taking over - to look up, a pen in his mouth and another behind his ear. The one in his mouth falls off when he sees her expression and opens his mouth to speak; the other is dislodged when he sits up, putting the songbook aside. 
“Imelda? What is it? Are you all right?” he asks, concern plain in her voice. Imelda draws in a deep breath, grip on the positive test tightening, and speaks quietly. 
“We need to talk.”
***
“We need to talk.”
Héctor hears Imelda’s words through the loud blaring of an alarm. Or at least, that’s what it feels like: ‘we need to talk’ is very firmly among the top ten sentences that can make people question their every life choice, from the womb up to the second those words reach their ears.
We need to talk. 
All right, all right. Time to keep his cool. Maybe he did something wrong - he probably did something wrong - and now they will talk it through. It is all right. Time to act as any reasonable adult would. Or not.
Nuh-uh, no. Nope. Nope nope nope. Abort mission, abort, abort. 
“Great! We will! Soon! Soon-ish,” Héctor blurts out, and goes to grab his guitar, which is resting against the wall. His panicked brain fails to pick up the fact he’s holding it sideways. “I just thought up a song - I mean, I was thinking up a song - the words are giving me some trouble but I got most of the melody down, want to hear--”
“Héctor,” Imelda speaks up, putting a hand on the guitar. She looks… ay, she looks pale, and Héctor’s dumb panic immediately turns into concern. He puts down the guitar, almost dropping it on the only part of the couch not occupied by Dante, and cups her cheek. 
“What… what is it? Are you feeling ill?”
“No, I--”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
“Possibly later, but--”
Héctor’s brain somehow freezes and starts working twice the normal speed, simultaneously. The result is that he only gets stupid thoughts, but in much quicker succession than normal. She’s seriously ill, she has cancer, she’s the calmest person ever to experience a heart attack and oh God when was last time either of them did a full health check-up?
“Oh my God, you’re ill!” 
“No!”
“You’re pale!”
“Héctor--”
“You said we need to talk, and you were using That Voice, it has got to be something serious!”
“Well, it is something serious--”
“I’ll call an ambulance!”
“No, you will not-- Héctor, put the phone down-- por Dios-- I’m pregnant, Héctor!”
Héctor’s neurological functions skid to to nearly a full stop, leaving enough electrical activity to keep him breathing, but just barely. He stammers. He drops the phone. He stares. His brains sputters back into activity. 
“Pregnant,” he repeats, as though trying out a foreign word. Imelda bites her lower lip, nods, and holds up something - a stick. A pregnancy test with two tiny lines showing on the screen. Héctor blinks at it. “... How?”
That gains him a look that’s somewhere between stunned, pitying, and ‘oh God who did I marry’. “... The usual way?”
Ah. Right. That was… no, wait. It wasn’t that stupid a question, she’s supposed to be on the pill, and-- and--
I’m going to be a papá.
The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, kickstarting his brain into a semi-functional status again. He blinks at her, his face beginning to open up in what’s probably the biggest, dumbest smile since… their wedding, maybe. Probably since ever. 
“A baby? You’re having a baby? We’re having a baby?”
Imelda seems to hesitate a moment, then her own expression opens up in a smile. It is somewhat tentative, but there is no mistaking the sheer joy of it; it’s like it occurred to her just now that she ought to be, and is, happy. “Sí. We’re having a baby.” 
Héctor’s grito is loud enough to make Pepita shoot from the chair she was napping to the ceiling, while Dante flops off the couch with a yelp and runs to hide under a table. Imelda may also be trying to say something about her eardrums, but it’s lost in gales of laughter when he grabs her, kisses her, and twirls her around - improvising a silly, very uncoordinated dance across their living room.
Imelda laughs, too; she kisses him back, throws her arms around his neck, dances with him as he sings - “What color's the sky? ¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!” - and eventually they both stumble back on the couch, laughing, holding onto each other as the notion sinks in that they’re going to be parents. 
It’s... a little earlier than they imagined it would happen, but it’s all right. They can make it work, Héctor knows they will, and-- ah, he can’t wait. He only just knew they have a baby on the way and he can’t wait to meet them. 
“Imagine your parents’ face when we tell them-- and your brothers-- they're going to be tíos!”
“And they’ll never get to be in the same room as the baby unsupervised,” Imelda mutters, with a slightly exaggerated shudder of fake horror. Well, maybe not entirely fake.
Héctor laughs again, as though drunk on happiness, ignoring the brief stab of sadness at the thought that their baby will only have one set of grandparents. And no tíos from his side, since he never had siblings and-- ah, what is he thinking? Ernesto is going to be their tío, of course, they grew up together, it’s only fair.
“Wait until I tell Ernesto!” he exclaims, wishing the cabrón hadn’t chosen that day of all days to go get his nails done; if he were home, he’d be running downstairs in minutes to pound at his door and tell him the news. “I fully expect him to be the godfather! And to try and not hog all the attention at the christening, if he can manage-- are we doing that in Santa Cecilia? I think it would be nice, but Ernesto never wants to go back, so maybe--”
“Héctor.” Imelda’s hand is light on his cheek, her voice quiet, and Héctor knows something is amiss before he glances at her, at her somber expression. But this time, there is no panic: just the quiet realization of where this is going. “This is what we need to talk about. Ernesto,” she says, taking his hand. She looks saddened, but resolute. “... We’re having a baby. A child to raise. This-- the arrangement has to end.”
Oh. There is a stab of something in his chest, the kind of ache that comes with the realization that something good - something wonderful - has to come to an end, and sooner than planned. But Imelda is right, as she usually is; a child is going to change everything. A child in the house is going to change everything, and it’s their responsibility to make… adjustments. She can see that, he can see that… and he hopes that so will Ernesto. 
“He will understand,” Héctor says through a lump in his throat. But it hurts, and his words sound unconvincing to his own ears. 
For all the talents Ernesto has, knowing when to step aside was never one of them.
***
Something is… wrong. 
It takes a while for Ernesto to notice, really, because throughout the dinner he’s rather busy talking - about the album, about future projects, about the new guitar he wants to buy, about himself in general because he does find himself to be a very interesting subject. They’re halfway through the main course when he realizes he’s not getting interrupted nearly as often as usual; by the time the waiter brings in the desserts, he finally notices the nervous glances they’re exchanging. Or at least, Héctor looks nervous; Imelda just seems to be… bracing herself.
Something is not right, Ernesto thinks, only moments before Héctor clears his throat.
“So, uh…” he manages a smile that is, at the same time, delighted and absolutely unconvincing. “Imelda and I have-- we have news.” He puts a hand down on the table, palm up, and Imelda grasps it with her own.
Later on, that is something that will keep coming back to mock him through sleepless, lonely nights: those joined hands, the way the fingers intertwine, how perfectly they fit. How complete they are, without him. But right now, it just unnerves him slightly; he looks up from their joined hands to meet Héctor’s gaze, confused more than alarmed. 
“News?”
A nod, and the smile becomes a less forced, brighter. By his side, Imelda is expressionless as a sphynx. “We’re having a baby,” Héctor says, and grips Imelda’s hand tighter.
Ernesto stares. Blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it again, opens it once more.  “... What?”
Another squeeze of Imelda’s hand, but Ernesto doesn’t notice: he can only stare at Héctor’s, too stunned for words, as he swallows and speaks again.
“Imelda is pregnant. We’re going to be parents.” The smile again, more tentative, more anxious. Ernesto’s eyes shift to Imelda, who remains expressionless. She is trying to keep control over the situation; Ernesto takes it as cold indifference as she nods and speaks, her voice calm, her words measured. 
“... I am.”
Ernesto’s head spins a little. This is… bad. A kid would change everything and he doesn’t want things to change. “But how-- I mean-- I thought you were…?”
“I was on the pill, but some medication... interfered. I am five weeks in.”
“Five weeks,” Ernesto repeats, and there is some relief in his voice. Five weeks is still early enough for it to be taken care of - it would be a nightmare in Santa Cecilia, but in Mexico City? It can be done. He opens his mouth to say it aloud, but Imelda seems to have read his mind.
“We do want this baby, Ernesto.” Her voice is just a little more forceful, and again Ernesto is briefly stunned into silence. She sighs. “We always wanted children, you know that. This only comes… a little earlier than planned.”
Ernesto blinks, and turns to look at Héctor. He looks saddened, and it hits him suddenly - he knows where this is going. This is it, then - he’s getting the family he’s always wanted, they both are, and Ernesto is… no longer needed. He shakes his head, acutely aware of the fact he can’t say too much or too loudly, being in a restaurant and all. Only later, in hindsight, will he realize they told him in a restaurant to keep him from making a scene. 
“Wait, wait-- what about--” what about me? “What about-- us?”
Héctor swallows. “You are still my best friend,” he says, and tries to reach across the table to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm, but he pulls back with a scoff. 
“Oh, so that’s it? It’s over, just like that?”
Imelda shakes her head. “You and Héctor-- I won’t mind. But not at home, and… not with me.”
Is she serious? Does she really think it is enough-- that he will just-- Christ, does she feel anything about it at all? She may as well be made of ice, and Ernesto clenches his teeth, fury burning in his chest. He’s so angry, all of a sudden; at her for not caring, at himself for giving a damn that she doesn’t care, and at Héctor for just taking her side. 
Of course he’d take her side. She has him whipped, and he’s a coward.
“You can’t!” he snaps, and finally her indifferent expression is broken, the hint of a frown creasing her brow. 
“I can. I have every right to call myself out of it. Or would you force me?”
“What-- no!” 
“There you have it, then. The arrangement, as it is, needs to end. I can’t keep being part of it.”
Anger barely in check, a sudden ache in his chest, Ernesto turns to Héctor. “And you agree with this?” he snaps. His best friends returns his gaze, still saddened… but his voice is firm. 
“There’s a baby coming. We need to… to make some changes, even if we don’t like it. For the baby.”
Oh, of course. Anything for the damn baby that’s not even a baby yet-- but what about about him?
What do they care? They have their baby now. A brand new third wheel. That’s all I was, no? It was stupid to think that had changed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 
It stings - a lot - and Ernesto realizes that if he stays there he’ll scream or, worse yet, break. So he does the only thing he can do: he stands abruptly, almost knocking down the chair, and storms out of the restaurant - trying not to think, saying nothing, without looking back. 
He doesn’t think he could stand turning to see those two still there, hand in hand - but ah, it’s no longer just the two of them, is it? There are three people around that table. The perfect number.
And he’s not part of it anymore.
***
“All right. What’s wrong?”
Sofía’s voice rings out in the darkened room. Ernesto, who’s staring at the wall and scowling, makes a face despite knowing she can’t see it at all.
“Nothing,” he says, hoping it will be enough. It clearly… isn’t.
“Yeah, no. You show up and suggest drinks, which was always your code for ‘fuck later’, and I say sure, got no plans for the night and it’s been a while. With you, I mean, I kept myself busy.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“We go out to have the drinks and you hardly talk, which is not unwelcome but also unlike you, since you can spend up to three hours talking about yourself without pausing - I timed you once,” Sofía says, and pokes him in the ribs. “Cigarette?”
“Not good for my voice,” Ernesto grumbles, still resting on his side to glare at the wall. He hears the sound of a lighter, a deep inhale, and he hopes she’s done talking. She’s not.
“I mean, really - there was karaoke going on and you didn’t elbow your way to the microphone. That is so unlike you it gets into worrying territory.”
“I was not in the mood--”
“Then you come to my place, fail to get it up - not that unusual, really--”
“Hey now--”
“-- But nothing some work can’t fix, and then suddenly you have a headache and would rather just sleep.”
“You’re giving me a headache right now,” he points out, turning.
“So you did not have a headache,” Sofía mutters, and triumphant note in her voice, and Ernesto snorts, shutting his eyes. There is a huff, and she rests her chin on his upper arm, blowing some smoke in his face. “Come on, who was it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I recognize heartbreak when I see it, amigo.”
“I’m not heartbroken!” he sputters indignantly, spitting out the last word like it’s something rotten, and turns his head to glare at her - getting another puff of smoke in the face.
“Hu-uh. And I’m a bride of Christ,” she mutters, and pulls back to rest on her back, a hand reaching out to tangle in his hair. “Look, I still have no plans for the night. If you want to keep up your Macho Act I’ll go make myself a sandwich, have another smoke and go watch a movie or something. If you’d rather talk about it, I’ll listen. You’ve got time until I finish this cigarette to decide.”
Ernesto lets out scoff and stands, throwing the sheets off himself. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says sourly, grabbing his clothes. He’s out of the door a minute later, slamming it shut, and gaining no reaction but a raised eyebrow and another drag of the cigarette.
***
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mooniessuniverse · 6 years ago
Text
Amnesia || Tony Stark
Requested: Yes, by my best buddy @the-right-drug-wrong-time 
Prompt(s) used: 92.“You are small and full of anger.”, 67: “You’re bleeding!”, 53. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” (prompt list here)
Summary: You lost your memory after a car accident. Everything keeps coming slowly back. 
Warning(s): swearing, sexual jokes, bit of angst, Tony is insecure, fluff... 
Word count: 5100
A/N: This took me wayyyyyy longer than I thought it will and it is also a loooooooot longer than I thought it will be. I am full of surprises these days, lol. I hope you will like it, Alex, and all of you who will read it willingly 
My masterlist || Characters list  (aka who I write for)
GIF IS NOT MINE
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“...We have to run another few tests before we can release you. Of course, I will no longer tire you and allow you to get some rest; You need it,” The doctor smiled at her from behind his glasses. She forced her own smile to occur on her face, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples.
He turned around to leave but then he added: “I almost forgot, you need to stay put and try not to leave your bed. The injury on your head caused by whatever reason could make you feel like your head is spinning and you could faint if you make too much of movement. I would also recommend that you hold off on searching for clues on your past. It could stop your brain from remembering."
She stared at him confusedly, only for him to give her a sympathetic smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose, "When the brain tries too hard to remember what it doesn't know, it tends to suppress many other memories. Not to mention it inflicts upon the other functions the brain is responsible for, like hormone productions and whatnot. Overloading the brain with trying to remember what it cannot will only cause more harm than good, ma'am. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head silently.
"Good. I'll leave you alone for now. A nurse will be by soon enough. Enjoy your rest, ma’am.”
She let a loud sigh escape her lips as soon as he closed the door behind himself. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. He was honestly so naive to think that she wouldn’t go and try to find anything about her past. It was stupid of him to think that anyone would just stop and not look through their stuff, especially if all they could remember was just their childhood and teenage years and nothing more.
The last decade and a half of her life was hid behind the curtain of mist and she felt helpless at the emptiness.
She let her legs fall from the edge of hospital bed and kicked them back and forth slowly, thinking through every movement she wanted to do. She eyed the room carefully.
Her room had a TV in the left corner, right next to the window with the open blinds. Under there was a table with tons of flowers, all of them her favourite. There was also a teddy bear, a little one with a blue and red shirt with traces of spider webs on it. He sat on one of the two chairs. The second one had a black bag on it, probably with clothes. On a table next to her bed was a bottle of water, something what looked like a pain killers and some fruits. She hoped that they had left her personal things in a drawer but before she opened it she took the pills and swallowed them down immediately.
She felt her stomach drop at the sudden realization of what she didn't know. She wasn’t sure if she was excited or scared of what she would have to find out.
Did she stay friends with Anna, her childhood best friend, or did they have some terrible arguement and stopped talking? Did she become the screenwriter she always wanted to be? Or did she started a career as a cop slash detective, like everyone predicted?
How was her family doing? Is everyone okay? Did her brother enlist in the army like he said he would? Oh, and does she have fiance or husband or wife or significant other? Or does she has more than one? Is she in poly relationship? Is she a cheater?
Oh wow, that escalated quickly.
She was glad that she has room just for herself because she was blushing so hard from her thoughts.
She waited for a few minutes for the pills to kick in, just watching through the slightly opened window. It was already dark outside and light breeze brushing over her bare feet made her shiver a bit.
It didn’t last long and she already felt better. Her headache was getting better by every second.
Oh god, these pills are some strong shit. Wonder if I can be high because of them, she giggled. Jesus Christ, I’m a mess.
She decided to finally open the drawer. Inside was a sealed package with her phone, some jewerly and a piece of paper. There was also her wallet and a pack of gum. And, oh god, a condom.
Well, now we can be sure that I have a boyfriend. Or... Who knows, she thought to herself with raised eyebrows.
She opened the package and let the items fall into her open palm. She started with the paper with a little note.
          Don’t forget to tell Happy to pick Peter up. I love you, sweet cheeks.                     Tony           P.S. Sorry about last night. I hope this breakfast will make up for it.
A grin appeared on her face without realizing. She bit her lower lip, another silent giggle escaping her lips. Tony, you bastard.
The thought was automatic, coming from seemingly nowhere in her garbled, jumbled mind. Who was this man? They must have been together for a few years by the contents of this letter. Who was Happy? And Peter? Did she have a kid?
She shook her head. She would remember if she has a son, right? She would have to remember. But one thing she couldn't deny, she felt a strong connection to the name, even if there was no face attached to it. Yet.
Her body froze when an image played across her mind.
She was holding someone in her arms, running her hand down his back while he had his arms strongly wrapped around her as well. “I am sorry, Y/N.” His voice came out deeper than usual.
She pushed him away, keeping him an arms distance length away, tightening her grip on his strong arms. She looked into his brown eyes filled with regret and exhaustion. She caressed his cheek and unnecessarily wiped away the almost dried tears, for no reason other than providing comfort to him.
“Hey, it’s okay, kid. I stand behind my decision of protecting you and helping you with anything that happens. I know Tony is angry but it's just because he is worried about you. Don’t be sorry, you did good. Briliantly, actually, and I am sure, one hundred percent, he thinks the same. You took Vulture down on your own, come on!” A wide smile spread across her face, one that he couldn't help but reciprocate. She pulled him back into her embrace and ran her hand through his hair.
“Besides, he will be back with his “mentoring” before you blink. Let’s go, we have to patch you up.”
Memories flash through her mind. She was sure of that. She was sure that these were her memories. She could remember those brown orbs anywhere, that typical “lost puppy” look.
Ha! And doctor said it would slow down remembering! Bullshit!
She went back to the rest of her things. She took one piece of the gum and started chewing while she put the necklace back on her neck where it belonged. The chain hung right between the valley of her breasts, and if she didn't know any better, she was sure that that was the necklace's main purpose.
“I have something for you,” A voice echoed, the image of whiskey brown eyes looking into hers. It was like he wasn’t sure of her reaction when he took the black velvety box from his back pocket. Despite all the confidence exuding from his body, his eyes still held traces of hesitancy.
“I couldn’t help myself, I had to buy this. Okay, maybe I didn’t buy this and actually did it myself - great work, by the way - but, ugh, well… I hope you like it,” he said as he fidgeted with little box in his hand. She outstreched her hand across the table with encouraging smile, opening her palm. He placed it there without his usual smirk, holding her for few moments.
Tony Stark was nervous. She loved it, she loved that she was able to make the most confident man nervous.
They were on the rooftop of Stark Tower. It felt like she could touch the stars if she tried hard enough.
“I'm guessing this won’t be another condom like the one you gave me the first time you wanted to sleep with me." He relaxed a little, short laugh escaping his lips at her words. He opened his mouth to retort when she interrupted, "You succeeded, may I add. Multiple times."
She winked at him, a small smirk playing on her lips. He placed his hand on her arm, rubbing a few soothing circles into the skin with a coy look on his face, “Well, I still think that it’s the most romantic thing I ever did.”
She giggled and bit her lip as she let go of his hand and opened the little box. There was small arc reactor with a diamond instead of the glowing energy it produced. (She knew she should know the exact term for it but…science was never really her thing.)
She really tried to not let tears fall down from her eyes.
“Darlin’?” he spoke up carefully, searching for resistence in her eyes.
She took a sharp breath in and looked up at him, her eyes shining brighter than the stars above them, “It’s beautiful. I am never going to take it off.”
She broke her promise. Not willingly of course, but fate has its ways, doesn't it?
When she closed her eyes, she could see the bright lights of an incoming car blinding her, and she could feel the impact the collision had on her body as she was crushed into the street light at almost full speed when she tried to avoid a man walking in black clothes she hadn't seen.
She knew Tony was worried sick. She woke up a few times, for just a few seconds during her sessions of unconsciousness. Everytime, she saw him sitting on one of the plastic chairs.
He looked tired with black bags under his eyes and messy hair. It was always just for a few blinks accompanied by terrible headache before she fell asleep again. Last time she saw him, he was asleep by her bed, holding her hand firmly.
She played with the simple ring on her hand. She put it on and took it off from her ring finger a few times before she let it on for good. It fit perfectly.
“Why are you still here?” he asked her one night when they were in each other's embrace, after a long comfortable silence. She had her head under his chin and she did soothing circles around his arc reactor. She left a kiss on his bare chest before she looked up to his face.
“I enjoy your presence. You are incredibly smart, charming and so. freaking. handsome,” she placed a kiss all over his face with every word. She giggled when he took her face in his hands and placed a kiss on her nose with a smirk. “You are complicated as hell but when you are with me you don’t hide. You are trying not to hide your emotions from me. You are honest and you are being real. You have the most adorable laugh I ever heard and I want to listen to it forever,” she lied her head back onto his chest so he couldn’t see her face.
“I know you will make fun of me but do you remember when we watched this dorky, unrealistic comedy you find so funny? I couldn’t help myself but record you when you giggled and ranted almost whole movie about how stupid it is and you asked countless times why we are still watching it. I listen to it in work, when I feel like giving up or when I am sad or when you are away on mission and I miss you. You are not what everyone else say, you are so much more,” she placed her hand over his heart hidden under the arc. “I fell in love with you. And I keep on falling,” she added with a grin.
He stayed silent. He didn’t dare to breathe, like if he thought that she would disappear if he did. So he pulled her closer, hiding his face into her neck and kissing her shoulder. “That was… the cheesiest thing I ever heard. You are the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I love you. Will you marry me?”
Oh god, she missed him so much. She wanted to go home.
Her headache was getting worse. She pressed the button to call the nurse so she would be there quicker. She wanted to know if Tony knew she was awake and another pain killer because with the intensity of the pain made it all too overhelming. She was close to tears when nurse entered the room. Before she fell to unconsciousness she heard her say: “Mrs. Y/L/N, are you okay?”
When she woke up again she had an IV and breathing mask on. She carefully looked around the room as soon as the world stopped spinning. Maybe her headache wasn’t that bad anymore but she still felt like shit.
She wasn’t alone. There was a man in the black suit, his tie was loosened a bit and his hair was a mess. He had glasses on the bridge of his nose. There were newspapers in his hand, in his free one he fidgeted with a red pen. He was concetrated on the piece of paper before him and looked awfully familiar.
She took off her mask.
“Hi,” she whispered, her throat sore.
“Good morning,” he answered absentmindedly but soon he lifted his gaze and gave her a big, goofy smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Great, but to be honest, I would kill for a glass of water,” she attempted to smile as well because somehow, she knew he had to be close to her. But she couldn’t grasp a name or how she met him. It worried her and she didn’t want to pretend.
When she took a drink from his hand with silent ‘thank you’ she cleared her throat. “Can you… Can you please tell me your name?” His smile fell. She felt the need to explain, she didn’t want him to be sad. “I know I know you, I am really close to these memories but a name would help.”
He went back to his chair at the end of her bed. He stared at her, unsure if it was a good thing to do. The doctor definitely warned him. The doctor told him what probably caused her blackout - her effort to get all her memories back. But the man wanted her to remember, she saw it on him. He sighed when she looked at him with beseeching eyes. He put his glasses down on the bedside table.
“I am Harold Hogan but you and almost everyone I know call me Happy. I would say I am your security guard but you reffer to me as a knight in a suit.”
Flashes of him in many opportunities to help her, his usual black suit on, played in the back of her head accompanied by another starting headache. She smiled widly, happy that her memory is really coming back. “Yeah, it suits you more,” she laughed at her own joke.
He rolled his eyes. “I guess that concussion wasn’t that bad.”
“But the broken ribs are,” familiar doctor entered her room.
She shrugged, only now acknowledging the bandages holding her chest and uncomfortable preasure there. “That memory loss is a lot worse. Did you wait behind the doors to make a dramatic appearance?” she pointed her finger lazily towards the door, her brow raised.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he took a look into a folder he was holding. “I came to tell you you will be released in a few days,” she silently cheered, “but you have to stay in contact in case you will suffer from another strong pain. You have to be more careful, Mrs. Y/L/N, and stop to force your brain to remember. Do I have to repeat my speech from the last time we saw each other?”
She tried to make herself as little as possible. She felt like a little kid who her parents caught doing something what she wasn’t supposed to do. But, well, it was true except she was an adult woman. She nodded slightly.
“Good. I would be happier if you stayed awake for longer than three hours.”
“How long was I out?” she asked curiously.
“For almost a day, Miss,” he informed her and she widened her eyes.
“Well, shit,” she muttered under her breath.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Let your memories, please, come back to you naturally. Now you see what excessive effort can cause. I hope this will not happen again,” he warningly glanced at her from behind his glasses.
He turned to Happy when she nodded again. “I will have to ask you to leave, sir. I know you are worried but as you can see, memory is fragile and rushing it can cause a lot of problems. Please, say your goodbyes, I will wait on you outside if you want more information.”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
“I want this information too,” she involved herself into conversation, upset that the doctor doesn’t want to tell her her condition.
The doctor smiled at her. “Of course, Miss, you are the patient, I am sorry. Would you like another cup of water?”
“You definitely were standing behind the doors and waiting for the right moment to walk in, doc.”
                                                       ∼∼∼∼∼∼ 
She got up from the bed carefully. Her head was throbbing a bit but it was a lot better than last few days and she was determineted to get out of this place. Boredom was eating her alive. And Tony didn’t stop by. She didn’t know if she should be angry at him or worried.
Yeah, probably both.
She took a shaking breath in when she straightened her back. “Fuck,” she mumbled through gritted teeth. She looked over her room and made her way to the bag with clothes as quickly as her head let her.
She was just pulling her jeans on when a boy with brown hair and the cutest terrified look on his face she ever saw on a boy who saw her in her underwear. He quickly covered his eyes and turned his back to her.
“I-I am so sorry, Mrs Stark,” he said with voice an octave higher. Finally someone to call her by her right last name. She laughed.
“It’s okay, Pete, things like that happen-,” she stopped mid sentence. His name fell from her lips easier than she thought. She quickly put on her pants and walked up to him, turning him to face her and putting his hands gently from his face. He was blushing adorably and trying to look everywhere but at her.
“You are Peter. You are the one I was suppose to tell Happy to pick up. You are one the one who I held in my arms and who was beat up and who I was so proud of in my memory,” she studied him carefully.
His smile was so contagious that she couldn’t stop her own. “Yes, that would be me, Mrs Stark.”
She punched him light in the shoulder. “Stop calling me like that, you know it makes me feel old and too professional. Call me Y/N, the fact that I had an accident doesn’t mean that you should act differently around me,” she let the words spill naturally. Memories were coming back easily, now without being acompanied by horrible headache which she welcomed with open arms.
He surprised her by hugging her tightly around her waist and liffting her up. “I was so scared you wouldn't remember me,” he confessed with happy giggle and twirl. She, instead of replying, screamed with mouth closed. He quickly put her down and only then noticed the bandages sticking from under her t-shirt that ran up a bit. “I'm so sorry,” he apologized again while she hissed her pain away.
“It’s okay,” she let out breathlessly and waved him away when he wanted to help her sit or help somehow. She took a sharp breath in.
“It’s okay, it'll go away. I've had worse,” she assured him while pictures of catching a bullet or getting sliced by a weird looking spear through her leg played in her head. She shook her head at her memories still not setting in. Her life was a freak show at some points.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
She pointed a finger at him. “Stop apologizing or I will take away your webshooters.”
His jaw dropped but smiling widely right after, happy that one of his mentors is back again. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh yes, you bet your ass I would, kid. Now, where is Happy with those papers? I need to get out of here.”
                                                  ∼∼∼∼∼∼
When they arrived at her (supposed) and Tony’s house she stared at it in awe. She remembers seeing the large size of the building, but things were still a little hazy. This was much more bigger and spacious than her memory had let on.
“This place is huge, you sure this is our house?” she asked Happy as they got out of the car. They dropped Peter off at his home with his aunt on their way here. She found out May was one of the greatest people she had in her life immediately after Peter opened the door from their apartment. May was just walking through the hall when she noticed them and ran up to them, hugging them both. May and her chatted for a while by which the italian woman helped Y/N a lot with remembering her life. Peter complained after a few minutes that he was hungry and that Y/N has a place to be and husband to talk to. He got double smacked in the back of his head for that.
“Yes and half of the rooms there were your idea,” Happy let her know while getting her bags out of the trunk. She held the teddy bear from Peter close to her chest and the biggest bouquet of her favourite flowers in her free hand. She decided to let the rest of the flowers to patients at the hospital.
She nodded her head in approval. “Sounds like me.”
When she got to the front door and was ready to open them she stopped and looked up where she knew cameras were.
“Friday?”
“Yes, ma’am?” The Al replied in a matter of seconds.
“Did you informed Tony about our arrival?”
“No, miss. He told me to not disturb him while he works unless it’s matter of Earth's safety,” she let her know. Y/N rolled her eyes and smirk appeared on her face.
“Wonderful. Please, soundproof any noises from the first floor while we take all things in. When I go to his lab, don’t tell him anything.”
It took them longer than she thought it would but finally, she was walking down the hall to Tony’s lab.
The lab had glass walls from one side, same as in their old house, and the rest of the walls was from classic bricks, a window every few metres high, just few centrimetres from the ceiling. Tony didn’t notice her because he was tinkering with something in undercarriage of one of his cars at the moment. She took the opportunity to silently slip in there.
She waved on Dumm-y who stood above Tony, giving him what he needed when he asked. She put her finger in front of her lips and robot understood her, not letting out anything more than some whirling. She put carefully Tony’s stuff aside of his iron desk, trying her best to not let out a sound.
“Dumm-y, give me a screwdriver. The one I asked you earlier, don’t mess it up again,” Tony’s muffled voice echoed from under the car. She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips. She was unable to put her finger on the feeling that she felt in the hospital, that tug of her hurt and she realized that it was sadness. She wanted to see him there when she woke up and she was nowhere to be seen. Peter helped to bury that aside but it returned when she was in the car with just Happy at the front seat again.
She sat on the desk. It creaked as it rode back a bit. She bit her lip.
“What did I tell you?” Tony rumbled and rode from under the car. “You should be more caref-.” His words froze on his lips as his eyes fell upon her. She had a bed hair from the hospital, looking exhausted. Her eyes were still shinning with the spark he loved so much, even with the dark bags under them. Wide smile was plastering her lips that he liked to kiss so much. She had AC/DC t-shirt on that he gave her and he would bet all the things that he hold dear that she knew what that did to him.
“Hi, handsome,” she greeted him, voice roughed by emotions.
He jerked in surprise and hit his head as he wanted to get up quickly to put her in his arms. He groaned in pain. She didn’t waste a minute and she was already sitting by his side as he sat up and held his forehead. When he put it away he almost didn’t notice that there was blood at his fingertips. He felt like a teeneger again when she looked at him all worried and with hardly held back a good laugh.
“You're bleeding!” She couldn’t hold back a laugh anymore. He frowned at her playfully. “You are unbelievable. One of the world’s mightiest heroes and he gets a cut on his head because he was too enchanted by his beat up, but still beautiful,” she added quickly as he glared at her, "wife.”
He looked her over, watching out for every injury her car accident caused and followed her as she took an aid-kit from Dumm-y.
“Thank you,” she smiled at the robot and turned back to Tony who studied her face. “What? Do I have something on my face?"
He shook his head, "You're so beautiful, I can't stop looking at you.”
She blinked a few times before she shook her head affectionately. She took what she needed out of the aid-kit and started to take care of him.
“That accident must have done a lot more damage to you than we thought. You're using silly pick-up lines again.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You love them,” he reasoned.
She nodded her head. “Yeah, I love them.”
The comfortable silence fell upon them. They felt like themselves again when they were with each other, they were the missing pieces that other was missing. He missed her and she missed him. They were able to function and relax without each other but when one of them was at the hospital or away on a mission or just gone for a long time, it affected them more than they wanted to admit sometimes. The connection between the two was strong, stronger than they thought that they would ever have with anyone. They loved each other, they cared for each other and helped each other in the way that other people couldn’t.
Their moment was disturbed by Tony himself. “I wished that you wouldn't remember me for a while.” She took a deep breath to say something but he continued. “If you wouldn’t remember me you could have started over. Without this superhero bullshit, without danger, without a man who has to many issues to solve them in a few months - I am an asshole. You could have start with a chance to have a proper family, to-.”
She cut him off, “I will stop you right there. Listen carefully and remember with me. As I once told you - everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy, the bad boy who will broke my heart one day. Well, you know how I was and still am with advices. I never listen. You remember the night you asked me to marry you?” she smiled softly at the memory and gave him a quick peck on his lips that left him wanting a proper kiss before she continued.
“I meant all of it and I still do. You might be an asshole sometimes and do some stupid decision from time to time but it’s human and you are still learning. And besides, and that’s what I stand behind, you are kind of just, small and full of anger,” she gave him another peck when he glared at her with raised eyebrows.
“I know I forgot for a while who you were and that I love you more than anyone on this stupid planet. But I am back now and I am not going anywhere. You are stuck with me just as I am stuck with you. I love you,” she repeated while looking into his eyes.
He didn’t think, just listened to his heart. So he lifted himself up and locked his lips with hers. They were soft and tasted like the minty toothpaste she used but he didn’t mind at all. She was there, somehow okay and still alive and breathing and remembering him.
As soon as their lips connected, all his troubles were gone and all that mattered was her and only her.
She placed her hand to the back of his neck and shimmed closer to him to kiss him better. His lips felt roughed against hers and he tasted like coffee but she didn’t mind a bit. He felt like home and that was all that matter.
When they pulled away to catch their breaths it didn’t take her long to find her words again. “And you are right, you have many, many issues, like PTSD and Daddy issues and insecurities and ego bigger than-.”
He growled and pulled her into his lap, kissing her again as she giggled.
All that mattered was that they were together and happy. The outside world could wait a minute.
Beta-read by wonderful @haztory​ (check her work out, she is an amazing writer!!) 
Tag list: @the-right-drug-wrong-time @haztory  (if you would like to be tagged in my future work, send me an ask or a message)
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ksbwnotes · 3 years ago
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Chapter 5
...reading this drains my soul...OTL <-- Me crawling forward in the same way I keep making myself read the chapters lol
1. Seriously, why Bum
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Well, I say that, but the more I think of it, the more I can see other people reacting similarly, even if that wouldn’t be the common response. Bum doesn’t really know what else to do but follow Sangwoo’s orders and he does increase his chances of survival in the long run if he just does what Sangwoo says. He might die from the rat poison, but he definitely will end up getting something broken/cut off if he disobeys Sangwoo. 
Also, Bum doesn’t just have BPD (because if it was just that, honestly, Bum doesn’t fit the criteria from what I’ve seen), he has dp/dr disorder, psychosis, and complex PTSD. So I think all of that mixed together, it really effects the way he sees things, which explains his less...sensical conclusions. 
But that’s just a realistic outlook. From a more personally entertaining one, it’s kind of like Bum has this block that keeps him from doing things like lashing out at Sangwoo. 
If Sangwoo ended up eating the poison, Bum could allay responsibility by saying “well, that’s his fault for falling for it, I gave all possible clues that I poisoned it after all”, which could give another angle as to why he reacted so obviously. This is Bum’s way of keeping what little sanity he has in tact, even if it does mean staying with Sangwoo. I dunno, I have a lot of thoughts on KS and I have no clue on how to dump them all out in a way that would make fkkn sense...because, actually, a lot of them disconnect and branch off into alternatives, so are technically separate from each other, which ends up confusing me lol. 
2. Ohhhh okay
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Oh this is why Sangwoo called Bum ugly...he also called him a bunch of other stuff earlier, but the ugly part--just contained to this scene--is also spurred by how Bum tried to poison him. 
It also does makes sense because Sangwoo knows that, even if someone smiles at him in the way Bum does, it can’t mean anything good because he KNOWS he has done nothing to deserve Bum’s smile.
And I dunno, the way Sangwoo ensures that Bum swallows it, reading Bum’s intentions to not swallow (which...how were you going to make that happen, Bum) and silently giving a physical warning to make sure he does swallow as punishment for what he tried to do. 
To be honest, now that I know Sangwoo’s mom killed the dad via poisoning, I’m surprised that this wasn’t a trigger for Sangwoo.  He beat Bum up for dropping plates, so why didn’t Bum trying to off him the way his mom offed his dad send Sangwoo off the deep end?
3. Wait, so what happened after this???
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Did...obviously Sangwoo didn’t actually...finish eating it right??  So what the heck, what did they do after this?  Why is it that Sangwoo is just...treating everything normally?  I mean, he didn’t make Bum cook something different, but he had to have eaten something...but he wasn’t angry at Bum ruining dinner???  No seriously, there’s a huge gaping hole in plot here. 
Bum listening to Sangwoo’s orders actually did end up saving Bum. It appeased Sangwoo. Maybe because they were able to get past this pretending that everything was ‘normal’?  In a way, it’s like Sangwoo is saying ‘Yeah, I don’t blame you for trying to poison me. Thank you for being so goddamn obvious about it, btw. It was like you were trying to save me hahah.’
4. ...Did...
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...Did Sangwoo just call the radio station he always has on in his house to ask them to play that song??
Seriously, it’s like everything Sangwoo does just shows how trapped he is in the past.
5. No seriously
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What does Sangwoo DO in that basement???
6. Oh hey, the first time he does this
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Like when Bum later tries to kill himself, Sangwoo is about to put him back in the downstairs bedroom, changes his mind, then brings him upstairs to his bedroom. 
So in here, he does the same because Bum is injured THE SAME WAY HE WAS TRYING TO KILL SANGWOO, but Sangwoo still decides to take care of him in a better way. He no longer doesn’t think it’s “right” for Bum to be in the basement, Bum has no place there anymore. 
And it shows that Sangwoo is really just...reactionary. He really means it when he later tells Bum “I don’t plan things” because...gahdang, man. The way he just reacts to his environment is really split second, it’s kind of unnerving and it really contributes to the worsening of his PTSD. 
7. Oh my god Sangwoo
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Wth is going through your brain, seriously.
Okay wait, now that I’ve gone through more chapters and got to point #11, maybe Sangwoo is just...confused as fuck. As in, why Bum is this way. Since we later see Sangwoo treating Bum only after he tries to kill himself, then maybe Bum actually took the poison himself and here we see the aftereffects of the ‘suicide’. So maybe this is just an early parallel to what Bum will outright be doing in the future.
This also explains why, in earlier panels before collapsing, Bum is asking himself “what’s happening”, because him and Sangwoo ate the rat poison, but there was no reaction, so he maybe thought that it wasn’t enough or the rat poison was just regular salt pills or something. I don’t freaking know.
8. Wow, Sangwoo really going the extra mile here
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I can assume that Bum actually vomited in the bucket, but it’s clean, implying that Sangwoo actually cleaned it up for him. 
9. Okay...?
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So either Bum is having auditory hallucinations or Sangwoo brought back his next hunt.
So that could be another reason why Sangwoo doesn’t think Bum belongs in the basement, because he’s no longer the ‘prey’ that Sangwoo reserves that basement for. Bum means more than them.
10. *squints* is that...not blood??
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Saliva? Tears? Sweat?? Water from washing dishes???  jfc
11. “Are you okay?” *WHEEZE*
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I love how Koogi does not reveal whether Bum means that in a “shouldn’t you be sick too” or a “I hope you’re not sick” and...seriously, I’m just really confused at what’s going on.
Does this mean that Sangwoo DID eat the soup and whatnot??@?!?!?!?!?!   WAS BUM PUTTING THE GODDAMN RAT PILLS JUST HIS IMAGINATION!?!?!??!  I’M.  I’M SO CONFUSED!?!??!?!  IS THAT WHY SANGWOO IS TREATING HIM SO NICELY????  BECAUSE HE THOUGHT BUM WAS TRYING TO POISON HIM, BUT ACTUALLY THAT WASN’T WHAT BUM DID!?!?!?!?!?!  WHY ARE THERE SO MANY GAPS, KOOGI, YOU’RE REALLY JUST TRYING TO FUCK WITH OUR BRAINS HERE HUH (i seriously and sincerely applaud you).
12. ...*stares off into the distance*
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What goes through your head whenever you end up asking these things, Bum?
13. I genuinely do think Sangwoo is fine with this
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Even though there are parts of Sangwoo that are confusing--because he can be impulsive--for the most part, it’s easy to see what parts will trigger him or not. I think Bum being genuinely interested in Sangwoo and pleading for things that have the “let me be with you” vibe is what Sangwoo wants all along, so it won’t trigger him. 
But that’s only if Bum does things like stop trembling and actually looking like he wants to be with Sangwoo, since Sangwoo can very accurately read Bum’s body language and what not. 
14. Wait, sir, you are a fkkn unreliable narrator
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Uhm...they died in a homicide three years ago, Sangwoo...that was when you were 21/22...are you saying the last time you sat at the little table with your mom, your dad overlooking you, was during high school???  I cannot trust your explanations lol.
15. First look into Sangwoo’s childhood abuse
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Huh, this entire thing is interesting because it makes me go at an entirely different angle than what ended up actually happening at the end. 
If I read this webtoon while it was being updated, I would’ve never come to the conclusions I’m coming up with now because the ending gives the story an entirely different conclusion. 
For one, if it really is the run of the mill domestic violence situation, I honestly don’t think Sangwoo would be killing women the way he is now. There was something else to these memories. Something that was so much sinister than what happened growing up with his father, that it completely broke Sangwoo in a way that his father’s abuse did not. Something that he can never say until his madness ran so deep, that he could no longer suppress those memories. 
The one we see here, with the table, was actually the least worse of Sangwoo’s memories. That is why he is able to bring it up, even in a fond a way. Because, in a way, these were Sangwoo’s happiest memories. The least painful ones. The safest of them. 
That is why, as we get further in the story, we can see the descent into the truth of Sangwoo’s path directly correlating to how he is destroying himself in real time (I just wanna know when that occurs, because obviously, Bum is the catalyst for Sangwoo’s destruction).
16. Ooooh, Koogi’s art
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I love the dichotomy between Sangwoo’s mom (Eunsoo???) and Sangwoo’s appearance. Eunsoo (even if it’s wrong, it’s easier just to type this lol) doesn’t actually acknowledge or see the reality before her, but her mouth is wide open in fear to show how she is still reacting to it. Sangwoo, on the other hand, only has his eye drawn because he does see the reality before himself. But because he’s powerless and he knows that using his words/making sounds will do nothing or even make the situation worse, he is mouthless.
17. “someone like you”
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Honestly, for me, this was more derogatory than Sangwoo calling Bum ‘ugly’ and a ‘loser’. Here, it’s like acknowledging Bum is worthless that, if it weren’t for current circumstances, he would’ve never opened up to Bum like this. It’s just that Sangwoo has no better alternative, so he has no choice but to rely on Bum. This type of tone carries on throughout the series, where it’s obvious that Sangwoo is only with Bum because he would literally have no one else by his side.  
In another way, Sangwoo is saying that an abusive serial killer is the only type of person that could ever be with “someone like” Bum. 
18. Wait what??
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Uh so this is the immediate reply after Bum saying sorry and...I honestly am at a loss over what Sangwoo means by this. 
19. Hmmmn...
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Well, knowing that I know now, Sangwoo is saying this because he doesn’t want Bum to do this to himself and this is the only way he knows how to show his concern and desire to keep Bum alive. 
When Sangwoo is verbally abusing here, it seems to have a different vibe than the other times. I can’t really explain why without having to look back at my other notes, but when Sangwoo says things “I hate guys like you the most”, it’s his way of deterring Bum from trying to hurt himself again. 
And honestly, if I’m right and Bum actually swallowed the rat pills himself, then Sangwoo is thinking Bum was actually trying to kill himself and that is what spurred him even more into making these comments. 
20. l;earjgiejario;gejrogjreagpjrea’ fucking hell
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This is more deranged when you know HIS MOM’S CORPSE IS LITERALLY BEHIND THE WALL IN THE LIVING ROOM HAHAHHAH. 
21. UhhhhHHHHHHHH
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that...that ISN’T A GOOD THING THOUGH SANGWOO.  You'RE NOT DEALING WITH THE TRAUMA, YOU’RE JUST BURYING IT TO LET THE WOUNDS FESTER AND COME OUT IN A DIFFERENT WAY.  PLEASE SANGWOO.
“Why? How? I looked for the reason. And then I saw you. You might’ve been sprawled in the basement, but the fact that we were together made me feel relieved. And I’m even being loved! That makes me feel so strong. You wanted to know what you should do right? *kisses Bum’s wrist* I wonder if this is a good enough answer.”
...Honestly, I do not have the energy to parse out my thoughts on this matter. Not right now.  :’)
22. *rubs hand over face* And here comes the hard part
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It actually is interesting that Sangwoo still kisses Bum despite the fact that he has been vomiting the whole day and didn’t actually brush his teeth.
He complained about Bum’s leg hair, so I would’ve expected Sangwoo to grimace and say that Bum was right. However, he didn’t. Actually, Bum’s reaction might’ve even made Sangwoo want to kiss him more (Bum blushing, obviously wanting to kiss, but trying to think of Sangwoo and worrying about being too gross). 
In a way, I do think this is all of Sangwoo’s way of trying to ensure Bum doesn’t leave him. He’s trying to ensure Bum doesn’t try to kill himself, to a point where he’ll give Bum some semblance of romantic love even if he himself doesn’t feel that. Because desperation to not be alone--to have someone who can love him unconditionally in the way he has never been loved--is different from truly want to be with someone.  
He’s using sex and romance as weapons to keep Bum, because he has never seen either used as anything healthy.
23. UggggghhhHHHHHHHHH
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Honestly, the hardest part for me to go through is the sexual/romantic parts between Sangwoo and Bum.  😂  Because those are things that are supposed to only be between people who love, respect, and trust each other, and those two up there are so far from that those are not even an option for them. 
Like seriously, this was the part I was dreading reading, but I’m scared about missing a detail that’s important to the rest of the story.
And honestly, the thing that pains me the most is Bum’s response. He really loses himself whenever pleasure is involved. He is so low on feel-good neurotransmitters that he can lose himself in something like this and it really hurts because it makes everything so much worse and I’M DYING. 
24. *wheeze*
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Okay, but this reaction actually made reading this less painful xD I’m dying for a different reason lol
So another poster did mention how this harkens to him most likely having a oral-based trauma. And considering how his mom did rape him before killing herself, this is a very, very likely possibility. 
I also don’t think this connects to him *ahem* “not being gay” because, honestly, getting a blow job doesn’t have to necessarily come from a female. Arguments can be made that a straight man can accept BJs from men. 
But either way, I frkkn agree with Sangwoo because Bum is SCARY. Like. Bum wanting to give Sangwoo a BJ honestly terrifies me too. And it cracks me up that Sangwoo genuinely looks unnerved and confused by Bum’s reaction, it’s hilarious. 
OH WAIT. 
Continuing on, Sangwoo allows Bum to touch his dick??  Huh. I dunno, maybe I just have a screwed perception, but touch seems like more...intimate than a BJ?  BJ has a more superior vibe to it that can easier objectify the giver. So Sangwoo refusing one does support more of the oral-trauma theory. 
25. Ooooh??
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I think it’s really interesting that Koogi decided to not draw Sangwoo’s expression here. 
It really does seem like Sangwoo is only doing this because it’s a way to keep Bum with him. Later, as we see him get more sexual with Bum, we also see him lose more and more of himself to the trauma with his mom. 
26. Okay but this blush
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Awh...he could’ve been such a cutie pie...:’)  Seriously, Sangwoo could’ve been such a good person, both him and Bum could’ve, so it really breaks me knowing that they couldn’t be.
Anyways, I don’t think this blush is in response to the hand job. I do think that the reason why Koogi didn’t show his expression is because Sangwoo was dissociating from the situation. Later, we see him confusing Bum with his mom during sexual moments, so I don’t even think Sangwoo enjoys sex with women. There is too much trauma for him to enjoy sex in general. If I’m correct (I might be able to see it more once we see Jieun), then Sangwoo can only have sex without dissociating if it’s violent and unhealthy. 
The moment he feels pleasure, his mind blanks out. The moment he feels happiness, he tries to destroy it. The moment he feels ‘normal’, his psyche breaks even further. And Bum makes it worse because--as you see here, he doesn’t actually pay attention to anything else but his own pleasure--and he takes things face-value so that he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences.  Bum is just as messed up as Sangwoo, only in a different way, so they both bring out the worst from each other. Which is difficult because the only time they can ‘feel’ the best is with each other. 
Anyways, I think this blush is because of what Bum said: “I wish we could mix together like this”...with...the sperm. God Bum, you’re killing me. 
Anyways, Sangwoo’s reaction is due more to the romantic aspect, with the thought of him and Bum being together forever. For that to happen, he’s willing to let his relationship with Bum be sexual despite how he can’t have a healthy sexual relationship. 
Yeah, okay, it was important for me not to skip that part, I can accept defeat. OTL
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