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rocorambles · 4 years ago

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A Game of Cat and Mouse

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Cop and Criminal AU (Cop Iwaizumi, Criminal Reader), NSFW, Sex Toys, Degradation, Overstimulation, Bondage

Summary: Bad girls get punished. And criminals who go out of their way to make Iwaizumi’s life hell on a routine basis deserve extra special punishment.

Author’s Note: This is for the NSFW Haikyuu HQ Gifting Event! @multifandhoem I hope you enjoy~ (I really got carried away with the plot in this fic. One day I will learn how to write porn without plot, but for now, please accept my porn with way too much plot.)

Irritating Iwaizumi Hajime might be your favorite activity in the world. There’s just something so satisfying about watching his usually calm and stoic face shatter into an angry feral mess. And maybe, just maybe, something deep in your belly stirs as he growls and snarls at you, something primal in you writhing in excitement as he bares his teeth at you and chases you.

You’ve lived a life of sins and crimes for as long as you can remember, but hard work has taken you a long way. So really, there isn’t any need for you to continue your petty thieving ways. You’re set for life with the money you’ve accrued from the countless successful exchanges you’ve made. It’s almost obscene just how much people are willing to pay for a few shiny stones or swatches of paint on a canvas.

And yet you can’t help yourself from revisiting your bad habits of creeping in the shadows, analyzing floor plans, strategizing routes. Only now, your plans are centered around a brooding spiky haired cop with the most beautiful green eyes you’ve ever seen instead of the number of zeros at the end of a number.

You don’t know exactly what about Iwaizumi resonates so strongly with you. Sure, he’s handsome, but you’ve run into your fair share of handsome officers. You dare say Officer Sawamura could give Iwaizumi a run for his money in the looks department.

Maybe it’s the hints of wildness you see underneath his straight-laced façade.

Maybe it’s the fire you see blazing behind his reserved countenance.

Whatever it is has you keeping tabs on him, has you concocting plans just sloppy enough for Iwaizumi to get tantalizingly close to you, but put together enough to have you escaping his grasp each and every time. And you cackle at the way his eyes light up when he thinks he has you pinned down, only to furiously scowl at your retreating figure when you taunt him with a flirtatious air kiss and a cheeky “maybe next time, sir”.

It’s an endless game of cat and mouse, but you don’t think you’ll ever tire of it. And you’re beginning to suspect that even Iwaizumi finds it amusing to a certain degree.

You had been at a loss for words when the officer had merely trudged into the jewelry store you had been waiting for him in at your last heist, only to casually lean against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you holding the store’s most expensive strings of diamonds and pearls in your hands, teasingly holding them up to his face. And you hesitantly lower your arm, unsure what to do as the silence and stillness of the night stretches.

There’s no growled threats or pointed firearm in your face like there usually would be right about now. And you swear there’s a hint of a smirk on the handsome face across from you as the two of you just stand there, stuck in the strange heady tension filling the air.

But you almost drop everything you’re holding at Iwaizumi’s next words.

“If you want my attention that badly, there are better ways of going about it.”

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to laugh as your trademark smirk falls off the lower unmasked part of your face and he confidently saunters over to you, strong arms boxing you in against the glass counter, enjoying the rush of power he feels about the tables finally turning as you shyly look anywhere but at him. And something roars triumphantly inside of him when you gasp as he hooks his hand under your chin and forces you to meet him gaze on.

“I’ve spent the last few months wracking my brain for answers. Why were you suddenly committing so many meaningless robberies? Robberies of stores and items so far beneath your caliber? Was it just coincidence that you were only committing crimes on the routes and nights I was working? Was I just imagining that it seemed like you were actively trying to avoid injuring me every time we clashed? None of it made any sense. But then your stupid flirting started and it made me think that maybe there was some rhyme and reason to your suddenly erratic behavior after all.”

There’s silence as he lets you register his words and the rattling of jewelry as he plucks the expensive strands out of your hands and carelessly tosses them back in their case. But he softly smiles when you don’t deny his words and make no move to push him away or escape.

“I believe in new beginnings and fresh starts, so when you’re done with your thieving ways, come find me. I’m curious about the woman under the mask.”

It’s weeks before you have the courage to even secretly trail after Iwaizumi again after that encounter and even then, you don’t do anything but keep watch over him.

His words echo in your mind and you don’t have the urge to steal and ring an alarm to beckon him towards you. Not when the greatest treasure of all is just within your grasp whenever you’re ready to summon the will to finally reveal your identity and meet him person to person in broad daylight instead of slithering around each other in the twisted tango of cop and criminal.

But you aren’t ready yet and you merely keep tabs on him for now, curiosity and protectiveness getting the better of you, and if Iwaizumi notices the moving shadow that seems to follow him wherever he goes, he doesn’t bring attention to it. There’s something comforting, maybe even endearing, about how you’ve become a guardian angel of sorts to him, especially with the increasing body count and grizzly crimes being committed. And although he wishes you were safe and sound, tucked far away from the ricocheting bullets and corpses, his heart warms at the bouquet of lilies he finds on his doorsteps when he stumbles back home, empty and defeated, the weight of his partner’s death from a particularly bloody shootout still fresh on his mind.

There’s no note, no letter, but he knows. Knows that it could only be you, knows that no one outside of his team or the criminals they had been fighting with could possibly know about the death so soon unless they happened to witness the scene. And that night he sobs himself to sleep, clutching your flowers to his chest, unaware of the way you forlornly stare at him from the roof across the street, heart aching and wishing more than anything that you weren’t such a coward, that you were brave enough to slip inside and comfort him in person.

But life has a funny way of working, of not caring if you’re ready or not and your lives crash together once more in an unexpected way.

Iwaizumi is promoted to lead the new task force aimed at squashing down the rising crime syndicates. You’re proud of him, but you can’t quell the anxiety that courses through you as you watch every raid that takes place, wondering if and when the day will come where he’ll be outmaneuvered, keeping your own skills sharp, praying that you’ll never have to use them again, but just in case…

And you thank whoever’s listening that you had kept up with your training as Iwaizumi’s team is ambushed and overpowered one night. Your heart drops and bile rises in your throat as officer after officer crumples to the floor, but you force yourself to calm down, to find an internal steady rhythm as you glide through the shadows, swiftly and secretly making your way towards the man you’ve become so attached to.

You fight down the panic when you finally reach him, try to still the tremble in your hands as you quickly scan the growing dark red stain spreading across his shirt from his wounds, almost collapsing in relief when you find that they’re all superficial wounds, nothing life threatening or critical.

The silent scuffle between the two of you is awful and you’re thankful that blood loss and pain have weakened him as you forcefully drag him away, nails gripping tightly into his skin as you roughly lead him to your apartment despite his struggling, despite his desperate desire to go back and help his few remaining teammates. And you’re both fiercely snarling at each other when you’re finally safe inside your apartment, fury raging in both of you as you snap at each other.

“You should have let me stay and help!”

“So that you could end up dead like the rest of them? You were clearly outpowered and outnumbered!”

“Well you should have just let me die then, instead of helping me escape like a coward.”

A resounding crack echoes throughout the room and it takes you some time to register the smarting pain in the palm of your hand and the fresh red mark on Iwaizumi’s cheek. But before you can even stutter an apology, a hand is fisting the front of your shirt and lips are crashing against yours in an angry impassioned act and you whimper as you are forced to taste his frustration and gratitude, his losses and gain, his despair and hope.

And when he disconnects and the two of you gasp for much needed oxygen, you stand in the middle of your apartment, arms wrapped around each other, only the sounds of Iwaizumi’s sobs and your comforting words flitting through the air as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and you rub soothing patterns on his back.

The rest of the night is a domestic peaceful drawl and you gently lead Iwaizumi to an armchair in your living room before scurrying away to rummage for your first aid kit and returning to kneel between his legs as you clean his injuries, apologizing as he winces at the sting of warm water and soap against his open wounds. There’s a soothing flow as you tend to him and you relax with every swipe of the towel, fingers and hands lingering just a tad longer than they should on his skin. But you stiffen when his uninjured arm raises and calloused fingers lightly trace the bottom of your mask.

There’s an unspoken question in the way he delicately plays around with the corners of the fabric, but it seems deafening to you as your heart races. Maybe it’s the pure intentions in his eyes or the fact that your walls are weakened in the confines of your apartment, but either way, you don’t pull away, tilting your head up and stilling in silent confirmation. And something flutters in your chest as he gingerly removes your mask, heat rising to your face as green eyes stare at your face in awe for the first time, fingertips tracing every inch and line, mapping every groove reverently.

It feels like eternity before you resume dipping the towel into the soapy water and treating him. But bandaged and deemed well, Iwaizumi is ushered to your shower and you shove a pile of clean towels and the largest loungewear you have into his hands, fully intent on locking him in the bathroom as you get a grip on yourself. But he has different plans in mind and you’re speechless as he firmly grasps your wrist before you can retreat with your tail between your legs.

“Stay with me. Please.”

How could you possibly deny those honest eyes?

Swipes of a soapbar against skin become intimate caresses and before you fully register what’s happening, you’re being pressed against the wall as Iwaizumi plunders your mouth, rough hands roaming all over your body as he fully explores everything you have to offer. You whimper as the hot water is suddenly turned off, the cold air crashing against you, but you let out a content sigh as a hot body wraps you in its embrace, carrying you to the sanctuary of your plush bedding. And all you know before you blissfully pass out is the sound of your wanton moans as you break apart over and over again, on Iwaizumi’s tongue, fingers, and cock, tears and drool cascading down your face as you alternate between begging for more and crying for him to let you rest before you ultimately pass out from the deliriously overwhelming ecstasy.

The sun is barely creeping in, a few slim tendrils slipping past the cracks of your window blinds when his eyes flutter open and something warm spreads in his chest as he slowly turns to observe your still soundly sleeping figure, a small upward quirk of his lips betraying how right it feels to wake up beside your vulnerable state. And although he can’t deny the allure of your body creeping through the night, he thinks that you’re the most beautiful like this, unmasked and body unconsciously seeking his presence and warmth as you curl into his space, your face nuzzling into his chest, head perfectly settled under his chin, the soft glow of sunlight enhancing your natural beauty.

But he grimaces as his alarm continues to blaringly ring in the background, frowning as he reluctantly separates himself from you and carefully untangles himself from your bed sheets, quietly traipsing out of your room and dialing a number on his phone when he’s out of your earshot.

Guilt and dread claw at him as the ringtone goes on and on and his throat is dry when he hears the authoritative voice through the speakers.

“Iwaizumi? Are you okay?!”

Iwaizumi wishes he had a glass of water as he chokes out a polite greeting and he can feel hot tears prick at his eyes as he ceaselessly apologizes. Apologizing for abandoning his men. Apologizing for a failed mission. Apologizing for being such a failure as an officer, as a leader.

But he quickly shuts up at the sharp tone that pierces his ear as Sawamura barks his name and he waits and waits, holding his breath, preparing to give up his badge, only to splutter in surprise at the warm relieved chuckle echoing across the speaker.

“I’m glad you’re at least well enough to give me a headache with your wallowing. Good men died and we’re going to feel their loss for a long time. I won’t deny that. But no one blames you, Iwaizumi. You’re a good man, a great officer, and an even better leader. Rest up, grieve, mourn. Do whatever you need to do for the next few days. And when you’re ready, I expect to see you in my office so we can strategize about how we’re going to honor our fallen teammates by giving these criminals hell.”

He barely has time to stammer a “yes, sir” before the line clicks shut and the tears finally roll down his face as he clutches his phone in his hands, bittersweet gratefulness and sorrow blending together. And as his cries come to an end, a determined glint flickers in his eyes as he wipes the last of the salty trails away, the resolve of a man seeking vengeance forming inside of him.

But that could wait until he was back in the swirl and chaos of the precinct. For now, he has other loose ends to tie and he quietly walks back to your room, smiling at the sight of your still slumbering figure nestled in your blankets as he makes his way towards you, intent on slipping back underneath the covers besides you. But he lets out a muffled pained curse as his foot knocks over a box besides your bed, the crash of objects dispersing across the wood floor rattling you awake, and you blearily blink your eyes open only to stare in shock and horror as Iwaizumi curiously holds up a set of black bondage restraints and a jeweled butt plug from among the scattered items, before sending an amused look and a quirked brow your way.

If you were drowsy before, you’re wide awake now as you lunge out of bed, throwing yourself at Iwaizumi as you frantically try to regain possession of some of your most intimate belongings, pouting when he holds the items out of reach, a mischievous grin on his face as he looks down at you.

“Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

You pause your futile jumping as you try and bat your toys out of his hands, balking at the underlying meaning in his question, waiting for him to just laugh it off and move on. But when all he does is bring a warm hand to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone as he patiently gazes at you, letting you make the final decision, you melt and lean into his touch, shyly nodding your head as you blissfully sigh at the way it feels so right for him to be touching you.

“Words, princess. I’m not going to be gentle. Not after all the teasing and headaches you’ve caused me. So I need to be sure you’re ok with this, that it’s what you want.”

Brief descriptions of red, yellow, and green are barely out of your mouth before you’re suddenly being forcefully shoved onto the bed, body instinctively flailing in self-defense as you try to register what’s happening while binds are roughly being wrapped around your wrists and ankles. But you mewl in arousal as Iwaizumi’s weight settles on top of you, his hard chest pressing you against the bed as he dexterously ties you up until you’re in a spread-eagled position underneath him, unable to move even an inch. And your breath hitches at the hungry look he pins you down with as he sits back and enjoys the view of your trussed up body on complete display for him.

But you grow impatient as the minutes drag by and Iwaizumi gives you an unimpressed look as you begin to fight against your restraints, whining for him to get on with it already. And he shuts you up with a punishing pinch to your inner thigh that has you yelping before getting up from the bed and perusing your box of toys.

You crane your neck in every way as you try to get a sneak peek of what he has in store for you, but Iwaizumi puts that idea to a screeching halt as he slips a blindfold around your head and all you know is darkness and anticipation. Despite the way you try to intently listen for any warning, you squeal in surprise when a hot wet mouth latches onto one of your nipples, fingers tweaking the other and your entire world narrows down to your two perky buds, the lewd wet sounds of sucking filling your ears. Mouth and hands alternate and you can’t keep up with the fluctuating patterns, your breath coming out in pants, your pussy beginning to glisten with arousal, and you sigh in relief when the assault stops, glad to have a moment of reprieve, only to wail when the intense pressure of nipple clamps sears through you, the cold weight of the chain connecting the two clamps piercing your senses as it settles onto your skin.

Pain and pleasure echo through your mind so loudly that you don’t sense Iwaizumi moving until fingers suddenly slip inside your dripping pussy and your back arches, the nipple clamp chain jingling with the movement and a rush of humiliation courses through you when Iwaizumi chuckles, commenting on how wet you are already.

“I was going to prep you a bit more, but looks like this cock hungry hole is more than ready.”

You’re practically salivating as something hard nudges against your entrance, already delirious just from the prospect of being filled with Iwaizumi’s cock once again, but enthusiasm turns to confusion which turns to pleasured shock as your rabbit vibrator is shoved inside of you and immediately set to its highest setting, your clit and walls stimulated so sharply, so suddenly.

It’s so good, but it’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s not what you want.

“Haji-Hajime, please. Want to cum on your cock. Don’t want a toy! Too much. At least turn it down. Haji-AHHHH!”

You scream as you’re forced to an orgasm, body convulsing, jaw going slack, and you wait for the toy to be removed, wait for the settings to be lowered, only for dread and disbelief to fill you as a sticky thick substance is being inserted into your puckered hole, a lubed finger slowly entering you, taking its time to explore and spread your tight hole as the vibrator continues to ravage your pussy and clit at full intensity. And drool begins to seep from the corners of your mouth as you tumble headfirst into overstimulation as a plug replaces the fingers inside of your ass, nestling inside of you as you come to terms with the overwhelming feeling of being double stuffed.

“Ha-Hajime please please please. Too much. I can’t-”

The plug inside of you is teasingly pulled just enough for you to feel the stretch of your hole, only to be shoved inside you once again and words are too hard to think of as the vibrator is thrust in and out of you, the slick sounds of your gushing cunt embarrassingly loud even above your whimpers.

“Maybe I should make you cum for every robbery you ever committed. Maybe then you’ll actually behave and be a law-abiding citizen. Would you like that? Being too fucked out to even think about breaking the law?”

“No! Please! I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I swear. Just please let me rest.”

“Sorry, princess. Bad girls need to be punished.”

A strangled sob escapes you as the vibrator is pushed even deeper inside of you, the smaller tip grinding even further into your clit and your cries are swallowed as Iwaizumi settles besides you, affectionately capturing your lips with his as he watches you break apart once again, smirking as your body and face try to draw closer to him, seeking comfort and relief as overwhelming pleasure drowns you.

But he doesn’t stop. Not even when your begging and pleading turns into incoherent babbles and wanton noises. Not even when you’re too tired to even move, your body only twitching here and there from overstimulation, completely slack and mindless as pleasure melts your brain into mush.

Only when the vibrator finally runs out of batteries hours later, the mechanical whirring coming to an end, does he finally relieve you of the object and you dazedly stare at him as he removes your tear-stained blindfold, slumping in relief that it’s finally over, wanting nothing more than to curl up in Iwaizumi’s arms and sleep for a long, long time.

But he has other plans for the two of you and even in your exhausted state, your eyes fling wide open and you weakly whimper as he positions himself in between your legs, guiding his cock to your spent hole and easily slipping inside before caging you with his arms.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden intrusion and despite how wrecked you are, how used you feel, arousal once again begins to coil up inside of you as your walls accommodate the new object.

All you can think about is the cock inside of you. All you can think about is the way it fills and stretches you. All you can think about is the way it drags against your sensitive walls as Iwaizumi begins to piston his hips in a brutal steady rhythm.

The room is a cacophony of Iwaizumi’s grunts, your broken moans, the sound of skin slapping against skin and you can feel yourself losing to the pleasure as the now all too familiar knot in your stomach tightens once again, your body tensing and pulling taut against your restraints as something builds up inside of you.

Iwaizumi isn’t doing much better, so pent up from watching you beautifully fall apart over and over again in front of him, so close to the real thing as he hovers above you, memorizing the blissed out look on your face, mentally recording every gorgeous sound that slips past your lips, and this time it’s all because of him.

He increases his pace, groaning as your walls tighten around him as if they don’t ever want him to leave them empty, something feral inside of him howling as your mouth opens in a silent scream as you crash one last time, your body shaking and trembling, your cunt spasming around him as he spills long thick stripes inside of you.

When there’s nothing left to give, every last drop of his essence deep within you, your body boneless and limp beneath him, he gently lays on top of you, burying his face in the space besides yours, murmuring praises and words of affirmation as he blankets your body with his.

And when you finally come back to him, eyes looking a little more clear, voice regaining your sassy tone as you demand that he undo your restraints, he’s more than happy to oblige, carefully releasing you, rubbing every sore limb, letting you use him as your personal body pillow as you throw your arms and legs around him and bury your face into his chest, almost instantly falling into a deep exhausted slumber in the safety of his presence.

There will be proper, much needed conversations and discussions when the two of you are both awake, sitting across each other with steaming mugs of coffee placed in front of you, hesitantly yet hopefully probing for answers. What are the two of you? What does the future hold for both of you?

But for now, Iwaizumi lets his eyes shut, lets himself be lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as he holds you close to him, protectively curling around you as sleep embraces him.

#haikyuu smut #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #Iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime #haikyuu x reader

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sevlgi · 4 years ago

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I need u

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: angst

contents: pyromaniac!reader, based on bts hyyh universe. [26/33]

warnings: fire, mental health issues, mentions of abuse, death, mild violence, suicide attempt

synopsis: Rosé would be nothing without your fire, but what happens when she’s the one who has to rescue you from it?

a/n: DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ: this is not meant to portray a healthy relationship in any way. this is based off of a music video, the HYYH series to be exact, and is not meant to reflect how I think rosé would act. PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNING

word count: 1.7k

Before she met you, Chaeyoung didn’t think she was missing anything.

Sure, she knew that it wasn’t exactly normal to be so indifferent about everything, to not feel an ounce of passion for a single thing in her life.

As soon as you first blazed into her life, though, it all became so much clearer. There was so much fire behind your eyes, the intensity of your feelings fueling you in an incredible explosion that was too close to burning you up for comfort. Where she was calm and level-headed, you were impulsive, the fervor you felt for your dreams the direct opposite of her slow pace.

And suddenly, she felt things that she had never had before. Chaeyoung finally experienced the butterflies she read about, something that might even be called love.

Either way, she was fascinated by everything about you. Your fires and your storms, your passions and your anger, everything that formed the blazing light that illuminated her darkness.

She needed you-- Chaeyoung knew that she was nothing without you. Without your fire, she was just a trickling stream, cool and silent in a way that no one would miss.

But slowly, that intensity to you began to scare her. The sheer passion you held burned you up from the inside out, too much fuel and not enough time or room to contain it. The calluses on your hands from playing piano in the middle of the night became the imprint of a lighter’s ridge, the excitement you felt at mastering a new piece becoming fury at the world around you.

You didn’t seem to love anymore, only hate. And that meant you didn’t love her anymore, which was what scared Chaeyoung the most.

Because she needed you, and you were burning up like the last sparks of a bonfire in the last night of summer.

“Does it hurt?”

Shrugging to hide her wince when you touched the bruise on her cheek, Chaeyoung assured you, “It doesn’t. Promise.”

It did nothing to quell the anger furrowing your brow, but you sighed and turned back to the cloudy gray sky, legs swinging over the side of the trailer. Below the two of you, the sounds of your friends playing echoed, scaring away the crows perched opposite you. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” the lavender-haired girl asked, her hand cold compared to your warm one. “It’s not your fault.”

“It might not be,” you agreed, reaching over to brush some hair out of Chaeyoung’s eyes. Somehow, you were unaware of the effect you had on her. “But I still hate it. There’s just so much wrong with the world around us.”

Chaeyoung huffed out a breath through her nose, crossing her legs. “Don’t say that, Y/N. Aren’t you always the one telling me to see the brightness of things?”

Frowning, you got the lighter out of your pocket again, your thumb rolling over the ridge mindlessly. “Yeah. But I was wrong whenever I told you that, Rosie. You can’t believe that. Just look at your face- strangers did that to you, just for bumping into them.”

“It’s not their fault,” she tried, watching as the hem of your jacket was nearly singed. “They were angry. You’re angry, too, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t hit someone if you were mad enough.”

You looked over to her disbelievingly. “I wouldn’t. God, Chaeyoung, who do you think I am? I wouldn’t hit someone, never mind you, not unless they hit me first.”

“Good.”

After some silence between the two of you, you began flicking at the lighter again, the clicks louder than they should’ve been almost a story above the ground. “We should leave someday.”

“Leave?” Chaeyoung cocked her head at you, tapping a stray rock she found on the blue-painted metal of the trailer’s roof. “What, all of us? To where, Y/N? Where would we go that would accept us?”

Sprawling out on the roof, despite all the dead leaves and dirt surrounding you, you watched the clouds go by and sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that none of us can stay here, jagiyah. Seoul, maybe, or somewhere else in the world. Your English is good, we can survive.”

She let out a breathless laugh, scooting back so that you could lay your head on her thigh. Plucking the lighter out of your hand, she blew the fire out and tossed it aside. “Maybe. Would we go to America?”

“Where do you want to go?” You squinted up at her, the sky reflected in your eyes. “I’ll go anywhere you and the others want to.”

“What about Australia?” Chaeyoung giggled. “I’ve always liked their accents.”

“Australia, then,” you agreed, smiling up at her. It was moments like this that she would forever treasure, just talking about the possibilities of the future with you. No matter how hopeless it was, you had each other to brave through all of it, and it was enough to make her want to keep going.

Jennie appeared from below the trailer, her hands steady on the railing leading up. “What about Australia?” she grinned, Lisa hitting her from behind to make her go faster. “Yah, Lisa!”

“Y/N, stop it!”

Chaeyoung grasped futilely at you as you shattered a glass bottle on the concrete stairs leading up to your bedroom, screaming out as the spray of leftover alcohol hit you. With a shove, all the empty bottles on top of your dresser smashed to the floor, your unhealthy coping methods creating an even larger mess to have to clean up.

She rushed at you, arms wrapping around you in an attempt to stop you from doing anything else you’d regret. You only laughed and swayed, your girlfriend’s hands digging harder into your back. “Let go, Rosie.”

“No, not until you stop,” she panted, feeling her eyes sting as she squeezed. “Please-”

Once you found that your struggling was futile, your hands shot out, pushing at Chaeyoung’s stomach hard enough to slam her into the wall away from you. She gasped, even though it didn’t really hurt, sliding to the floor as you stumbled away. “Told you to let me go,” you snapped, stumbling over your own two feet as you backed away.

Desperation hit her, desperation to bring you out of your alcohol-induced fit, and she lunged forward, her hand bracing on your chest before her fist connected with your face.

There wasn’t much power behind the hit, but under the influence, you collapsed onto the stairs next to the remaining shards of glass, coughing out as you felt blood on the corner of your mouth. Chaeyoung hauled you up, her hands fisting in your shirt as she begged, “Come back, Y/N. Please, I need you.”

“You need me?” Once again, the sheer fury in your eyes was scaring her, seeming somehow cold in all its blazing glory. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to live without me. I’m gone, Chaeyoung, I’m leaving. I’m leaving this-- this shitty town, and you’re coming with me.”

The lavender-haired girl practically sobbed out, “I’m not! I’m still in school, Y/N, I can’t go without you. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Instead of a response, you twisted hard, flinging Chaeyoung onto the couch by the stairs and walking off. “Y/N! Jagiyah, don’t-”

The door slammed behind you, and she could only stare up at the ceiling to push down the boiling tears welling behind her eyes.

Where did it all go so wrong?

The lighter was warm from how long you had held it, an imprint of the switch seemingly permanent in the side of your thumb.

Your initials and your girlfriend’s were scratched in the cheap plastic; every time you bought a new one, you did the same thing. Recently, you’d started using the dull knives you could find in motels and other places.

After the day you threatened to leave, you were evicted. That made it easier than it ever had been to just up and leave, the only possessions you owned being the flannel Chaeyoung lent you and the clothes on your back, but for some reason, you stayed.

She had just graduated the night before, and you had asked her to finally go with you. Even Lisa was ready to leave, and all it took was Chaeyoung coming to your motel room.

Glancing over at the clock, you sighed, realizing that it was 4 hours past when she said she’d arrive. The plan was to pick her up, then go to Jisoo’s, where you could steal her brother’s car and leave, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards any longer.

Hauling yourself up, you seized the open tub of kerosene, splashing it all over the room. It soaked the sheets, the rugs, until your bare feet were wet with the liquid where you stood. Alcohol, anything that could be burned- you poured it all over the room and yourself, staring at the blank screen of your phone. I’m so sorry, Chaeyoung.

The lighter thudded to the floor and orange light lit up the room.

“Shit,” the girl gasped when she saw the smoke billowing out the window of what she knew to be your hotel room. Her bags were dropped to the floor as she pulled out her phone and charged for the motel, banging the door open faster than she needed to.

“Excuse me, young- hey!”

Chaeyoung ignored the receptionist yelling at her, turning the corner onto the stairs as she called the fire department. “H-hi, there’s a fire. Yes, in the motel on the corner of Main, please get here as fast as you can!”

She kicked your door open, gasping when she found you lying on the bed amidst the flames. Covering her face with the sleeve of her jacket, she rushed in, shaking you. “Y/N, get up. Y/N!”

The lighter, she realized, was on the floor. That couldn’t have been a mistake- you never let it out of your sight.

Either way, she looped her arms underneath yours, struggling to pull you out without touching any of the flames. “Come on, Y/N,” she groaned, hissing when she stepped right by the fire.

“I need you.”

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bestie-enthusiast · 3 years ago

Text

A Means To An End

Summary: After chasing a lead into a neaby building, Sam and Bucky get to see a more... vunrable side of the Baron.

This fic is inspired by @morganbritton132

They had been chasing a lead, one of the cars that supposedly belonged to the Flag Smashers had been spotted outside of a small theatre. They had speculated it was a supply stop, or maybe a place to lay low. Zemo had taken them, in a surprisingly non-attention-drawing car, to about a block away from the theatre, and they started to walk the rest of the way there.

“It is privately owned, from what I understand.” Zemo explained to them. “The owners, most likely powerful and influential individuals, are either unaware of what's going on, or are actively supporting the group.”

Sam nodded, “Makes sense to me. Do we have to worry about them being there?” Zemo shook his head.

“Most likely not. They would have no reason to be inside unless they are also super soldiers.” Sam hummed in agreement and turned to Bucky, who had been silent.

“Are you good, man?” He asked quietly as they grew closer to the theatre.

“This feels like a trap.” Bucky grumbled, glaring at the small, but lavish, building that they had stopped in front of. “They’ve been staying at the camps and keeping supplies there. This feels out of character.”

Sam frowned, “Well maybe they needed a place to lay low, they know we’ve been tracking the houses they’ve been staying at, so maybe this is how they're trying to throw us off?” Bucky nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Zemo led them into the theatre, effortlessly navigating the building. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared. As they wound their way deeper and deeper into the building, Bucky seemed to grow more and more agitated, until he froze.

“Bucky?” Sam asked worriedly, looking at the range of emotions passing over his friend's face.

“Shh,” Bucky hissed quietly, tilting his head towards a wall. Sam barely had the time to open his mouth when an explosion rocked the building. He felt something hit his head, and passed out.

Sam blinked awake, groaning at the dryness of his mouth. It took a few moments for him to remember what happened, but he didn’t feel too bad, so he assumed everything was good. He wasn’t completely covered in the ruins of the theatre, which is good, and after relieving himself of the rest of it, everything seemed to be intact, aside from some bruising and some cuts.

He looked around and spotted Bucky, who seemed to be just waking up as well, and walked over to help him up. Not that he needed it.

After the two of them had (somewhat subty) looked over the other for any signs of damage, they set about scouring the building for anything of use. Bucky was walking with a limp, and Sam had a minor concussion, but they were both still breathing and alive. They stumbled through, leaning on the other or on the nearest (standing) wall whenever they needed it.

That was when Sam remembered Zemo, and Bucky heard a voice.

“Fuck.” They said in unison, looking at the other in surprise.

“Zemo,” Sam explained in a single word, watching as Bucky let out a tense sigh.

“I heard someone.” Bucky said back, looking in the direction he had heard a whimper. It was very faint, but still present. “We don’t know who was in here. Could be a civilian.” Sam nodded and Bucky led them in the direction he heard the cry. As Bucky and Sam grew closer, Bucky was able to discern the voice as a sort of pained mewling, someone on the edge of hysteria that threatened to consume them. Sam also grew more concerned as Bucky led them into a more unstable and ruined part of the theatre.

The pathetic cry’s grew louder as the drew near to the source, and the weakness and vulnerability in them was the reason neither Sam nor Bucky thought that it could possibly be the missing Baron until they laid eyes upon him.

Zemo, in short, looked like a mess. A cut on his hairline was pouring blood down his face as the man curled in on himself. His hands were bleeding, the skin on his fingers rubbed raw after being used to scratch as concrete and metal. His appearance and injuries weren't the worst part though, no the worst part was what he was saying.

“Heike, Carl, Papa.” Over and over, like a mantra. Even as he choked on dust he continued to repeat the phrase. His voice sounded wrecked, ripped to shreds by screams no one had heard. It was very clear that Zemo just wasn’t there. He was not present as he repeated those three words even as he gasped for air and his voice cracked and crumbled.

Sam reacted before Bucky, gently calling out to Zemo. Even as he raised his voice Zemo did not respond, not even a flinch at the volume. Bucky tried next. He gently prodded at the Baron’s hands, once again not even eliciting a flinch. Bucky tried again with more force, pressing both of Zemo’s hands tightly against his chest. It was a very tense few moments as the Baron because lucid once again.

The usual sharpness returned to his eyes, although the tears were still present. Zemo blinked at them, and for once the Baron looked ashamed of himself.

“Apologies, you should not have seen that.” The man quietly apologised, wincing at the way his voice cracked. Sam and Bucky both just shook their heads, helping Zemo up. They all stumbled out of the rubble together, and Zemo spared himself a glance at the two men helping him. Bucky had a sort of empathetic understanding in his eyes, eyes far too soft to be looking at a criminal such as himself. Sam gave him a look of understanding, although it felt more like pity than anything. Zemo knew both men had experience with PTSD, but he never wished for them to know he struggled with it as well.

They staggered through the streets, Zemo carefully keeping quiet about the sharp pain in his ankle every time he took a step. It would be better if they just left him alone for some time once they arrived back at his safe house, and they would not leave him alone if they knew the extent of his physical injuries, let alone his mental ones.

And so he kept quiet. When they made it into the safehouse, Zemo let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. He let himself relax minutely now that they were in a safe location. It had been a taxing experience, and all he wished was for some space to once again grieve and mourn for his family. Unfortunately, it did not appear that Sam nor James would be giving him such a privilege, and so he continued to do his best to hold apart his now fragile mask. “So.” Sam said once they had all settled on the couch in the main room of the house. It was a tense, but not unwelcome intrusion into their silence, nevertheless Zemo flinched at the sudden noise.

“So.” He repeated quietly, knowing that as long as he spoke in quiet, quick sentences they would not be able to tell his voice was still quiet ruined and cracking. Zemo resisted the urge to curl up, to bring his feet into his person and rest his chin on his knees. It would be a very childish position and not to mention, vulnerable. It was a very tense few moments before Zemo decided to speak again.

“Do I have your permission to sleep or-” his voice cracked again as he thought of sleep. No doubt it would be nightmare filled. “Or do I have to sit in this st-stifling silence longer?” He could feel himself flush at his simple inability to speak a proper sentence, but silently hoped it would convince Sam and his sympathetic and pity-filled body to let him go.

“Oh, uhh, sure man. Whatever you want.” That was all he needed. He walked as fast as he could, without making it obvious he was eager to leave, to the closest bedroom. He locked the door behind him, relishing in the comfort the simple click brought him. He toed off his shoes and shrugged off all of his clothes sans boxers, and collapsed onto the bed. He started shaking with the effort that it was taking to hold everything, and so he let it out. Every single bit of pain and grief and anguish that he felt as he was relieving the memory. He could taste the dust in the air, remember the pain in his hands that he ignored as he dug his family from underneath the rubble.

It all felt so real, like it was happening again. Like he was truly relieving the worst moments of his entire life again. Like he was- he was experiencing the destruction of his whole world again, he could physically feel the pain in his heart as he recalled the memory.

He sobbed and screamed into the pillows on the bed, shaking like a leaf in a storm all the while. It didn’t take long for the pain to turn into exhaustion and numbness. For the grief to turn into mourning. He let out a shaky breath as his tears started to slow and his shakes turned less violent.

He felt nauseous but all too tired to even think about expelling energy to have something to drink, so instead he focussed on just passing the fuck out.

And hey! It worked.

Or at least he thought it did. He was pretty certain it did. Especially when he opened his eyes to see his papa’s ruined mansion in front of him. He inhaled the scent of dust and smoke, eyes already watering as he stared at the remains of his once luxurious childhood home. He stumbled down to the basement where he knew his bodies would be, solidifying the fact that this was a dream. In reality, it had taken him much longer to search the basement, holding out hope that the caved ceiling wouldn’t be covering their bodies. He stumbled down until he was directly in front of the spot he knew their bodies were buried, and started to dig. He dug and dug even as his hands screamed at him (or was it him screaming?) and the pain became near unbearable, until he was able to make out a small, pale wrist underneath all the rubble.

He clutched it like a lifeline, checking for a pulse for a very long moment. He already knew there wouldn’t be one, but every time he had this dream he still held out hope. He continued to claw at the remains, more careful now, until his entire family was uncovered. And just like every other time he had this nightmare, he carefully checked for pulses, breathing, anything, and just like every other time, there was nothing.

He allowed his tears to fall in the privacy of his family’s ruined home, and hoped to wake soon. If the dream continued on like this, he would be testing the theory of whether or not dying in your dreams can make you die in real life.

Thankfully, he woke up soon after. Although the way in which he woke up was not the most pleasant. He awoke to a loud thudding on his door and someone shouting his name. He felt somewhat delirious and wondered if he had picked up an infection. He grabbed a neatly folded bathrobe off of a chair and pulled it on, tying it loosely as he unlocked and opened the door.

Sam Wilson stood before him, looking uncharastically concerned. Well the man regularly looked concerned, it was just that he was concerned with Zemo that was abnormal.

“What?” Zemo asked tonelessly. He was too emotionally exhausted to use any snark or sarcasm.

“You were screaming,” Sam replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Zemo suddenly felt awkward as well.

“Oh.” He was usually silent during his nightmare, but the day's events appeared to have affected his subconscious more than he had thought. “Apologies.”

“No it's fine, I just… you got me and Buck real concerned earlier, and I thought maybe…” Maybe he had gone into another flashback.

Zemo shook his head, “Just nightmares. I should recover just fine in a few days.” Sam looked nervous, but didn’t push it. He left soon after. As soon as he was out of sight Zemo let out a quiet brief, sagging against his door frame. He knew that the right thing to do would be to talk, to open up and spill out all his vulnerability so that they could pick through it like vultures and decide whether or not he was worth helping. He did not believe he was worth helping, and so he would not do the so called right thing.

He would not bear his soul only to have it crushed.

He would not let himself believe that maybe people did care after all.

Because he was only a means to a necessary end. And there was no need to complicate things further by adding his own emotions into the mix.

No. He would stay strong. This wouldn’t affect his performance on the field, and he would not let it affect his newly acquired acquaintanceship with the two men who assisted him in his escape from prison.

A means to an end. That was it.

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samanthadalton · 4 years ago

Note

Can you do a fanfic of Ina inviting MC to her home for the first time?

I’m working through my requests right now, so thank you anon for this idea- i hope i did it justice 😬)

pairings: Ina x Bea

wordcount: 2k

taglist: @cloud9in (i know theres more ina fans out there so if you wanna be tagged in future fics just let me know 😊)

Whispers of love

Friday night you were sitting in your dorm with Zoey in the middle of your horror movie marathon. You were watching the tv through the small gaps between your fingers, as your hand presses against your face, shielding yourself from the scary parts.

“God why did I agree to a horror marathon?” you squirm in your seat as the killer in the movie is running in pursuit of one of the girls, knife in his hand.

“Because you love me” Zoey retorts, wide-eyed, her gaze never leaving the screen as her hands fishes in the popcorn bowl in front of her. Just as the killer approaches the girl in the movie as raises his knife, your phone suddenly rings, eliciting a series of screams from both you and Zoey.

“Girl! Put your phone on silent! I almost had a heart attack!” Zoey remarks, hand clutching at her chest.

“Sorry” you squeak as you reach out and see Ina’s name flash across the screen. “It’s Ina.”

You look dumbfounded at Zoey who reaches out for the remote to pause the movie as she turns back to you expectedly, “well? Answer it.”

You accept the call, putting it on speaker and gingerly answer the phone with a small hello. On the other side, it’s complete silence from Ina, the background chatter of wherever she is blaring through the phone’s speakers. A few seconds later, Ina replies, her voice low and words slightly slurring, “mmm, Bea is this you?”

“Uh yeah Ina, where are you it sounds loud.”

A few more seconds of silence from Ina passes until you hear rustling, you presume Ina’s trying to get her bearings, “I’m at a bar. The name and location of it is currently unknown to me,” her voice slightly falters but even as a drunk, the articulation of Ina’s words is still pretty formidable. “I went out drinking with an old friend, but it seems that she has found company in the man who sent her a drink and so I’m here drinking.”

Zoey snorts, “that sounds familiar,” you roll your eyes in retort and playfully nudge her.

“Do you have a way to get home Ina?”

“No! I’ve found some new friends and they’re celebrating so I’m celebrating with them” you hear very high pitched screeching in the background and you instinctively jerk your phone away from yourself, grimacing. You can’t help but laugh when Ina suddenly raises her voice, trying to match the level of the music as she belts out the lyrics, “Ina stay put I’m coming” you scream into the phone and you turn to Zoey your expression apologetic.

Before you can speak, Zoey interrupts, “go get your woman,” she laughs as you hug your best friend and make your way to your bedroom, quickly slipping into some jeans, phone to your ear as Ina is still on the line as you slip on your shoes and run into the night.

Zoey sits in the living room, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her, she presses play, resuming the movie but when a sudden clang from outside startles her, she quickly pauses the movie and shoots straight to her room, “hell no. I’m not watching this on my own.”

You keep Ina talking the entire cab ride to the bar, as you finally manage to scrounge up a name and address after Ina hands over the phone to a random woman who gives you the information you need. When you enter the bar, you see a very happy Ina, encircled by a bunch of drunk women who are clearly in the middle of a bachelorette party, singing and attempting to dance but looking more like a bunch of fish out of water. Ina squeals and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you close, “Bea, have you met my new friends? Hey guys this is Bea!” she screams as she lets go of you to grab another shot from the table next to her. So much for her being able to keep her usual composure when drunk.

A few of the women cheer at the sound of Ina’s announcement. One of them abruptly grabs you by your hand tugging you close to her, “so you’re Bea.” You raise an inquisitive eyebrow and nod at the stranger as she leans in, her lips hovering over the shell of your ear, “Ina would not stop talking about you. She’s definitely a keeper.” You’re unable to suppress a smile as you glance over at Ina, who’s currently dancing rambunctiously to the music, “yeah she definitely is.” After a few moans and groans from the professor you finally manage to convince her to come home with you.

Ina wraps an arm around your shoulder, while you firmly grip her waist supporting her, as she stumbles her way out of the bar. You hail a cab and usher Ina inside, and after a series of low rumblings, she grumbles out her address and it dawns on you that it’s going to be your first time seeing Ina’s apartment.

When you reach Ina’s house, you climb out of the car and hold out a hand for Ina which she gladly accepts, her hand sliding into yours, emitting warmth all over your body. She fumbles with the keys in her hands, struggling to open the door, so you decide to take matters into your own hands and unlock the door yourself. As you enter Ina’s place, you carefully maneuver her to the couch, which she practically collapses on. Once Ina’s settled on the couch, your eyes immediately begin to drift around the room, it’s tinier than your dorm room but it’s humble and quintessentially Ina. There’s a bookshelf, smaller than the one Ina has in her office, but it’s filled with books ranging from anthropology to a whole bunch of sci-fi novels and other nerdy things that Ina is into. Plastered on her walls are framed photographs of her with her sister Lillian and niece Charlotte and you take a moment to appreciate the photos, your heart melting at the cuteness overload.

Ina begins grumbling, her hand clasping at her hand as she winces, you quickly move towards her, sitting at the edge of the sofa, “you should have some coffee, it will sober you up.” Ina gingerly nods and you move towards the kitchen and find a high tech coffee maker in the corner of the counter. You make a cup of coffee for Ina and a tea for yourself as you pass the cup to Ina who gazes at you, grateful.

She drinks her coffee in silence and your eyes once again drift over to the room, Ina notices you appraising her home, “So what do you think?” her voice low but more sober than before.

“Your home is beautiful Ina, you weren't kidding when you said Belvoire pays well.”

Ina chuckles before shaking her head slightly, “When I imagined introducing you to my home, I didn’t think I would be a drunken mess.”

“Yeah you’re an absolute trainwreck” you teasingly retort, Ina blushes furiously and hangs her head in embarrassment.

“I apologize Bea, I didn’t mean to disrupt your evening or anything by bailing me out,”

You look at the professor solemnly and place your hand on her thigh, “it’s fine Ina. I mean I’ve never seen you drunk before so it was freaking hilarious to watch. And you saved me, Zoey insisted on watching horror movies but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep for a week after that.” Ina laughs, but groans slightly as she grips her head, “that hangover is not going to be pretty so I suggest you get some sleep.”

Ina winces and nods, “yes, I think that’s a good idea.” You move off your chair to help guide Ina to her bedroom but she moves her body, laying on the couch, sleep already infiltrating her senses. You find a blanket tucked under the coffee table and cover Ina with it, tucking her in.

You place a soft kiss on Ina’s forehead but before you pull away you hear Ina whisper, “ I love you” and you suddenly freeze. You cautiously look over at Ina who falls back into her slumber, most likely unaware of what she’s just said. You warily move over to the chair near the couch and settle in for the night.

The next morning Ina jerks awake, her sleep broken by sudden noises, shifting her head towards the kitchen to see you hovering over the stove making scrambled eggs.

“Hey,” Ina says, brows furrowed as she looks at you, a confused expression on her face.

“Ina, hey, I’m sorry did I wake you?” You look over at Ina who looks a little worse for wear, but she slowly shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine.”

She rubs her temples with her fingers and you point towards the coffee table, “I’ve left some aspirin and water for you.” Ina eagerly downs the medicine and downs the water, not stopping until the glass is completely empty. “I made breakfast” you stalk towards the living room, two hot plates in your hand as you set them down on the table, handing Ina a fork who hungrily chows down on the food.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you Bea, but what exactly happened last night?” worry etched all over her face as she nervously makes eye contact with you.

“You got a little drunk, made some new friends and I brought you home.”

Ina gulps uneasily, “so we didn’t?” she trails off.

You stare at Ina, dumbfounded until realisation dawns on you, “no Ina, oh my god. Nothing happened. I just brought you home” you respond reassuringly, Ina musters a small smile before resuming eating.

She suddenly breaks the silence, guilt flashing across her face, “not that I don’t want anything to happen between us Bea. I mean we’ve already established a relationship between us. I just mean, I-” Ina struggles to come up with the words and you can’t help but laugh.

“Relax Ina. I know what you meant.”

Ina visibly becomes flustered, as she sheepishly rubs her hand on her neck, “Since I was quite um intoxicated last night, did I say or do anything embarrassing last night?”

You raise an eyebrow at Ina, “where do I begin? You have great pipes by the way. I mean the way your voice screeches and cracks when trying to sing is beautiful.” Ina groans, face palming and you decide to tease her further, “also you’re a very friendly drunk. You made a lot of friends at the bar last night.” Ina groans even louder, shaking her head softly.

“Well thank you for taking me home Bea it is much appreciated. I didn’t even ask, what do you think of my home?”

You giggle, “technically you did ask me last night, but I guess I’ll say it again. It’s beautiful.” You stare at Ina as your mind flashes back to her saying “I love you” last night and your heart begins to dull and you wonder if she meant it or not.

Ina eyes you warily, “is everything alright Bea? Did something else happen last night?” You swallow uneasily but plaster a smile on your face, “not really. But one woman at the bar did mention you had a lot to say about me last night.” Ina stares at you, embarrassment taking over her features but she sighs blissfully before moving towards you and placing a sweet chaste kiss on your lips, “well I don’t blame myself for wanting to express my feelings about you to random strangers.” She laces her hand with yours, her slender fingers, fitting perfectly in your hand, her eyes full of affection.

You lean in and kiss her again, before breaking apart and leaning your forehead against hers, “she said you were a keeper.”

The smile on Ina’s face, beams even brighter, “well when you love someone, all you want to do is profess your love from the rooftops.” So Ina was aware of what she said last night. You feel your heart bursting as you whisper against her lips, “I love you too” You share a passionate kiss and spend the rest of the day with Ina as she shows you the rest of her apartment, starting with the bedroom.

#playchoices #queen b #ina x mc #ina kingsley

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bokutokoutarou · 5 years ago

Note

Hey I loved your Noya piece! I was wondering if you could do a piece for kuroo or daichi (writers choice) of them secretly pining and a big, awkward cute confession! :) I'm really excited to see more of your writing

✦✧✦✧

— electricity

pairing - kuroo tetsurou x f!reader | wc: 3.1k

synopsis - ever since kuroo tetsurou met you, you seemed to have an effect on him that could only be compared to electricity

[a/n] - aww you’re so sweet! i decided to write this for kuroo since i thought it would be EXTREMELY adorable to write kuroo pining for someone and being all awkward and cute

masterlist

It was the way you laughed at his sarcastic comments like they were the funniest thing in the world, the way his heart fluttered when your eyes met his, the way hearing his name slip from your tongue reduced him into a stuttering mess.

“Tetsu!” you called out his name, standing up from your lunch spot underneath the tree at the front of the school. You were completely oblivious to the fact that the sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine and made him forget how to breathe. “You forgot your sweater.”

You held his red Nekoma jacket out for him to take, waving it in the air playfully, making his dark eyes widen in surprise and his heart seemingly stop beating in his chest.

“O-oh, right,” he said, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as he walked back towards you. He reached out to take his jacket from your hands, and he felt a jolt of electricity swirl through his fingers when his fingertips accidentally brushed yours. “Thanks, [Y/N].”

“It’s nothing,” you sat back down beside Kenma and rested your head against the bark of the tree behind you. “You’re walking home with me and Kenma after school, right?”

Kuroo’s heart fluttered in his chest as your curious gaze met his, but he tried to ignore the feeling as best as he could. He didn’t understand how he could be so charismatic with everyone else and be so awkward around you, how every ounce of confidence that he had built up over the years seemed to go down the drain the moment his eyes met yours.

“We don’t have practice today, so yeah,” he told you, nervously averting his gaze from yours as he slipped each of his arms into the sleeves of his sweater and fumbled with the zipper. “Uh, I’ll see you then, [Y/N]. Bye Kenma.”

Kuroo waved at you and Kenma as he walked away from your usual lunch spot. You waved back, but the blond boy sitting beside you didn’t even look up from the game he was playing at the mention of his name, opting to mutter a quiet “see you” at the tall, bed-headed boy instead.

As you watched Kenma play his video game for the remaining minutes of lunch, you didn’t know that the feeling of electricity from touching your hand never left Kuroo’s fingers, that he was currently fumbling with the lock on his locker because his hands were so shaky and he felt like his brain had short-circuited. You were completely unaware of the effect that you had on him, the effect that you’ve always had on him, even right from the very beginning.

═ ═ ═〖˚✧ five years ago ✧˚〗═ ═ ═

“We’re here,” your parents told you, stirring you from your slumber. You had fallen asleep in the backseat of their car, as the journey from your old house to your new one seemed to last for hours on end. “You’re going to love it here, [Y/N], we promise.”

You seriously doubted that. How could you love living in a place that was three hours away from your friends, three hours away from all you’ve ever known. Your parents had argued that it was the perfect time for you to move, since you were only in your first year of junior high and you still had plenty of time to fit in, but in your eyes there was never a perfect time to leave everything behind.

You opened the car door and sluggishly stepped out, still feeling drowsy from your nap. As you walked to the front door of your new home, if you could even call it that, you noticed that there were two boys playing outside of the house next to yours, volleying a volleyball back and forth.

One of the boys had dark brown hair that just reached his chin. He appeared disinterested in what he was doing, yet he still managed to toss the ball perfectly to the boy he was playing with. The other boy was much taller than the other one. He had black hair that stuck up messily as though he had never seen a hairbrush in his life, and he had a wide grin on his face that only seemed to grow every time the ball touched his fingertips.

“[Y/N], what are you staring at?” your eyes widened in shock when you realized what you were doing, and you turned around to see your parents staring at you knowingly. “If you want, you can go play with them while we finish fixing everything up.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother them,” you told them before you walked inside the house and went straight up to your new room, which your parents had fully decorated the day before. You collapsed on your bed, which was right next to your window, but after a few moments you felt the urge to sit up and look outside.

You looked out the window and saw that the two boys were still tossing the volleyball outside. You were in a trance-like state as you watched the repetitive motion of the ball being volleyed back and forth between them, but you were quickly snapped out it when you heard the sound of a boy’s voice yelling up at you.

“HEY, IF YOU’RE GOING TO WATCH US THEN YOU MIGHT AS WELL JOIN!” the tall, bed-headed boy shouted, almost giving you a heart attack. You fixed your gaze on him and saw that he was looking up at your window with a sly grin on his face, and without a second thought, you felt your legs carry you out of your bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door.

“Wow, she actually came,” the shorter boy muttered, raising his eyebrow as you approached him and his friend.

“Of course she did,” the other boy responded, his grin even wider than before. He tossed the ball around in his hands, but his gaze was fixed upon you. “So, you just moved in, right?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. I’m [Y/N].”

“I’m Kuroo, and that’s Kenma,” the taller boy said, gesturing to his shyer friend, who had nervously averted his gaze from yours. “He’s a bit shy, but he’ll warm up to you…probably.”

“Are you going to stop talking and throw the ball already?” Kenma said quietly, making a giggle escape your lips. The airy sound of your laugh sent chills down Kuroo’s spine, but he ignored it and tossed the ball up into the air, volleying it to Kenma.

The three of you volleyed the ball back and forth, talking about whatever came to your minds as you did so. You found out that you were the same age as Kuroo and would be attending his junior high, and that Kenma would be joining you both there next year since he was a year younger than you.

As you played, Kuroo couldn’t help but notice how your lips curled upwards into a smile every time you received the ball properly, how your eyes were wide and focused as they followed the ball in the air, how adorable it sounded whenever you called out his name when you passed to—

Kuroo was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t notice that you had volleyed the ball to him, and it hit him right in the face before he could even move his hands above his head to receive it.

“Are you okay?” you gasped, your hands clasping your mouth in shock. You ran over to the boy, who was on the ground and clutching his head in pain. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve made sure you were looking before I—”

“It’s okay, [Y/N]. It’s my fault, really,” he told you, but that didn’t make you feel any better. You reached your hand out to him to help him up, and he took it, but he immediately let go when he felt a spark of electricity zap through his fingers upon his hand making contact with yours.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him, a dejected frown evident on your face.

“N-nothing,” he told you, but the look on his face said otherwise. “I can get up on my own, see.”

He stumbled as he stood up, making you and Kenma raise your eyebrows quizzically at him, but you didn’t verbally question his odd behaviour.

“I…I should probably go inside and help my parents finish unpacking everything,” you said, despite the fact that they were probably already done by now. “Are you guys going to be outside again tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah, definitely,” Kuroo told you.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys then,” you said, giving them a nervous wave goodbye before you rushed back to your house.

Kuroo was too stunned by everything that just happened to even wave back, and he didn’t notice that Kenma was staring at him intently, his golden eyes analyzing his every move.

“Kuroo…do you li—”

“Shut up, Kenma,” Kuroo cut the boy off, his cheeks turning red. “I was just distracted, that’s all.”

“Yeah, distracted by [Y/N]…” Kenma said in a quiet voice, but it was loud enough for Kuroo to hear.

Kuroo’s mind was so overwhelmed with thoughts that he didn’t even bother to think of a sarcastic retort to the boy’s comment. He was too busy thinking of the feeling of electricity that coursed through his veins when he grabbed onto your hand, the feeling of electricity that was still coursing through his veins at that very moment.

He didn’t know what it meant, or why he felt it, but what he especially didn’t know was that you had felt it too.

“There you are, [Y/N]. Kenma and I have been waiting forever,” Kuroo complained playfully as you hurried out of the front doors of the school, even though it had only been three minutes since the final bell had rung. “I thought you forgot you were walking home with us.”

“Who else would I be walking home with?” you asked as you all started to walk down the sidewalk, beginning the fifteen-minute trek to your neighbouring homes.

“I don’t know…maybe Yuuto Nakajima,” Kenma teased you under his breath, but you both heard him. You were relatively unfazed by the blond boy’s remark, but Kuroo felt his heart stop in his chest. “He was staring at you when we were sitting in the lunch spot yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.”

Kuroo knew that Kenma was just teasing you, as he usually did, but for some reason he felt his stomach swirl with jealousy at the thought of someone else liking you the way that he did.

“Very funny, Kenma,” you laughed, dismissing the boy’s statement, but that didn’t make Kuroo feel any better. “And how would you know if he was staring if your eyes are always glued to your game?”

“Just because I’m always on my game doesn’t mean that I don’t notice things,” Kenma defended himself, making you let out a small laugh in response, but Kuroo stayed silent.

For the rest of the walk home, you were doing most of the talking, as Kenma was always relatively quiet in the first place and Kuroo’s mind was too overwhelmed with thoughts to even form a coherent sentence.

But Kuroo’s mind went blank the moment your hand accidentally brushed his.

He felt a familiar spark convulse through his fingers upon the brief contact his hand made with yours, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. He pulled his hand away from yours in shock, still feeling the electricity swirling through his fingers.

“Is everything alright?” you sensed that something was wrong, and you tried to look into his dark eyes to figure it out, but he looked away.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded his head, staring at anywhere except for you. He didn’t say anything after that, leaving you perplexed until you finally reached your adjacent houses.

“I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow,” you finally said as you stood in front of your home. “Bye Tetsu. Bye Kenma.”

You waved at them before you walked towards your front door, and the moment your face was out of view you finally allowed your smile to break, your lips pulling down into a deep frown. You didn’t understand why he was so repulsed by the feeling of your hand accidentally touching his that he had to pull his hand away in disgust.

Maybe he didn’t feel the same sensation of electricity that you felt when your hand brushed his, and if he did, then maybe it didn’t make his heart race in excitement like yours did. You wanted to believe that he felt it too, but you knew that giving yourself a false sense of belief now would only make it hurt even more later.

“So when are you going to admit it?” Kenma asked once he was sure you were out of earshot, making Kuroo’s dark eyes widen in surprise.

“Admit what?” Kuroo pretended to be oblivious, but Kenma wasn’t easily fooled.

“That you like [Y/N],” Kenma said plainly, studying the boy with his golden eyes. “Pretending is useless at this point.”

“That’s…that’s ridiculous,” Kuroo muttered. He took a seat on the curb of the road, facing away from your house, and Kenma followed suit.

“You should tell her already,” Kenma told him. “Nothing’s going to change if you don’t.”

Kuroo said nothing, staring at the street ahead of him. It had been almost six years since you moved next door to him and Kenma, yet although the feeling he got whenever he was around you never changed, nothing ever changed between you two of you. You were just friends, just neighbours. Nothing more, nothing less. And it would stay that way unless he did something about it.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Kuroo waved at you as he walked to your usual lunch spot. You were sitting underneath the tree as usual, your eyes closed as you leaned your head back against the bark and tried to clear your mind.

“Tetsu?” you opened your eyes groggily, meeting the boy’s gaze. “Where’s Kenma?”

“He’s studying for his test next period,” Kuroo lied swiftly. Kenma had told him earlier that he wouldn’t be going to the lunch spot so he could give you and Kuroo some time alone, and that he wouldn’t be coming back until Kuroo finally confessed.

Kuroo sat down under the tree beside you, his shoulder almost touching yours but not quite. His stomach swirled with anxiety at the thought of sitting alone with you, and he didn’t know what to say to not make it awkward. Just being close to you made him tongue tied, and he didn’t know what to do to break the silence that filled the air between you.

“Tetsu…” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts and making his heart pound upon hearing you say his name. “Do you ever brush your hair?”

“Huh?” his eyes widened at your sudden remark, making your cheeks flush pink.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. It just…it always sticks up,” you laughed. “You probably wouldn’t be so tall if your hair was flat on your head.”

“That’s not true,” Kuroo defended himself, which made the grin on your face grow. You placed your hand on his head, trying to flatten his hair to test your theory of how much his hair adds to his tall height.

“Stop, [Y/N], you’re going to mess up my hair,” Kuroo laughed, trying to shift his body away from yours.

“It’s always messy anyways,” you retorted, a giggle escaping your lips. He grabbed your wrist to try and move your hand away from his hair, but he immediately let go when he felt a jolt of electricity rush through his fingers the moment his hand made contact with your skin.

It was silent for a moment, both of you not knowing what to say.

“[Y/N]…” Kuroo finally spoke, his eyes looking at anywhere except for you. “Y-you felt that, right?”

“You felt it too?” your eyes widened, staring at the boy in shock.

“Yeah,” he nodded his head. “The…the…”

He felt as if his brain had short-circuited as he tried to think of a name to describe the spark he felt whenever his touch met yours.

“The electricity?” you suggested a name for the feeling, making him nod his head again.

“Yeah, the electricity,” the edges of his lips curved upwards into a smile. “I…I’ve always been able to feel it.”

“I’ve…I’ve always been able to feel it too,” you told him, making his smile grow larger.

Kuroo took a deep breath. At this point, it was now or never, and he didn’t want it to be never. “I…I like you, [Y/N]. I’ve liked you ever since you moved here. ”

“I like you too, Tetsu,” you smiled at him, and out of all the times that Kuroo had been happy in his life, no moment compared to the feeling of hearing you say those five words. Not any time he won a game, not any time he passed a test after pulling a long all-nighter to study. Nothing beat knowing that you felt the same way about him.

He was so happy that all he could do was laugh in relief, which made you giggle too. You sat together under the tree for a minute laughing, sneaking nervous glances at each other while you did so.

“Tetsu…is that why you pulled your hand away when I tried to help you up after I hit you in the face with your volleyball?” you questioned him with a smirk on your face, making his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Did you feel the electricity?”

“You remember that?” Kuroo chuckled as he cringed at the memory that he had repressed for so long. “That was so embarrassing.”

“I thought it was kind of cute. Also, I felt it too.”

As you two sat under the tree for the remainder of lunch, every ounce of nervousness that he had seemed to wash away, but the feeling of electricity remained when his hands cupped your cheeks and his lips met yours. You felt the tingling feeling of a spark as he pressed his lips to yours, and the spark never went away until he finally pulled back and gave you one of his signature smirks.

“I hope that kiss wasn’t too much of a shock, [Y/N],” he teased you, making your cheeks heat up as you rolled your eyes playfully.

Little did you know that you’d have to put up with more stupid puns like that for the rest of your life.

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo #haikyuu writing #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader

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hyuckssunchip · 4 years ago

Text

Shakespeare Sucks Pt. 4

Pairings: Jaemin x Reader, ft. Jaehyun, Renjun, Mark, Jeno, Taeyong

Words: 2K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, mentions of violence/death

Synopsis:

Like Romeo and Juliet... less death though. You and Jaemin are blissfully unaware of the fate the lies ahead of your relationship. That is until Fate unveils the cruel plans that She has for you.

“Answer the door.” Jaemin glared at the man, gritting his teeth but following his order.

He held the door open and his face froze at the sight of you juggling three bags of food.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was aggressive but you chose to ignore it. “Didn’t I tell you I was sick?”

“I brought soup, I wasn’t sure which was the best, but I figured one of the three would be okay.” You looked up at his expression, trying to let him know that you were struggling with your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant when I said I was sick.” He pushed out between tightened lips.

“I know, but I couldn’t let you suffer alone. Can I come in now? It’s heavy.” You tried to push past him, eager to set down the bags.

“No, I’ll just take it.”

“Jaemin, let me take care of you.” You ducked under his arm, walking backwards cheekily. “I’ll let you sleep after you eat.”

You bumped into the wall, stumbling forward with a sheepish smile. However your reaction didn’t match with Jaemin’s, his of utter horror.

He started towards you, attempting to pull you towards him, but another pair of arms wrapped around your waist, forcing you to drop your bags.

Jaemin froze, staring at you with pleading eyes. He shook his head desperately, as if pleading with someone.

You felt something cold touch your neck, a familiar sharp crease of a blade cutting into your sick. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes wide at the realization of your situation.

Your eyes wavered, falling to the hand that gripped tightly on the sheath. You held your breath, eyes falling on the familiar ring that adorned his fingers.

“Please.” Jaemin whimpered at the sight, stumbling forward a foot.

The knife dug deeper into your sensitive skin.

Your fingers had a mind of its own as you reached up to trace the emblem, startling the man behind you.

Your soft traces became more forceful, soon holding the hand in your own tight grip. You were so focused that you missed the look Jaemin was trying to send you.

“Wait.” You let out, immediately received with a harsh laugh from behind you. You leaned back into the chest of the person behind you, rotating your head as much as you could to meet his face.

His eyes widened in realization whispering out your name.

He dropped his arm, stepping backwards to get a better look at you.

“Dad?” You furrowed your eyes at him, horror washing over you.

“Dad?” You spun to face Jaemin, eyes wider than yours. You felt Jaehyun’s grip tighten on your arm, pulling you behind him.

He continued to stare down Jaemin, face contorted into anger.

“Why was she here?” You bit your lip, looking at the floor, regretting showing up unannounced.

“I…” He paused, breathing heavily trying to wrap his mind around the situation. “Y/N?” From your peripheral vision you could see him, trying to make eye contact with you. You hid yourself behind your Dad, refusing to watch his expression fall.

“I swear if you did so much as touch my daughter, any truce we might’ve had is gone.”

“That was a cheap shot Jaehyun. To ambush him like this.” A thin dark haired man pushed past the front door, swinging a blade leisurely in his hand. Although he seemed small, his presence made up for it. You didn’t doubt for a moment that he wasn’t capable of what you had heard of him.

“Taeyong. Didn’t you do this to get to me? Isn’t that cheap of you?” Jaehyun snarled at the other man, who was suddenly flocked by two larger men.

“Like I have a clue about Jaemin’s love life.” He snorted sending the boy who was still in shock as smirk. “I guess I gave him less credit than he deserved.”

You glared at your feet, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

Jaehyun stiffened in front of you, pushing you further behind him.

“Don’t think that for a moment I won’t end this right now.” Jaehyun spat out, gripping his own blade tighter.

“Jaehyun,calm down, we’re in the presence of a lady right now, aren’t we? I’m not going to do anything, at least right now.” The smirk on his face curled over his icy features. “I don’t think Jaemin here would be too fond of that idea anyways.”

Jaemin was still processing everything, a part of him hurt and betrayed, but another part of him didn’t care. He realized by your reaction that you had already known, or at least figured it out before he did.

Taeyong strolled behind the bar of the kitchen, stabbing an apple unnecessarily hard.

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past you to have set your daughter on Jaemin. I’m surprised that I didn’t come up with the idea myself, of course you hid her quite well didn’t you?” He chuckled while slicing the apple in his hand, offering up a slice sardonically.

“No?” He grinned, biting into the piece with a wink, sending shivers down your spine.

Jaehyun gripped your wrist, stepping over the puddle of soup that was spreading. He pulled you towards the door, Taeyong leaving an opening for an exit.

“For good reason don’t you think?” Jaehyun glared at the man, then shifted his gaze towards Jaemin, who was still following your every movement. You had yet to make eye contact, ashamed of the situation.

“Don’t come near my daughter. The next time you do will be your last.” You grimaced at the tone of your Dad’s voice, taking this as your last opportunity to appeal to Jaemin.

But this time he wasn’t looking at you. This time he shared the same look your Dad did, staring him down in defiance.

You gulped, fearing that their egos would be too much, and that this could really be the last time.

“No! This is exactly why I left! I don’t want to walk into my boyfriend’s house and be held at knife point. I want a normal life!” You marched into Jaehyun’s office, slamming the door behind you.

“Then you shouldn’t date someone like him.” His tone was tart, as if he couldn’t care less.

“He’s not the only one at fault here is he? It’s like everywhere I go you’re at the center of all these messes! Dad I want a normal life.”

“Isn’t that why you left?” His cold tone had you shaking in anger.

You glared at him, “I still just can’t get away from you. No matter how far I go you’re always ruining things! I’m so sick of this, I wish I wasn’t your daughter!”

“Y/N.” Renjun hissed at you, reaching out for you.

You pushed him away, storming out of the office.

“Go.” Jaehyun said solemnly, nodding his head in the direction you had just left. “Go talk to her.”

Renjun nodded back, not taking an extra second in chasing after you.

Jaehyun waited until the door shut behind Renjun to collapse in his arms. His hands rubbed over his face, stressed about the current situation.

To be honest he was worried. Worried that you were a new toy for Taeyong to hang over his head.

His hand tightened into a fist, feeling slightly better at the thought of Renjun being by your side.

It’s not like he wanted something bad to happen to you, that’s why when you stormed out of the house three years ago, announcing that you wanted nothing to do with the family business he let you go.

He knew it was more than dangerous to be affiliated with him, much less be his blood.

It seemed that ever since your mother had passed away, when you were nine there was a wall that separated you from him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be happy, he wanted you to be safe. And no matter how much you liked that boy, he couldn’t give you that. Not when he was apart of the same world Jaehyun lived in.

A week later

“I thought I said never to show up around my daughter.” Jaehyun glared down the boy that stood in front of him, fists clenched in anger.

The glare was returned for a moment, but dropped quickly. Jaemin seemed to have lost his internal battle, falling to his knees before the older man.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“The only thing I want from you, is for you stay away from Y/N.” He was cold, and careless with his words.

“I can’t do that.” The tremor in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, but there was a sense of determination.

“You think I’ll just let you go? You walked in here on your own conviction.” There was a hint of dark humor in Jaehyun’s voice, a way of taunting the begging boy.

“That’s how desperate I am. I can’t-”

A loud ring cut Jaemin off, the sound of Jaehyun’s phone interrupting the two of them.

With one last glance Jaehyun picked up the phone.

“What!? What do you mean Vice?” There was a pause, Jaehyun’s eyes narrowed at the sound. “That’s impossible, between the two of us there’s no way.”

The ringing of Jaemin’s phone stole the attention of both men.

With hawk eyes, Jaehyun trained his eyes to follow the white haired boy.

“What? Slow down.” Jaemin furrowed his brows, thinking to himself, phone placed tightly against his ear.

He looked up in shock, meeting eyes with Jaehyun, and for the first time their expression met in agreement.

“I thought that was impossible? How did they manage-” Jaemin’s phone was snatched from his hand.

“What the hell is going on!?” Jaehyun raised his voice into the receiver of the younger boy’s phone.

He rolled his eyes at the response, putting the phone on speaker.

“Vice managed to sneak in three of their men a few days ago. There’s a leak here, they infiltrated our base and half of my men are injured. I don’t know how many more of them are here now, but they’re coming for you for sure.” There was a loud groan on the other end.

“Someone get this man a fucking medic already!” Jaemin’s widened, reaching for the phone.

“Who? Who’s hurt!?”

“Jaemin, I don’t want you here, you hear me!? Jaehyun, I know there’s a leak on your end too. Be careful who you trust. Vice has a vendetta against the both of us remember? Think of who it could be, who made their way in late? Has anyone made you- God damn it!” Taeyong was interrupted by a large bang. “Jaehyun think! You probably don’t have much time seeing as they’ve already attacked.”

The line went dead.

Jaemin sat with wide eyes, still staring at the phone in his hand. Fingers gripping insanely tight in fear and anger.

Jaehyun rubbed his hands over his face, clenching his jaw before reaching for his own phone.

“What are you going to do?” Jaemin gulped, looking up at Jaehyun.

Jaehyun’s eyes were crazed, mind running all over the place, until Renjun burst into the room immediately finding his Dad.

“Dad, the Brink...” He let out labored breaths, shaking his head, “It’s already...” He didn’t need to finish, the message clearly conveyed. It was too late.

Jaehyun reached down, grabbing Jaemin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up.

“I want you to keep her safe. She comes before anything else, do you understand?”

Jaemin nodded erratically, eyes shaking.

“I don’t care where you go. But don’t come back until I tell you.”

“But-”

“You said you would do anything. Do this.” His tone was sharp but pleading and Jaemin understood the gravity of the situation.

“Dad, we should go, now.” Renjun glanced at his phone, another incoming call sending fear down his spine.

Jaehyun patted his back once, nodding at him, “Please.”

Soon Jaemin was left alone in the office, struggling to think straight.

What could he do?

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pandemilkbread · 4 years ago

Text

abashed ✩

eyes like sinking ships on waters

ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ✩ masterlist

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It was something that crept up so slowly it left Todoroki unaware, but he thought that was the best kind of love; one so natural you don't even notice.

[ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴢ’s ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs]

warnings: suggestive themes of smut, though only detailed at the last parts. read at your own discretion. not really smutty tho...

author’s note: i promised to upload this earlier, whoops, i apologize. hehe

ⓐ — ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ

ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ:

/əˈbaSHt/

adjective

embarrassed, disconcerted, or ashamed.

Warmth.

Warmth was the ray of light shining through the gray-like curtains at the peak of dawn, the heat amassed within the heavy blankets that covered skin, the hotness of pillows from where your touch lingered and left, with all the toss and turning in between; the very definition of warmth described the comfortable heat radiating from the arm wrapped around your stomach like a safeguard—

Cold.

Cold was the sweat dribbling down your forehead in sheer panic, the chilly breeze that encased your body as you quickly ripped the blankets off, the freezing temperature of the tiled floor immediately upon falling on your bare bottom soon after, cold and empty was your mind, connecting the images of what transpired the previous day— or night rather.

All you picked up were bits and pieces: bright lights, booming music, the smell of strong alcohol, a pop of a balloon… ‘Ah, yes.’ You thought, hesitantly. ‘The birthday party.’ Who knew an adult as yourself, who had the alcohol tolerance of a Viking from the late eighth century, could flat out collapse from drinking too much.

And God you wanted to throw up.

Besides wanting to spill out your guts onto the crystal clear floor—you cringed at the thought of whoever was supposed to clean the mess after, if you chose to do so anyway—there was a direr issue to address; which was… knowing where the hell you were, and who you were with.

You slightly inched yourself onto your knees and peered back at the comfortable blue sheets where he laid, fast asleep. Surprisingly, your fumbling did not wake the sleeping man. You assumed as much as you were knocked out from the liquor, he was in a similar state as well.

Sighing, you pulled yourself up only to be met with a painful ache on your upper thighs, forcing you to stumble on your backside. You hissed. ‘What in the world?’ Squinting at the dark splotches on your skin that darted from your lower thighs up until your upper stomach, a small part of you believed there were more sprinkled on your chest and neck. It forced one notion down your thick skull.

First, you were naked. The bareness of your skin provided neither protection from the cold breeze coming from the air conditioner, nor the heat radiating from your cheeks in embarrassment. The pain from earlier, and the bruises that enveloped your skin were two of the many testimonies of your late night endeavor.

You groaned. In truth, you weren’t the type of person to be hooking up with a stranger, no— scratch that, you were never the type of person to be having sex at all, and with a stranger nonetheless. Frankly, the only time you were close to doing the deed was with your boyfriend of a year and a half, whom you broke up with months ago, and it did not end well.

Let’s just say, he had a ‘technical difficulty’ with putting on a simple condom; leaving the touch starved you, furious as he suggested to do it otherwise without it. And the night was cut short. ‘A great night forever encased into my memories.’ You mused.

Back to the crisis at hand, your eyes shifted to the human unconscious on the bed, the sound of small breaths reached your ears. You prompted yourself onto your knees then leaned your upper body on the bed, a small blush dusted your cheeks as you glanced at the man.

‘Great.’ You breathed. Over 126 million people in Japan and you slept with the one person you’d rather not see again.

Your fingers gently swiped the strands of red hair covering his closed eyes. Breathtaking. Even while asleep he managed to send your heart into a frenzy, and brought shivers down your spine, and reignited the little speck of hope you had left, one you thought had blown out years ago, only to reemerge stronger than ever.

Oh, god, you hated hope.

You propped your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you continued to play around with his hair. A part of you hoped the beautiful stranger, not-so unfamiliar anymore, woke from his slumber— a sort of wakeup call and signal for you to get going. Another, cruel part, wanted him to stay asleep, a somewhat impossible wish; and you wished, you really wished, this was a dream.

If it was one, please, please, please, you wanted to crawl back under the covers, just for a few minutes.

You pinched yourself.

Once, then twice, then thrice.

Maybe seventh times a charm?

You massaged your temples. If it were a dream, you would have awaken by now. Then, you were not in a dream, and this was real. And if it was real… you can afford to be a little selfish. So you sat up from your spot and leaned forward, brushing your lips against the top of his forehead.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

Loud enough to satisfy your wants, but as quiet as the passing breeze, rendering it nonexistent.

You could always shuffle back into the sheets, you know you wanted to; bask in the warmth of the bed, so soft and cozy; pretend reality did not exist, yes, in another life this apartment was your home; and the notion of walking in shame was all fiction, you were abashed.

You sighed, sounding more like a mix of a hiss and a groan.

It was time to go. There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens. Simply, you are an adult. Yet, the years of being humbled at college, forcibly awoken by the harsh realities of adulthood, and the gruesome jobs at the hospital— could not diminish your fairytale dreams and hopes, by now reverted back into one intense form.

Your high school crush on the one and only, Todoroki Shouto.

Something that had shrunk to the size of a pea, had somewhat grown into a bowling ball, all in the span of ten minutes and by all means, it would continue to grow bigger. You were sure of it. The plausible solution?

Running out while you still had your mind, heart, and spirit intact. Oh, yes. The very same went for your embarrassment and shame: behold, the little youngling had initiated her very first hook-up for all the world to see! ‘Technically anyone awake by seven’ you presumed by looking at the light from outside.

Grabbing your discarded clothes, you walked to a room, closer to a closet than an actual bathroom, and put them on. Now that you were fully dressed, the whole idea of sleeping with your high school crush was unbelievable.

A prank? You rolled your eyes. No one would go that far to prank someone as unimportant as you.

…Would they, though?

Your mind wandered back to the mix of silver and red asleep in the bedroom. Was he the type of person to sleep around with anyone he wanted?

He can, though. You thought. Then again. He did not seem like the type to do so.

You ruffled your hair in front of the mirror, sliding your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth out the tangles.

Is it possible? Perhaps you never slept with him in the first place? Maybe, your lower pain was the symptoms of a forthcoming period, or maybe the bruises on your skin were the scars of an epic battle fight sequence in the bar, or maybe the person sleeping on the bed was never Todoroki Shouto and you were delusional.

Putting it that way, the lame excuses sounded more ridiculous than reasonable.

The door opened with a click, and you winced at the sound, your fingers quickly twisted the knob to prevent any more unnecessary noise. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced at the person laying on the bed. For someone considered one of the nation’s top heroes, Todoroki slept pretty peacefully while a stranger used his room to her volition.

What if I was a villain, hm? You grumbled. One slit to the throat and you’d be a goner.

The exact moment you thought about assassinating (not that you would actually do it, you were a hospital resident for heaven’s sake!) the peppermint boy stirred in his spot, forcing you to freeze. The blankets shifted downwards to reveal the bare skin of his chest, littered with splotches of dark blue, and you gaped.

His neckline gleamed with love bites, his collar taking the brunt of all the kisses, and the chest area had a trail of kisses all the way down to his lower stomach, where the blanket laid comfortably— ‘did I do that?’ you breathed.

This close, you were this close to pulling all your hair out in frustration. Last night must have been the best night of your life and you couldn’t remember a thing! The whole thing was unfair!

You shook your head. No time to dwell, time to go! And go you must before the object of all your teenage fantasies woke up. Eyes scanned the room for the last item of your possessions, the shoes you wore.

You scoured under the gray sofa to the side of the bed, then softly shifted the blanket on the floor, it was not in the bathroom where you changed, the carpet showed no sign of the footwear, and you remembered really wearing shoes to the party. ‘So, where is it?’

After searching for what seemed like twenty minutes, you plopped down on your knees in front of the bed. ‘Maybe Todoroki knows where it is?’ A stupid suggestion, why would a sleeping man know the location of your shoes? He was not psychic; and if you did not know the place, how on Earth would he know?

But that did not stop you from asking either.

“Good morning, dear. Happen to know where my shoes are?” You joked.

It was barely a whisper, a joke for your ears only; a gag really to soothe yourself during moments of distress. He was not supposed to reply, you weren’t expecting a reaction either, so you slumped. If you could handle three back to back shifts at the hospital without a break, you can handle walking out of this damned apartment without shoes.

By the shine of the bright light outside, and knowing it was a Sunday morning, there should not be a lot people to gawk at your unruly appearance. If you were lucky enough to hail a taxi in three minutes, all before the early joggers on the street gushed about your lack of footwear, you would be safe from the impending embarrassment.

Maybe, you could take a pair of slippers from the apartment? The hero will never know, and if he did, what kind of rich hero would search far and wide for a woman who stole his flip-flops? It was just some slippers! ‘All right, do it!’ You dared.

Just as you were about to stand up, a warm arm reached for your neck— the base of his palm wrapped around the back of your head, compelling your chest to rest on top of the bed. Mismatched eyes of gray and turquoise stared back at you—your stomach jumped, and you gulped, God was it that hot in here?— rather groggily, the corner of his lips smirked.

“Have you tried the shoe rack outside?” Todoroki murmured.

One blink, two blinks, three blinks. You hissed in realization. ‘Of course! Who brings their shoes inside?’ You had to be the dumbest drunk to have ever lived, you weren’t drunk right now per se, but, the alcohol must have done something to your brain. It was strong enough to make you forget simple Japanese customs, you wanted to smack your skull.

Eyes peeping at the man, you diverted your gaze sheepishly, the intense stare he had made you bashful, slightly making your insides churn and almost making you a spluttering mess. You glanced back at Todoroki, and tilted your head.

“W-Were you awake this whole time? I-I thought I saw you move…” You admitted.

He loosened his grip on your neck and rested his palm on your shoulder. “You were not exactly quiet,” he then traced tiny circles on your collar. “Falling off the bed…must have hurt, are you all right?”

Your face swiftly turned three shades darker. ‘He was awake!’ The moment you woke up in shock and slammed your bare ass on the floor, he was awake! ‘Naturally! He’s a god damned hero!’ Obviously, who wouldn’t stir awake from the loud smacking sound, and your cry of pain?

You squinted at the smirk on the corner of his lips. ‘He’s teasing you!’ He was awake this whole time… then, he must have felt your lips on his forehead, and heard the ‘good morning’, and the fumbling for your shoes, and the swipe of your fingers, and you playing with his hair, and everything else!

How was it possible to be this abashed? Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire, oh fuck, it had to do with his stupid little smirk, his stupid intense gaze, his stupid hold on you as if you meant something to him like—like you meant the world to him.

Oh, how your stomach kneaded at the thought.

“I’m… fine.” You snatched his hand and placed it on the bed.

By the way he looked at you, you reasoned out he was waiting for something. Gratitude for the night before sounds way too conceited, he did not seem like a narcissist. An apology for taking too much of his time and space sounded too sad, your heart ached and hearing him jab it with regrets would hurt.

What else was there to remember? God, did you puke into his suit, or clothes, did he want you to pay for his dry cleaning? You cringed, goodbye self-esteem.

“…I’ve never done this thing before, you know?” You spoke. “Ah, I don’t really know what happens the morning after…” Blushing, you pinched your fingers, a nervous habit. “I’ve… I mean… I watch those shows and… I know someone has to walk out after and seeing this isn’t my room, I have to walk out. Yes. Me.”

His face contorted, confused. “Why do you have to walk out?”

The whole purpose of walking out was to signify the end of a session, like you would tell him that. Basically, the room was unfamiliar territory, therefore, not your apartment. Who else would walk out if not you?

“This,” you gestured the room, “is your apartment. Not mine. Why would you walk out of your own apartment?”

“Yes, I know.” Todoroki said, matter-of-factly. “But, why?”

“What do you mean ‘but, why?’ Why? Me… and you… we aren’t even a thing! We just happened to—“ You pointed. “You! This is all your fault! If you just pretended to sleep and continue doing it, we wouldn’t have this awkward exchange in the first place!”

“You asked where your shoes were.”

“I didn’t actually think you were going to reply!”

He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms. You heard the sound of a crack followed by a soft groan, and his feet perched on the ground, right in front of where you stood. The sleepy man placed his chin on his closed fist, while his elbow laid on the top of his now crossed legs.

Todoroki sighed. “You did not answer the question. Why do you want to leave?”

There were a hundred reasons to leave. He was a top hero, a celebrity in the eyes of his followers, an untouchable God by his multitude of fangirls. You believed it was impossible to stay with someone like him, your ego would not allow it.

A part of you was scared. If you stayed, the chances of talking about what happened increases. Staying meant realizing you really slept with him, and in a way reconfirmed your feelings that you might actually stand a chance. Maybe your feelings were worth it, maybe he would give you a chance, and maybe your impossible love was never impossible at all, maybe—

“It’s— It’s… not proper…” You conceded. “You’re… you! And I’m me! I barely even know you and in all honesty… I don’t really remember what happened last night. I’m sorry, it’s better if we pretend this never happened.”

He paused for a while before answering. “Why? Do you hate it that much? Do you want to talk about it?”

You clenched your hands. It was infuriating how easily his words planted fantasies into your head. The way he phrased the sentence drove an idea down your throat. ‘Did he want you to stay?’

“The thing is… I don’t remember. Do you?” You replied.

“Of course…” He took a quick glance at your face, almost looking for something, before staring back at the curtains. “Are you married?”

‘Married? Married!’ You gaped. You could not begin to comprehend why he asked such a question. Did he think you were running away because you had someone waiting at home for you? Or did he ask because he tied the knot with someone else? God… did you sleep with a married man?

You don’t recall him being married. “No! I don’t have a ring on my finger…”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He added.

Oh, you breathed. Was that the reason why? Was he asking all these things because he felt inclined to know whether the woman he slept with had someone waiting for her at home? He was minimizing the potential of a possible scandal. You sunk at the thought. “Ah, I did… But that was months ago.”

Do all hook ups have these morning questionnaire sessions? Or was this a top hero only session, to reduce the possibility of a hot and spicy front page article on the tabloid? Oh, maybe he felt guilty. You glimpsed at the man, his eyes closed in ponder.

You were never one to snitch, and something like this was a secret that would never leave your lips, until, well… you were six feet down under. You deflated yet again, presuming after his barrage of questions, he would send you out the front door.

“If it is not because you are married, not because you are taken, not because I did something wrong…” He began. “Then… stay.” His arms wrapped around your waist, while he leaned his forehead on your stomach.

Faint, you were going to faint. You heard it right, didn’t you? He said ‘stay’, not ‘leave and never come back,’ not ‘forget this, go,’ not ‘get away,’ he told you to stay. You died and went to heaven, didn’t you? Was it possible for someone like him to want you? Even if it was just for a moment, you wanted to succumb to the feeling of being loved.

Your face heated up, and your hands unconsciously reached for his head, dragging your fingers slowly between the locks of his hair. “…Are you this touchy with all the girls you sleep with?”

Right off the bat you tested the waters, almost grimacing at the implications. Why you formulated such a simple sentence into something with a double meaning, you never knew.

“No. Just you.”

Great. The issues with double ended questions. What did ‘just you’ mean? Did he sleep with a lot of women, and you were the only one he cuddled with so far? Did it mean something else? You had to pry further, not that it mattered whether he slept with other people.

“So… do you sleep with people this often or…?”

He scowled. “What makes you think I take anyone I see to bed?” Todoroki swiftly twisted you around, facing your back, and pulled your body to his lap. “…Only you.” He mumbled.

Ah, you instantly felt relieved. Though, the reassurance only managed to disorient you even further. What happened at the bar? What conversations happened during the hours of the party? What did you say to make him interested? Was he really interested? Maybe, by the way he was holding you right now, his body language proved he was.

Your stomach stirred at the close contact, pulse racing as he settled one hand on your thigh while the other swaddled your waist. “…Do you really not remember?”

You wanted to recall as well. “I don’t… sorry.”

He sighed in defeat. “All right.”

His breaths caressed the back of your neck, sending goosebumps all over your body. You shook your head and forced yourself to breathe, breathe in, and out, in and out, in and— were you being cuddled by the Todoroki Shouto on his fucking bed, why me? Out of all the women in this world, Japan rather, why would he be wrapping his warm arms around you— breathe out!

Everything was so confusing, so perplexing, so—a prank! ‘Ha ha ha, good job everyone!’ You mused. ‘Time to reveal yourselves, you assholes!’ Your list of ‘bastards who pissed you off for a living’ had hundreds of guys. The idiot from work, the bartender near your apartment, your next door neighbor who played rock music at 3 in the morning, stupid Monoma who fucked around at the hospital.

You sighed. One more time, one more phrase of reassurance. Just one more. And you’ll stop asking.

“Hey, hey… Todoroki?” You nudged him with your head, gently. You heard a soft ‘hm’ and continued. "Are you really Todoroki?”

He paused. “…Shouto.”

“I know who you are,” You hummed, a smile flickering your features. “I mean, is it really you? You’re like this… cool hero. A celebrity, really. And I’m just… sitting on your lap, in your room, in your apartment, wherever this place is.”

His grip tightened on your waist. “Who else would I be?”

“Monoma trying to fuck around and fuck up my feelings.”

“Ah, trust me, princess. I would not let that happen.” His so soft voice, sent shivers down your spine. “…Do you really not remember?”

Knock out! He called you ‘princess’, princess, princessprincessprincess. Such an endearing word for a stranger, oh but you love it so. You took a double take, the word was very familiar. Very familiar. It was difficult to pin point a certain time or place, but…

You pinched his ear. “Why do you keep asking? Was it that good that you can’t stop talking about…?”

“We talked about this right before I took you to bed and you—“

“You know what,” You spluttered. “Never mind! Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

The tips of your own ears tinged red, you could feel the heat. Learning more of what happened last night made you squirm, …it will flow back eventually. You hoped. Learning about it from the man himself made you embarrassed, super embarrassed. Knowing he was the type to be nonchalant about everything, he might describe the whole night without any reservations.

Feeling braver, you wiggled yourself into a position that had your legs wrapped around his waist and your head rested on the crook of his neck. Cloud nine, you sighed. This is what cloud nine feels like.

You closed your eyes and listened to the beats of his heart, the rhythm pulling you quicker and quicker into the sensation of sleep. As long as the man himself told you to stay, you shall indeed stay, God, you wanted to stay.

Eyes moving under your lids, one memory emerged— and boy did it send your heart tumbling. You yelped in reaction, eyelids immediately snapping open.

“Hm?” Todoroki asked, certainly with a teasing tone. A fraction of smirk was displayed on his lips. He had sort of an inkling of what happened.

“Nothing, nothing.” You deflected, snuggling your head back into the crook of his shoulder, a way to hide your forthcoming blush.

Warmth was his breath on your neck, trailing kisses down your collarbone, as his teeth lightly nipped the base of your throat. Your head blanked at the pleasure, the heat, the excitement— and only he, calling your name pulled you out of your drunken stupor, though the words he muttered afterwards sent you into a crying mess.

“…I love you.”

#todoroki shouto #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha todoroki #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #shouto x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #eyes like sinking ships on waters #todoroki shouto x you

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closetfanfictionauthor · 3 years ago

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every time we touch

i know kaz is out of characte here but.....i don’t care i wanted to write kaz as a dad and i know he’d be a big softie so you can fight me on this. enjoy

also on ao3

Kaz Brekker doesn't do touching. The number of people who have seen his hands out of his gloves can be counted on Kaz's one hand.

But for Inej, he tries. It takes days, months and years to swallow back the revulsion he feels at human contact.

It starts with a brush of fingers until the desire to vomit fades away as Kaz reminds himself that she's not a bloated corpse.

It becomes standing side by side with shoulders touching, and Kaz has to close his eyes until he can bear the feeling without thinking of cold, clammy flesh.

It's Inej straightening his tie when they spend time with her family and Kaz so desperately wants to press his lips to her warm, brown skin. But he can't promise he won't faint and so he refrains.

Until the day he can finally place his mouth on hers and his body melts over her frame the way it's supposed to.

And it's only possible because Inej is brave enough and strong enough to master her own paralyzing reaction to skin on skin contact.

She tries because she can see how it takes every ounce of Kaz's strength to touch her. And she wants him to touch her and for her to be present for every second instead of thinking of the horrors she endured.

For her it starts with hand-holding, which she can manage with only the slightest racing heart. They make it to hugs and it is Kaz who strokes her head when her muscles lock and her breath comes fast. Kaz whose heart she focuses on and tries to match with her deep breaths.

It is Kaz who holds her when she comes through his window on the days her ship is docked in Ketterdam. She can never catch him unaware. The second her shadow falls over his sleeping form, his eyes are on her, as if he's waiting for her.

They are an unlikely pair in Ketterdam, and yet; they make the most sense. For who else would Dirtyhands Brekker see as his equal if not for the Wraith.

And if anyone doubts how devoted they are to each other, because Kaz Brekker would never be caught acting even close to affectionate in public, all they have to think of is the stories whispered in the dark about the time he ripped out a man's eyes for the damages wrought on his Wraith.

But there comes a time when Inej whispers to him in the dark, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, that there is to be a child. And of course it's Kaz's, for who else could it be.

In the quiet that follows, he is almost frozen with fear. Inej is the only one who's touch he can bear. In that instant, he wishes the child was someone else's even though the very thought of it is enough to send him into a shaking rage.

Because what if he cannot bear the touch of his own child? What will he do then?

He never says as much to Inej, but she has learned every tic and breath and shift of Kaz and what it means and she understands, anyway.

Inej imagines Kaz will be many things as a father: protective, stern but revolted by his own child is not one of them.

Kaz is present when the squalling alien looking child enters the world. Steady and calm, the way Inej needs him to be while she screams and crushes his hands in her grip. Comforting is not a word that has ever been used to describe Kaz Brekker. But while Inej is whimpering in pain, his low voice provides a stream of encouragement in her ear as she gasps for breath. He is solid, never wavering as Inej pushes and pushes and times stretches on.

But finally the child enters the world, their voice piercing the quiet where only Inej's heaving breaths are heard. Kaz's hand is still holding Inej's, but his sharp eyes follow the Healer as they whisk his child out of sight, his ears straining to make sure his child is still making noise.

Kaz is stroking Inej's hair, whispering how wonderful she did, wiping the sweat from her face, fluffing her pillows to make sure she's comfortable because she is the dearest thing in the world to him.

Kaz doesn't get a chance for his heart to stop racing or to think about his fear of being revolted by his own child when a swaddled bundle is thrust into his arm and the Healer is exiting the room to give the brand new parents a moment together. He barely hears the news that he is the father to a daughter.

Kaz freezes in wonder, looking down at the tiny human in his hands. The wriggling and crying stops almost immediately when she is placed in his arms. His little girl has light brown skin and jet black hair and her eyes are big and dark as her head moves from side to side.

Kaz wants to do the exact opposite of drop his little girl, he wants to hold her close, and kiss her and take in that baby smell to make sure that she's real.

His shaky legs collapse on the edge of the bed Inej is lying in and he presents their daughter to her tired eyes.

"She's so small," Inej says sleepily.

"She's going to be my cutthroat little girl," Kaz coos down at her. Inej rolls her eyes and relaxes into her pillows.

"Typical."

"I can't wait for the day she breaks someone's knees," Kaz says, holding the little baby to his chest.

"Kaz!"

"You're right, we'll start her with knives, there's a lot less blood involved," Kaz says solemnly. Inej lets out a laugh, Kaz's favourite laugh, and then groans.

"Healers!" he barks, and they come rushing into the room. Kaz says nothing else. The look on his face is threatening enough, so he moves out of their way as they work to heal Inej and ease her pain.

It takes an hour, maybe more, Kaz standing in the corner the whole time, rocking his child as he lightly strokes his hand over her downy hair while Inej lays with her eyes closed. In the end the Healers tell him that physically Inej is fine, but the exhaustion in her bones is something that will only go away with sleep.

They name her Nina.

The only people who know that Kaz turns into a puddle of mush when it comes to his child are the child in question and Inej. The first couple of years, when the folks of the Barrel see Inej, Kaz, and little Nina out and about, they whisper how lonely the child must feel and how unloved because her father never hugs her or gives her kisses.

They whisper how Nina must be so afraid of displeasing Dirtyhands Brekker, even now, at her young age. They whisper how Kaz must already demand more of this little girl than anyone demands of their child because Kaz Brekker doesn't have time for the underwhelming. They whisper that Kaz Brekker must be planning something because Kaz does nothing without a scheme in mind.

At least that's how the rumours go.

Inej is the only one who's seen Kaz stay up all night, soothing Nina when she wakes up crying, feeding her warm milk to get her back to sleep while he thinks Inej is still sleeping. Inej is there when Nina catches her first cold and Kaz puts on Nina's favourite jacket and hat, and her little bejeweled shoes to go get some hot chocolate while Inej tracks down a Healer.

No one from the Barrel sees the time Kaz puts a band-aid on Nina's pudgy knees when she's just getting the hang of walking and trips and falls. They do not see Kaz when he tells Nina children's stories right before bed to get her to settle down, or the way Nina is sprawled out on Kaz's chest, her own rising and falling in deep sleep. Sometimes she leaves them like that. Kaz passed out while his daughter uses him as a mattress.

He watches Inej teach Nina how to ride a bike first and then she gets her started on balancing on a wooden beam. His face is calm, his features neutral, hands clasped behind his back as he watches the toddler stumble across, her chubby hands clasped in Inej's. On the outside, Kaz is the picture of stern, unconcerned, because they are in public. He appears the demanding father who will not approve of his child not being a double threat with the combined skills of her parents. It is like everyone would expect.

On the inside, Kaz is a mess.

Breaking into and out of the Ice Court was easier than having to sit back and watch his little girl stumble on a wooden beam when she's barely learned to walk. He wants to scoop her up into his arms, press kisses to her face, and take her home with the promise that she'll never have to worry about hurting her little legs.

But he doesn't. Because they are in public. And he knows a child of his cannot be soft in a place like Ketterdam.

Nina, of course, adores him and learns very quickly that she has her father wrapped around her little finger. Kaz will sneak her sweets and ice cream and even toss her in the air while she shrieks with giggles of delight. Inej scolds the two of them for being partners in crime, but in truth, it fills her with warmth.

Kaz Brekker is exactly the kind of father that she knew he would be.

When it's time for little Nina to go to preschool, it's Inej who enrolls her because they both know Kaz would make the administration faint from fear. It's Inej who drops Nina off in the morning, and for the first few weeks, it is the other Crows who pick up Nina from school. The parents are used to seeing Jesper's lanky form and Wylan's curly hair swinging Nina back and forth between the two of them as they take her to their house for babysitting. Once or twice they even see Hanne and Nina, together, pick up the little girl from school and take her shopping to buy her pretty clips and brightly coloured dresses.

And eventually it's Kaz who takes over picking up his daughter from preschool.

The other parents or servants stare at Kaz out of the corner of their eye, their heads bent together whispering to each other about the tall man dressed all in black and a cane in his hand. They wonder who he's here to pick up on his first day and watch in confusion as lovely little Nina comes bounding down the stairs of the school, a smile spread across her face as she spots her favourite person in the world waiting.

"Papa!" she yells excitedly as she comes careening into his long legs and latches onto them like a weed. At first she's perplexed by the solemn look on Kaz's face, an expression she's never had occasion to see aimed at her before, but Kaz gives her a wink, and some of the uncertainty leaves her small shoulders.

Kaz bends down even though it pains his leg and acts as if he is making sure Nina's bag is all zipped up.

"Nina darling, Papa has to be serious when we're in crowds like this, okay," he tells her quietly. Nina nods her head eagerly in understanding. "Think of it as a game okay and act super important."

Nina does not understand completely, but she nods anyway and puts on her most serious face and straightens her shoulders. It takes everything in Kaz not to smile and scoop her up.

The other parents watch them walk away, Nina's small hand disappearing inside of Kaz's larger one. They only hear him ask her if she's making him proud in that severe way of his and their faces form frowns out of pity. Nina does her best to try not to sound excited to tell her papa about her day at preschool. Sometimes she forgets and starts skipping before remembering that she has to act important. Serious.

Kaz feels bad for asking his young daughter to do this, a sensation that he is unfamiliar with. It kills him to have to pretend that he doesn't love her when they are outside. But the business that Kaz works in doesn't allow him to be soft in any capacity, not even when it's his child.

On the way home, he buys the two of them ice cream and they wander by the canals, finishing them together. When they get home, Kaz gives little Nina the hugs and kisses that he knows she's come to expect from him, and his heart tugs at the way her face lights up in delight. In his heart is a steady chant of I'm sorry.

He is not afraid that a target will be put on Nina. Everyone has seen what Kaz has done when a single hair on Inej's head was disturbed. It doesn't even bear thinking about the nightmare that awaits the world if his daughter so much as sniffles out of hurt.

#kaz brekker #inej ghafa #family #fanfiction #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #kaz as a parent

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skvaderarts · 3 years ago

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Hiraeth Chapter 46: Resolve

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Forty-Six: Resolve

Notes: OMG I had a BLAST writing this chapter! Couldn’t tell you why, but the word count probably alludes to that. IDK the last time I wrote a 4500 word chapter! That is a whole third longer than usual! Yay!

(-~-)

Quiet nighttime air made its way through the leaves and branches of the trees and bushes that lined the curbside. A chill hung in the air, frost refracting off of the dim lights lined the roadside in ten-foot intervals, providing just enough light to allow one to traverse the area unhindered but to not disturb the residents of the homes and businesses that adorned the main boulevard. It was late now, just after dusk, and most had either settled in for the night or located a source of evening entertainment. Barely anyone was out and about on this particular road, and that was fortunate indeed when what was about to happen was taken into consideration.

Without warning, a glowing blue tear opened up at the mouth of the alley between two buildings, and out tumbled a figure in a familiar long coat, bloodied and more or less completely done with the situation that they found themself in. Rolling into and across the road, they were nearly hit by a passing truck that sped up to pass them, the driver honking despite being the one who was meant to yield in that situation. The figure hit their back against a street pole, knocking their head against the curb before rapidly collecting themself and hurrying to their feet. They were not out of this fight just yet.

A second figure struggled through behind him, rocketing forward the moment they managed to make their way through the gateway. Another blurry dark figure could be seen just inside of the portal, but when they touched it, they recoiled in discomfort before nodding to their companion and skulking away, faceless but clearly displeased. The first figure bowed to them in a way that implied that the formless being held some power over them before turning its attention back towards the man in the long, dark blue coat.

Surging forward with its long halberd at the ready, it vaulted over the street and bore down on the eldest son of the Dark Knight Sparda, missing him with the downward thrust that it aimed at his head, but managing to kick him square in the chest hard enough to send him slamming back through the glass of some unfortunate empty shop. How fortunate that it was a vacant suite, or else someone would return to their shop in a few hours and be expressly pissed. But he cared little for that right now. He had bigger problems. He would not break his concentration for that.

“Had enough yet, spawn of Sparda?” The devil spat, taking a moment to lick its blade before brandishing it again. It was a slow, methodical action that had probably been intended to intimidate him, but if this creature, intelligent though it seemed to be, thought that something as meager as that would be enough to unnerve him, then it had another thing coming. Well, aside from his blade.

With no hesitation, he rushed forward at blinding speed, locking swords with the snarling humanoid demon before it pushed him back again, sending both of them into the planter out front of the buildings. It then snatched him and tossed him through the other window of the same building, succeeding in finally pissing him off enough to get him to take drastic action.

“Our master will have what he is owed! Surrender the nestling and you may yet be granted the privilege of dying quickly!” It said, kicking aside some of the concrete and plant matter that it had managed to dislodge during their brief scuffle. It would not entertain such unfamiliar surroundings for much longer. But it was woefully unaware of its mistake. They were only a block from the office. He knew this area better than this creature did. And it had no idea of what he was capable of.

Rocketing forward at an unbelievable pace, the half-devil snatched the demon by the throat and sent him flying across the street and through the brick wall that was under construction on the other side of the street that they had exited the portal from, setting back whatever construction project had been underway by several days at least. No. No, they would not. Over his dead body.

“You will have nothing, for that is what I owe you. But I shall take everything from you.” The Darkslayer said, marching across the street towards his opponent. He was clearly incensed and despite his injuries, there was little that he was not willing to do to keep his foes at bay and away from either of his sons. From what he could tell, they knew nothing of Nero. Their target was V. But they would not have either of them. His enemies had taken enough from his family. His father’s burdens should never have had to pass to either of his sons. The eldest Son of Sparda knew that he would not have wanted that. But he was going to ensure that they didn’t pass down to his children. And he was willing to die on that hill.

He may have not possessed the strength to protect his mother that day, but he sure as hell had the strength to protect his children. And he wasn’t backing down. Never again.

Approaching the demon, it attempted to stab him again, only managing to cut his side. He barely registered the meager injury, a privilege of his incredible healing factor. He then seized the demon in his offhand, forcing it to its feet before cutting it up the middle.

Reeling from the staggering wound, the demon stumbled backward into the alley and down towards the direction of the office, lashing out in useless resistance as it was relentlessly pursued by its advisory. But as it neared the front steps of the Devil May Cry agency, the Darkslayer admittedly began to feel the depth of his injuries, his vision going somewhat hazy. He had the distinct impression that his footsteps were unsteady, but was not level-headed enough to check. And as he made his way over to the front door, things seemed to slow down significantly. For a moment, his breath became labored, and he had the distinct impression that if he did not regain control of himself that he would probably collapse.

From what he could tell, it took him longer than it should have to register the fact that he was standing in front of the door as he attempted to open the door. It was locked, probably due to the time. He stared at it tiredly for a moment, looking down and noticing the sheer amount of blood on the stairs. A good amount of that was his, and he knew as much even in his delirium. He knocked. And then again. And again, pausing only to see if he heard anything from the other side of the door. He didn’t, a direct result of the fact that his ears and head were ringing like a church bell in a narrow well.

He now found himself using the door to support his weight, not quite swaying but still not completely still. He knocked again, and then he slumped over entirely, his knees momentarily giving out. Why hadn’t he recovered yet? It was exceedingly rare for his body to have not started to heal yet. Perhaps the sheer number of injuries were causing him some difficulty? After all, he had been banged up pretty good. But for a moment, everything went dark and he felt himself go downward. He wasn’t unconscious, but he wasn’t all there, either. With his eyes closed, he found himself deprived of one of his senses. But so long as the demon was dead on the stairs next to him, he couldn’t muster up the interest to care.

Moments later, the music and talking from within the building that he couldn’t entirely make out stopped and he thought he could hear footsteps. Everyone was on alert. He could feel that much even without seeing. But then, just as he was attempting to collect himself, he felt a rush of climate-controlled air as the doors to the Devil May Cry agency opened, and the presence of his younger twin became unmistakably clear to him. There was a momentary pause during which nothing was said. And then everything hit him all at once, seemingly unwilling to allow him to just live out the rest of his life laying on the front steps of the office he now called home. It was never that simple.

“Vergil! What the hell happened to you?!” Dante said, taking a step backward as his twin struggled to his feet, barely coherent and registering his own actions; nothing more than a bleeding mass of stab wounds, gashes, slashes, and torn fabric. It seemed that he was going to need another shirt. A pity because he actually liked this one. How did his coat always manage to make it through mostly unscathed in spite of it all?

“You just said it, Dante. Hell!” Vergil half-heartedly shouted through gritted teeth before slumping over against the wall. Now he was painfully coherent. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to sit down and give his injuries the time they needed, but he was going to have to do something first. Before his twin could respond, he withdrew Yamato and opened another portal, returning a few moments later with Nero. He heard the Darkslayer apologize to Kyrie for startling her, the sound of broken dishes as she yelped in surprise unmistakable. As the portal closed, he was sure that he caught sight of the young woman waving in a polite, if not delayed fashion, clearly unsure as to what else she could do with herself at that moment in time. Poor Kyrie. He would never understand how she got roped up in this mess. She had to truly love Nero to deal with the rest of them.

As Nero attempted to reconcile the fact that he had just been pulled through one of his missing father’s portals by the back of his shirt, Vergil left again, this time returning with V in tow. The young summoner stared at his father blankly as he walked through of his own accord, his demeanor revealing that he wasn’t even slightly surprised by this turn of events. He had been surprised when his father had knocked on the door and asked to borrow him for a moment instead of appearing inside of his house, though. He knew that he probably could, and the look on Nero’s face seemed to imply that he had just done something like that to the younger hunter.

Dante couldn’t remember the last time that Vergil had actually raised his voice. He was clearly not in the mood for this. Probably best to lay off for now. But first, he had a question for his twin, and it involved the devil that was lying dead on the floor of his front office. Hopefully, it turned to dust sooner rather than later. It would be hard to dispose of discreetly. “So why is that thing here, and where are the rest of them?”

“I can only assume that the rest are unable to cross over into this realm. Most of the more powerful devils still cannot set foot into the human world, especially while using a gateway opened by a blade that once belonged to the very devil that sealed them away.” Vergil finally allowed himself to collapse onto the floor, his back resting against the couch in the living room. He was thoroughly exhausted. “Even possessing Yamato would do them little good if they were not extraordinarily powerful. I doubt they know as much, however.”

“Makes sense, I guess. Though I’m willing to bet that every demon in the underworld probably wants to get a hold of Yamato if that’s the case. Those wackos in Fortuna sure did.” Dante said as he came slightly closer, covertly checking on his brother.

“Judging by my personal experiences and the endless hunts levied against me from the moment I came into possession of the blade, I would be forced to agree with you. I have not known a moment’s reprieve since I chose to take it up in our father’s absence.”

“Come on, Vergil. We both know that’s a lie. V and Nero wouldn’t be here if that was the case.” The younger of the two said with a soft laugh, struggling to hide how raw his nerves were from seeing Vergil return in such a state. He’d feared as much. Vergil truly had gotten himself into quite the mess when he’d left. He was lucky to be alive.

Vergil pulled something akin to a smirk, momentarily recalling something that they had no knowledge of. “Under whose authority did you come to the conclusion that those were calm occasions. I assure you, they were thoroughly tumultuous. Don’t assume.”

Dante blanched, admittedly stunned by his twin’s omission. He was rarely so forward. Nero and V turned bleach pale and beet red respectively, knowing that they would never be able to unhear their father’s words. Oh, how they wished they could be anywhere but here. Genuinely anywhere else. They were only being slightly facetious. Perhaps it was brain damage or blood loss at work? Nero was willing to bet that Griffon would assume the latter if asked. He was so fond of that argument that he was starting to agree.

“So, how was your trip, Brother? Hopefully half as fun as us all wondering if you were dead for a week. And why does your coat seem even blacker now than it did before?”

“Painful and informative. Though not in the way that I had hoped. I can at least confirm something. Each of the nine Prince of Darkness had their own dark knights at one point or another, an assumption that I had back when I was trapped under Mundus’s servitude that has since been proven true.” He looked ill having to even speak that name. Oh, how he wished he could permanently remove it from his vocabulary. Still, he internally noted Dante’s comment about his absence and made a note to consider mentioning his intentions the next time. It wouldn’t take much. “As for the coat, it is darker. A side effect of Belial’s domain. It corrupts everything with darkness that steps foot into it. Fabric is simply an easy target. Or it could be the very air in that place that is to blame. The soot in that place would blot out the sun if it was allowed to.”

The youngest Son of Sparda nodded. That made sense from what he could tell. He shrugged, gesturing for Vergil to continue. Clearly, he had more to say. The eldest of the two nodded, adjusting himself on the couch before continuing. Part of Dante died inside as he realized that Vergil was absolutely going to ruin his sofa, but at least the old piece of furniture could be replaced. Vergil was in rough shape if he felt the need to lay down. He wasn’t going to disturb him.

“I’ve seen several of the others firsthand, but most have either been dispatched or their lords killed since that time. I saw to many of those tasks myself. It was a grueling and costly affair that nearly ended in my demise. Both of my sons saw the direct results of that ordeal first hand upon my return.”

“Ah yes, the cracks. That must have been some fight.” V thought to himself quietly. That explained quite a bit. A quick glance over at Nero was all it took to confirm that he both shared the same thought path as he did, but also shared the trauma caused by it. It didn’t escape his notice that Nero had rumbled his once departed arm in discomfort for a moment as though the mere mention of the attack that had claimed its predecessor was enough to cause him physical pain. Perhaps it was. Trauma worked in mysterious ways at times, and everyone’s reaction to it was different.

It seemed that Vergil had honed his trademark strength and aggression somewhere specific. Dante has assumed that much, realizing that he clearly couldn’t have made it as long as he had down there without adapting to his environment. But if he had waged war singlehandedly against the leaders of the underworld, then that explained the very noticeable and difficult to contend with jump in physical strength that he had witnessed since his return. Without Yamato at his disposal, he had been forced to improvise.

“I thought them a nonfactor… Except for one that I can now concretely confirm the survival of. And we do not see eye to eye.”

“And let me guess: he works for Belial, right? And he’s one of the ones you didn’t beat back then?” Vergil had literally no good news to impart upon them, it seemed. But perhaps being in the know was better than nothing. At least they knew what they were up against this time. Dante was glad for that.

“Unfortunately you would be correct. She does.”

She? Now, this was interesting. Nero, Dante, and V shared a look ranging between a raised eyebrow and a full head tilt on Dante’s part before returning their collective attention to Vergil. Lady seemed to take note as well, chuckling to herself at the mental image of Vergil getting his butt kicked by some random demoness. Trish sighed to herself quietly. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. She’d spent enough time in the underworld to have a general idea of who he might have encountered if he’d gone on that side of the underworld. What in the world had Vergil been thinking?

“Is that how you got your ass handed to you, Vergil?” Nero asked casually, leaning against Dante’s desk just a few feet away. V had taken a seat next to him on the surface of the desk, Lucia joining him. The young summoner barely hid his blush as he looked away from her, but he had to keep his mind on the topic at hand. This was serious.

“You don’t actually think you're funny do you, Nero?” A look of disapproval adorned Vergil’s face, but everyone present including the Darkslayer himself knew that he wasn’t going to do anything. He wasn’t in the condition to be as much of a threat as he normally was.

“Sometimes. Anyway, this knight that mopped the floor with your deadbeat ass got a name?” Nero inquired casually as he shrugged, unphased by his father’s comment. As long as Kyrie giggled at his jokes Julio sighed in playful annoyance at his puns, then he didn’t care what anyone else had to say.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Nero, Vergil redirected his attention to his younger twin. He was learning to take Nero’s comments in his stride, filing them away as nothing more than tasteless dark humor on his son’s part. It seemed to be the tone that made all the difference. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, when the time came, he was probably going to need Dante’s assistance if he wanted to beat her and still manage to maintain the strength necessary to take on his true opponent.

“Exalta, Huntress of Decay. She is… treacherous. She cannot be reasoned with, and she does not back down.” Vergil was clearly unamused. He had to admit that she had actually done that, both figuratively and literally. Despite her stature (which was immense, all things considered) she possessed extraordinary physical strength. This wasn’t the first time she had reminded him of that fact. “Doing battle against her is much like what I would imagine trying to stab a moving locomotive into submission would feel like. She’s an unyielding mass of hateful, concentrated destruction.”

For a moment, Dante considered asking Vergil what the “Huntress of Decay” part was about, but he decided against it. Somehow he just knew he would find out at some point anyway. And that title seemed pretty self-explanatory. This just got better and better by the second. Maybe against all the odds he could just odder her friendship and she would be gentle with him? Unlikely, but he did love a good fight regardless. If she had body-slammed Vergil through one of his own portals, then she was a foe worth contending with. But at least she couldn’t come into the human world. The town had seen enough destruction since Vergil’s return.

Trish nodded before shaking her head, her arms falling to her sides in dissatisfied exasperation. “I never did like her. She poured a drink on me once when I went with Vergil to pass a message to Belial for Mundus. A hot drink. And she didn’t speak. To my understanding, she comes from the same subspecies as your father, so she is more than capable of intelligence though. A foe to be reckoned with. Tread carefully.”

Vergil smirked. Oh, he remembered that. He stifled a chuckle before it could do any damage. One of the scarce moments of humor he could derive from the hell he had gone through back then. But even back then he could vaguely recall being pleased that Exalta had done that. Perhaps she wasn’t as bad as he had originally assumed.

“Great. She sounds like an absolute joy. But can one of you kill her? I mean, she’s not that tough, is she?” Lady asked as she barely held in the urge to laugh at what had happened to Trish. She folded her arms across her chest as she came slightly closer. She’d never seen Vergil get his butt kicked this badly before, not even when they had gone against her father as teenagers. And he’d literally been slapped across the room on his face during that encounter. Ah, good times. It had been the highlight of an otherwise terrible moment in her life. She could practically feel her leg ache just thinking about it. Or maybe that was just the cold weather.

Both Trish and Vergil nodded to confirm their ability to remove Exalta’s soul from her body, the pair then looking at one another in uncomfortable horror after the fact. Vergil then flopped back on the couch and stayed there for a moment. It was fortunate that his body healed so fast, but it was still strangely slow, all things considered. Either way, he could feel his muscles and skin repairing themselves. He would be fine momentarily, even if he was slightly worn out from that ordeal. He had not expected to run headfirst into the situation that he had just found himself in. The underworld was full of surprises, and they were never pleasant ones.

Realizing that that thoroughly unpleasant conversation was over with, Patty came from behind the couch where she had been standing this entire time, looking to break the ice. She turned her attention to Vergil, noting that he seemed to be more or less alright now. Well, at least much better than he had been when he’d arrived at the office. “So… Do you want to play a game of poker with me?”

Vergil stared at her blankly, seemingly not believing what she had just asked him. Surely she saw the gravity of everything that was going on. She couldn’t be that blind to it. But then again, perhaps that was the point. Tension was heavy in the room as everyone took in the gravity of the situation. She was probably just trying to alleviate that. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he rubbed his face for a moment before half looking at her. “Why not.”

“You can play poker?” Dante said doubtfully. Now, this he had to see.

He registered his twin’s presence and the utterly flabbergasted look on his face. It was apparent to him that his brother had never considered the fact that he might know how to do something like this. Not that he could say that he could. Dante certainly couldn’t if his ledger was anything to go by. But what did he possibly have to lose? He owned basically nothing. “Why wouldn’t I know how to play poker? It’s basically chess.”

Now Dante looked equal parts confused and genuinely irritated. “No, it’s not.”

“And how would you know that? Have you ever played chess, Dante?” He knew for a fact that he hadn’t. The Damned Chest Set that occupied the entrance to Temen ni Gru’s portal’s upper echelons didn’t count in the slightest. It was sentient and Vergil was confident that his twin had simply stabbed them to death. He didn’t have to even be there to know that. The eldest son of the Dark Knight Sparda had to genuinely contain how excited he was to see his younger twin this utterly perplexed. It was rare that he annoyed Dante in exactly the same way that his younger sibling annoyed him. He was going to bullshit his way through this game of poker, and Dante couldn’t stop him.

Dante raises his hand and opens his mouth to answer before letting his hand drop and allowing his hand to fall to his side. No. No, he hadn’t. Vergil had him beat and he hated it. Why on earth had he been so worried about him all week? A snaggle-toothed grin passed across his face as he turned, put his hand up in defeat, and retired to the one good couch that was left to watch his brother get his ass handed to him in poker. No one beat Patty. That was simply a fact of life.

Nero, Lucia, and V looked at one another, unsure as to what to do before deciding that it was probably best to just head back to V’s house. It had furniture now, and unlike Dante’s office, half of it wasn’t malfunctioning or soaked in blood. There was no contest in regards to the best place to spend the evening. Dante and Vergil were going to need some time alone. Nero and V would take their opportunity to check in on him once things were calmer around the office. It was best that V not spend too much time away from the safe confines of his home. After all, it was literally bad for his health.

Lady and Trish shared a look between one another as the trio left the building, thoroughly confused as to what the hell was going on before reaching into their pockets to procure their wallets. It seemed that it was time for that hypothetical wager that they had spoken about before to take place.

“My bet’s on Patty,” Lady said with a snarky smile and she placed down a crisp, solid hundred dollar bill on Dante’s now vacant desk. It was clearly new money. Trish took a moment to consider her options before smiling softly. She was willing to bet on Vergil any day of the week in spite of their past issues. She had seen first hand what he had endured. A game of poker was child's play in comparison.

“I’ll take that bet.”

(-~-)

Gosh, I really want to write a story about Vergil and his pre DMC5 war against the devil princes now because omfg that would be so metal! It wouldn’t be super long, either. Maybe like 5-10 chapters at most. Guess I have to add that to the list of things to do after I finish the Soliloquy Saga. Or would that technically be part of it? Who knows.

I’m taking bets now on who is gonna win this poker game lol! See you in the comments and again on Friday! Hope you liked this chapter! I accidentally pulled an all-nighter writing it because I was having such a good time!

#Hiraeth #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #Dante #Vergil #Nero #V #Vitale #Fanfic #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #DMC #DMCV

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actress4him · 4 years ago

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 4

Another hopeful ending today! Also featuring a bit of Pidge whump. As always, please check the tags and let me know if I missed any. And if anyone wants to comment on/reblog any of my Whumptober fics so far that would make a fantastic birthday gift! 😉

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 4 - Collapsed Building

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: claustrophobia, impaling, blood, internal bleeding, broken bones, overuse of the word quiznak

“All the royals and diplomats are clear. What’s everyone’s status?”

“Just coming down the stairs,” Lance puffed. “Hunk’s with me. Be out in a tick.”

“Keith? Pidge?”

“On our way.” Keith skirted around a table and shattered vase that had fallen when the ground started shaking, and kept running. “We’re on the lowest level, but not sure...” He glimpsed a familiar room through an open door. “Wait. I think that was the dining hall we just passed.”

“It was!” Pidge confirmed from a few feet ahead.

“Okay. You guys need to hurry. The rebels could be back with more bombs any minute, and I’m not sure how much more the palace can stand. Allura and I are gonna get everyone underground; you all head to your Lions as soon as you’re out.”

“Roger.”

“Headed that way now!” Hunk replied.

"Quiznak."

Keith nearly ran into Pidge, who had skidded to a halt in front of him and was messing with her gauntlet. “What is it?”

“The way we came in earlier is blocked. Looks like it took a direct hit.” She pulled up a glowing schematic of the palace as Keith took in the piles of beams and stone in the hallway to the left. “We’ll have to go this way. It’s longer, but it’s our only choice.”

He let her lead the way once more, not only because she had the map but because he wanted her to set the pace. He could easily outrun her, he knew, but there was no way he was leaving her behind. They’d make it out. They had to. Maybe the rebels were done. Maybe there wouldn’t be any more -

His thoughts were interrupted by another ear-splitting explosion and the floor rocking beneath them. Pidge stumbled, but Keith caught her by the arm and quickly righted her.

“Go, go!”

She picked up the pace, and Keith tried to ignore how wide and fearful her eyes had been. He didn’t have time to worry about that, anyway. Shiro was yelling in his ear, wanting to know if they had made it out yet, and somewhere high above them ships were droning and another bomb was whistling. And getting louder. In fact, it was louder than any of the others he had heard so far, and for the first time, he heard the actual impact on the roof before the explosion.

His heart in his throat, he leapt forward without fully realizing what he was doing. “Pidge!”

Then there was pain.

And darkness.

The next thing that Keith was aware of was a far off voice calling his name, over and over again. Parting his superbly dry lips, he attempted to answer, but all that came out was a groan. Why did he feel so heavy? It was as if every single muscle in his body weighed three times as much as it should. He blinked open his eyes, but the darkness barely retreated. There was only a faint glow, like that of the insignias on their armor.

“Keith?” The voice came again, and this time he was fairly certain of its owner, though he was unsure of why he couldn’t see her when she sounded so close.

“P-Pidge?”

“Oh, thank quiznak.” Pidge drew in a shuddering breath, sounding close to tears. “I was so scared you weren’t gonna wake up.”

Had he been asleep? He ran his tongue over his lips, but it was just as dry as they were. “What...I don’t...”

Pidge’s voice softened. “The rebels, remember? They dropped one of their bombs right over us, and you...”

He had jumped on top of her. The memory hit at the same time as the pain, and Keith screamed.

“Keith! It’s okay, it’s okay! Ugh, I mean, I know it’s not okay, but...” Pidge floundered for words. “Can you...can you tell me where it hurts?”

Everywhere. “M-my leg.” That was the worst, at least.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure my leg’s broken. Like, I think there’s maybe like a rock or something sitting on top of it.” She sounded so nonchalant about it, but that was Pidge, he supposed. Analyzing the situation and relaying the information was what she did best. “Do you think...is that kinda what yours feels like?”

“No.” He attempted to flex his foot and had to clamp his teeth together to keep from screaming again. “It, uh...it feels more like it was stabbed.”

“The fact that you know the difference between a broken bone and a stab wound just by pain is concerning to me,” she deadpanned. “Okay, anything else?”

Keith tried to focus past the searing pain in his leg to take stock of the rest of his body. He still felt heavy, though he now knew that was probably because of the three stories worth of debris on top of him, and everything felt like one giant bruise. “Pretty sure some ribs are broken. Can’t...really feel my arms...”

“I’m just glad you can feel your legs. I was afraid your back might be broken. Since it’s not, I’m gonna try to scoot out from under you and see if I can get a look at your leg.”

It took Keith a moment longer than it should have to process that statement. “Wh-...wait, are you...under me?”

The explosive reaction from Pidge was not what he was expecting. “Well, yeah, since you tackled me like a frickin’ idiot! I swear, you and Lance and your stupid, frickin’ self-sacrificing tendencies...”

If his normal social skills weren’t bad enough, right now he hurt way too much to be able to come up with a proper response to that. “Uh...sorry? I guess? I just...wanted...”

“You just wanted to keep me from getting hurt, I know. I got it.” Though her tone was still angry, he thought he heard it waver with another emotion.

“But...you still did. Get hurt.” And he hated that fact more than he hated his own pain.

“It’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.” Not nearly as bad as you, she didn’t say, but he heard it anyway. She sighed. “Thanks, I guess. I mean, I don’t like you sacrificing yourself for me, but...at least this way we’re together, right?”

“Yeah. Being alone right now would -“ his words caught in his throat as his leg gave a particularly intense throb -“would suck.”

“Yeah.” Silence fell for a moment, then he could hear her draw in a deep breath. “Okay. Gonna start wiggling out to the left now. Still not sure how you didn’t know you were laying on top of me.”

Once she started moving, Keith was able to free his left hand and reach out blindly until he found something to brace it on, leveraging himself up slightly to give her more space. The movement made that one particularly sore spot near his kidney flare up dramatically, and he swallowed back a gasp. That was...probably not good. No need to worry Pidge about it, though, when there was nothing she could do.

“I assumed...y-you were debris.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He managed a small smirk. “No offense to you. It’s...probably the...armor.”

By then, Pidge had managed to wriggle her way out far enough that he could actually see her face through her helmet. She gave him a tiny smile before twisting and craning her head back to look at his leg. “Quiznak. That’s...quiznak.”

“Yeah, kinda...kinda feels that way.”

She dropped back down so that they were face to face. “So, bad news is, there’s a reason you feel like you were stabbed. Best I can tell, there’s like, an entire beam going through the middle of your thigh.”

The mental image combined with the pain made his stomach roll, but he swallowed it back. “What’s...what’s the good news?”

“Uh...the good news?” The stumped look on Pidge’s face made it clear that there really hadn’t been any. “The good news is...Shiro made us wear our helmets, so neither one of us have major head injuries?”

Keith huffed, regretting it when his ribs protested. “Yeah. Point for Shiro, there.” Before coming to the dinner and meeting tonight there had been a whole argument between him and Allura on whether the helmets were necessary for a diplomatic event. “I assume the...comms are out, though?”

Pidge nodded. “At least our end is, though I doubt they can hear us, either. I...went ahead and said where we were a couple of times while you were out, though. Just in case.”

He wanted to say something to reassure her, despite not being too optimistic about their outlook, himself, but found himself suddenly unable to draw in a breath. Something gurgled in the back of his throat. It exploded outward with a violent cough that spattered on the inside of his face shield and left him whining pitifully and wanting to curl in on himself.

“Yikes, that couldn’t have felt good on broken ribs.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Why are you coughing? Your helmet’s sealed, there shouldn’t be dust.” Leaning in, she cupped the side of his helmet with her hand and let the light from her armor illuminate the pinkish liquid. “Please don’t tell me that’s blood. Quiznak, that’s blood, isn’t it? You’re bleeding internally. That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”

“Hey.” Keith grimaced, already feeling more blood crawling up into his throat. “It’s okay. Don’t...don’t freak out.”

Pidge almost looked ready to throttle him. “How can I not freak out? We’re trapped under a crap ton of debris and nobody knows where we are and you are coughing up blood, Keith! It was bad enough that you were losing blood from your leg, but now you’re losing it somewhere inside, too!”

“Yeah, I know.” He was starting to feel the effects of it, too. Losing every few words that she said, his vision occasionally blinking out altogether. He coughed again, unable to hold it back any longer. “It’s...it’s ‘kay, though. Sh’ro...Sh’ro’ll fin’ me. Sh’ro...always fin’s me. He’s good...at that.”

“Whoa. Keith. No, come on, buddy, you gotta stay awake. Look at me.”

He pried his eyes open, unaware that he had even closed them. “‘m ‘wake.”

“Okay, good.” Pidge patted the side of his helmet. “You need to stay that way. Tell me...tell me something about yourself. Tell me about living in the shack, out in the desert.”

Keith scrunched up his nose, wondering why she would want to hear about that. “The shack? The shack was...borin’. Was lonely. Nobody...nobody out there...’cept me. Me an’ Blue.” He huffed a laugh, and wondered why doing so hurt. “Thought I was...goin’ crazy. Losin’ my mind. She wouldn’t...stop callin’ me, though. Kept me goin’. Needed...needed somethin’ to keep livin’ for, so...might ‘s well be...a voice ‘n my head.” He coughed again. “Owww. That hurts.”

“I know, bud.” If he wasn’t mistaken, which was a very real possibility considering the fuzziness of his head, those were tears reflecting in her eyes. He wanted to ask her why she was sad, but she was still talking. “I know it does. You just gotta keep hanging on for a little while longer, okay? Then Shiro will come and get us.”

“‘Kay. I like Sh’ro. He’s a good...good guy.” Keith let his eyes slip shut again. The darkness felt nice on his tired brain. It was almost as nice as Pidge. She was really nice.

“Nope, don’t close your eyes.” When he didn’t respond right away, she grabbed his shoulder and shook it slightly. “Keith, come on.” Her voice sounded choked.

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes. “I’m tired,” he whined. “Need to sleep.”

“You can’t sleep until we’re back at the Castle. Then I promise you can sleep for a long time, okay?”

He sighed. It kinda seemed like something had been hurting pretty bad earlier, but now everything felt pleasantly numb. It was good for sleeping, but Pidge seemed really adamant about him staying awake. “I like th’ Castle. Th’ Castle’s nice. ‘S like...’s like home. Never...never really had a home...b’fore.”

Pidge nodded, her lower lip trembling. “Yeah. It is like home. I’m glad...I’m glad you found a home, Keith. You just stay awake and keep talking to me, and then the others will come and take us home.”

“Don’t...know if...I...can.” His eyelids were so heavy.

“Keith. Keith!” There was the shaking on his shoulder again. “Come on, Keith, don’t do this to me!” She was definitely crying, now, but he couldn’t seem to make himself look to see why. “Keith!”

Everything was slipping further and further away, his body feeling as if it could just melt into the floor and disappear. He’d be okay with that. He was more than ready for it. It was only a shift somewhere above him that brought a jolt of pain and a gasp from Pidge that brought him back around, his eyes fluttering open once more.

Pidge caught his gaze and smiled through the tears that streaked her cheeks. “Look, Keith, look!” She cut her eyes up and he did the same. A shaft of light was piercing through their dark little hole, and up above the familiar groan of a Lion’s joints could be heard.

“They’re here, Keith. I told you they would come. We’re gonna go home.”

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ianite-simp · 4 years ago

Text

dark!karl pt. 1

this is the first part of this fic, the only part with a happy ending :)

The others were always underestimating Karl. From the day he washed up on the island, his memory so foggy he could hardly recall how to complete simple tasks, the other champions constantly found little reasons to poke fun at him. While Tom was generally the one doing the teasing, Jordan, the so-called champion of justice rarely intervened. Not that Karl minded, at first. He learned to laugh along quickly; after all, friends would be friends. Still, there were the moments of frustration he felt as he struggled to catch hold of a faint memory, the knowledge of how to craft or construct a simple item, while the other two quickly developed their islands. Even worse were the times he simply couldn’t control his limbs properly. While Tom and Jordan nimbly maneuvered their way through courses and tests of agility, Karl found himself cursing and struggling to make his legs bend the proper way, legs that felt disconnected from his body, as though he were a puppeteer with no clue how to control his puppet.

But the times that were far, far worse than anything else were the brief conversations when Jordan and Tom would bring up their gods. They spoke of them with such a sense of familiarity, of understanding, that Karl found himself eagerly hanging onto every word they said. Listening to them describe the gods so close to them, Karl couldn’t help but admit a shadow of doubt in his mind. Who am I? Why am I here? The others knew where they stood, they felt secure in their alignments. Yet he felt he didn’t quite fit with any of the three, Mianite was too much of a goody-two-shoes, Dianite was downright evil, and Ianite’s actions didn’t quite make sense to him.

In many of their stories, their memories from other dimensions, a bloke named Tucker was brought up quite a bit. He was Mianite’s champion, the “good guy” hero. It was obvious that the other two missed him, and he could understand why. Almost all of their old jokes, pranks, and stories seemed to tie back to Tucker. Sometimes, listening to the captain and the zombie chat, Karl got the sense of being an outsider, of not belonging. The strange, sidelong looks the priest would give him whenever he brought up the gods didn’t exactly make him feel comfortable, either. It was like Declan was trying to figure out just who he was, a thought that always made Karl snort in amusement. Good luck with that, mate. I don’t even know that. But a feeling of unease would always follow, washing over him in a chilly wave that raised the hair on his arms. He’d hear unfamiliar whispers in the back of his mind, whispers that seemed louder whenever he felt isolated. You’ll never replace Tucker. You’re better than them. You aren’t one of them. You’ll never be as close to them as he was. You don’t belong.

Of course, he pushed back against the thoughts, attributing them to having a few meads too many with Tom, or not getting enough sleep, or something like that. Something that wouldn’t make him seem mad. But when they came across the prophecy that foretold the coming of the three heroes, everything changed. He was given his role, to be the new champion of Mianite. A replacement, obviously. There couldn’t be another word for it, he was stuck with god with no consideration for who he actually was. He wasn’t, he couldn’t be a golden boy, not like Tucker at least. He liked to have some fun with pranks, cause a bit of chaos. If he should’ve been assigned to any god, it should have been Dianite. A sense of frustration planted itself, heavy and irritating, in the back of his mind as he set to building a temple for Mianite. No one seemed to care about who he was, what he wanted, everyone trusted the bloody prophecy. They just want Tucker back. You’re his replacement. But he pushed the intrusive thoughts away, throwing himself fully into building the temple. He knew he couldn’t create anything nearly as awe-inspiring as what Jordan and Tom would come up with, given his frequent lapses in memory, but he was determined to do his best. He worked tirelessly over that week, only allowing himself moments to rest when he came close to collapsing. The work absorbed him, and he was glad, because it was a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. As odd as it was, the job of creating a temple for his god was a way of forgetting the gods existed, a way of forgetting the prophecy.

The day of the gods’ arrival came too soon for Karl. Despite being physically drained from it, the hours he spent working on his temple were some of the most peaceful he had known on the island. He barely paid attention as Ianite was summoned, hardly even noticing as she spoke to the priest and the captain. He felt faintly sick, a heavy feeling of anxiety in his stomach, as they approached his temple. Will Mianite approve of me? Or is he going to mock me just like the others? Is he just looking for a temporary replacement? Crossing his arms firmly over his chest in order to hide the faint tremors in his hands, he tried to listen to what Declan was saying. His eyes fixated expectantly on the carefully chiseled throne he had worked tirelessly to create, he felt his heart plummet as the god made no appearance. There was only the faintest echo of a confused, disembodied voice. The temple wasn’t good enough. I’ve completely messed this up. The only thing I had to do right, I botched entirely. I could’ve proved I’m good enough, that I don’t need to be someone else, that I don’t need to fill Tucker’s shoes. He couldn’t hear what Declan was saying anymore, couldn’t hear the feeble attempts at reassuring him, because his pulse was pounding in his head like a judge’s gavel.

As the others hurried over to Dianite’s temple, Karl lingered at the base of the throne he had painstakingly made, his hand tracing the familiar austere lines of the quartz. He wasn’t as accustomed to praying as the others were, but he couldn’t help but mentally demand, What did I do wrong? Am I not good enough? Silence greeted his hopeless plea. Giving himself a small shake, he left the temple to soar to Tom’s island, doing his best to put up his usual, laid-back front. His jokes at Tom’s expense were half-hearted at best, but Tom was too occupied and Jordan too polite to say anything to him. All the better, really, considering they wouldn’t understand any of the bitterness welling up from the depths of his stomach. After sitting through what felt like an eternity of conversation with Dianite, Karl eagerly took the first opportunity he was given to fly back to his own island. His mind had been mostly occupied with ways he could improve his temple, and he was determined to get a good start on the new plans with what was left of the afternoon. He could show them that he was able to progress, become better. But as he approached his home, he nearly tumbled out of the air as he tried to stop short in the air, stunned by the sight in front of him. Doing his best to recover his spiraling flight with a few clumsy adjustments, he landed in a heap on the beach. Stumbling to his feet without pausing to shake the sand from his clothes, he broke into a run as he headed for his temple. The once pristine, carefully constructed building was reduced to devastated ruin, the walls and pillars barely supporting a crumbling roof. Heaps of smoldering rubble continued to clatter down from the ceiling onto the cracked and half obliterated floor. The throne, what he had worked the hardest on, was barely intact, broad cracks forming veins in the previously unblemished surface. Of all the days for this to happen, why did it have to be today? Why? Rubbing a hand across his eyes in a desperate attempt to hide the stinging tears forming, he let out a low string of curses. Why is it always me?

In the days before the trial, Karl found himself fighting harder and harder with each new hour to hold back the bitterness that seemed determined to hang heavy over him. He couldn’t bring himself to repair his temple, after watching hours of work get absolutely destroyed. He avoided that portion of his island entirely, focusing on his farms, his home - anything but the still smoldering ruins. He didn’t want a reminder of what Tom had done, had likely done without a moment of remorse. On the day of the trial, he tried his best to stay calm and keep his temper in check. Without being properly aware of what he was even saying, he got involved in some mindless debate with Jordan. Anything to keep his mind off what Tom had done. But as they filed into the courthouse, and each took their turn in the cell, he was overwhelmed by a sudden, strange disgust he felt for Tom and his god as the zombie stepped inside. All they do is blow stuff up, and they don’t care one fuckin’ bit. The intensity of the emotion startled him at first, but he allowed himself to wallow in it for the remainder of the trial. He had spent the past two days doing everything he could to be fair and compassionate - but Tom’s blatant disregard for truth destroyed every bit of sympathy he had.

When Tom was declared guilty and handed his punishment, Karl was struck by a pang of dissatisfaction. After everything he did, all he had to face was some menial labour. Unable to speak up about it without sounding like some sort of sadist,, Karl kept to the side, unaware of the scowl that had stolen over his features. Destroys my temple, all he has to do is spend some time digging himself out of obsidian. They call this fairness? He forced himself to keep quiet, prepared to head back to his island, until Tom requested their attention, and quickly renounced his god in favor of Ianite. Absolute garbage, as if anyone’ll believe that. Renouncing his ways? That’s rich, after he trashed my temple. Barely giving Tom the time to finish what he was saying, Jordan immediately began voicing complaints. Karl lingered a moment longer, but seeing no sincerity in Tom’s assurances of faithfulness, he quickly took off in the direction of his island. The rising irritation made it impossible for him to stay any longer. Stretching his arms out, he took a moment to take in the soft breezes racing by him, the sun warm on his neck, the glinting water far below. While he wasn’t the best at landings, flying with the elytras over the islands never failed to calm him down. All he really had were these islands, no childhood memories or past friends to think of. Just the chain of islands in the vast ocean. The short flight gave some relief to the pent up emotions within him, but the bitterness continued to swirl inside him once he touched down, for hours after the trial had ended.

Luckily, within only a few days, there was a new event to distract him from the mess of emotions, a new chance for him to prove himself worthy of Mianite. A chance to prove yourself better than Tucker. The training grounds, if anything, would be a good distraction, and a way for him to work on regaining proper control of his limbs. As they went through the different challenges, Karl refused to let himself grow discouraged. He hadn’t expected to be the best at any of the tasks, and though they took all of his focus, he found himself starting to enjoy the competitive spirit. He felt closer to being equals with Tom and Jordan than he had in a long time, and needless to say, it was a nice change. By the time they finished messing around on the elytra course, he had almost forgotten the real reason for going through the challenges. A combination of fear and anticipation seemed to take hold of him as he waited anxiously alongside the others for Mianite to appear. With eager shouts, the others spotted him before Karl did, a figure standing just outside the door. Karl’s breath hitched in his throat as he quickly passed through the door to stand before his god. Illuminated by the late afternoon sun, Mianite stood proud and tall, his gaze confident as he surveyed the assembled heroes in front of him.

“Good afternoon!” He exclaimed, his eyes settling onto Karl as a warm smile formed on his face. An explicable feeling of joy filled Karl’s chest as he met the clear blue eyes of the god, his god.

“Hello sir,” he replied, adding on as a panicked afterthought, “lookin’ fresh.” He wanted to deck himself after saying that, it just seemed wrong to address a god with such informality.

But Mianite didn’t seem to care, as he went on to say, “You’ve done so, so well. You really are amazing!” Though he knew it was said to all of them, a warm glow filled Karl as Mianite met his eyes yet again, as though directing the praise all to him. The feeling of satisfaction he got just from hearing his god’s voice, from seeing him and speaking to him, that suddenly made it clear to Karl why Jordan was so devoted to his goddess. After spending several minutes speaking to his god with the familiarity of an old friend, and shoving Tom aside whenever he tried to interrupt, Mianite’s expression grew grave. “I’m afraid I do come carrying a warning.” Snapping his fingers in the air twice, a slim book appeared in his hands, the leather binding worn and faded. “To my favourite, read this.” He held the book out to Karl, who accepted it immediately. His favourite, I’m his favourite. I’ve done something right here, for once. I’m his hero, properly. Mentally shaking off his distracting thoughts, Karl opened the book. It was relatively short, but he chose to read it aloud rather than pass it around immediately.

“Dear Friends,

Thank you for birthing me to this land within this human body. I have heard my Brother, Dianite and Sister, Ianite have come to this world already… I worry they may be sick… Something was not right in Asgard. I built this training ground to both test and build you. You are now the Chosen heroes. Work in unity and leave no-one behind.

The Darkness we all believed to be myth may be amongst you.

The true form has yet to be seen, but the stories have been told that the Darkness is not one being, but many. It inhabits bodies, uses them, then discards them when they are weakened. It is near impossible to tell when the Darkness has claimed a host. Rumours state that it chases power and seeks one who is on the cusp of greatness, hoping to claim it for their own.

Beware my friends, for this could bring us all down. I must now learn how to harness the magic of this land.

Mianite.”

“Spooky, dude,” Jordan commented in the stunned silence. Pocketing the text, Karl shrugged in response, as Tom attempted to take off using his elytras and promptly crashed, Joining the captain’s laughter, Karl brushed off the slight twinge he felt in his temples. Must be a bit of a headache forming, no wonder given all this racket. But I’ve got my god now, and I’ve done something right. I’m just as good as Tucker. The delightfully warm feeling returned to him, practically eliminating the slight ache in his head. Things were getting better for him, finally.

#i haven't written in ages be kind please #inspired by the cool bros of nerf house #mianite #mianitian isles #lrakinidas #captainsparklez #synhd #mianite fanfic #writing #amethyst writing time

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stevenuniversetanzanite · 5 years ago

Text

The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) Part 3

Warning I may go back and edit this later if i need to but for now I am content with it.

~~~ and Italic is flashback/dream as per usual for me

^These parts were added after edit because I couldn’t decide it they were going in these or for the next.

This is technically a prequel to Fallen Angel (Work in progress), however it can be read as a stand alone series.

Summary:

If your reading as a stand alone: A witch heads back to Miss Robichaux’s 20 years after she left in hopes of being a teacher there. The only problem is she hasn’t aged a day.

If your from Fallen Angel: The event’s leading up to Y/N joining Michael and the Cooperative.

Warnings: N/A

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4(will be added when done)

Heartbreak, betrayal, lust, Lost. Happiness, unity, fulfilment. Kindness generosity. This is what it’s like to be human. There is no one way to live but through your life, you experience a lot, both positive and negative.

~~~

Cordelia informed you that the council would have to go back to Hawthorne, and you’d have to look after the school in their absence. You nodded, not questioning it. She promised she’d fill you in if anything happened that should concern her. You spent the quiet hours sitting in the lounge room reading about magical creatures as you normally did. When you stumbled across a passage you had seen a thousand times and never thought anything of it.

You laid the book down in front of you, contemplating the contents.

That mark that you saw on Cordelia. The scabbed-up wound that looked like it was rotting and bruised. It looked like one that occurs when an earthly creature mingled with a heavenly one for too long. That couldn’t be right, when would she have interacted with an otherworldly creature?

If you could figure out who or what caused it, you might be able to reverse the damage. It was worth a shot. You were in the dark, but with enough observation you could break the code, you thought. You might have to break some of your morals, but if it was for a good cause your actions could be justified. Who’s to judge? With a collection of books, you trampled up to your bedroom going into complete lock down to focus on the task at hand.

There was a knock at the door interrupting your study. Without turning around, you opened the door, “Yes, who is it?”

“Mallory.”

“Mal, did anything happen?”

“It’s dinner in five minutes.” It wasn’t her job to retrieve people, however she was helping you look after the girls and you guessed you. Cordelia probably put her up to making sure you did not get too carried away with your work. “The others should be back early tomorrow.”

“Yes, they should,” You turned your attention back to your work and again the book in front of you. “I’ll see you downstairs.” Mallory nodded then left, already knowing you weren’t going to head down.

You were still at your makeshift set up on the floor in your and Cordelia’s room. Books scattered about on the floor with a pile of untouched ones stacked up high. To the side was an untouched plate of dinner that one of the girls on dinner duty brought up for you. You grabbed a book from the pile, settling it down and letting the book flip to the page you needed as you heard the bedroom door squeak open.

Cordelia snuck into the room. Settling her belongings down quietly.

“I swear If I’m not here to tell you to go to bed, do you ever sleep?” You did not respond. She noticed the plate full of food, “and you didn’t go down to dinner either?” Again, no response. The woman snuck up behind you and peered over your shoulders. You stiffened, faced darting the direction of your girlfriend as all the books snapped closed.

“You’re back!” You jumped up and hugged her.

“You look like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” You said. “Give me five minutes and I'll have this mess cleaned up and I’ll be ready for bed.

“Oh no, where going downstairs and making sure you have a proper meal”

“I had dinner,” Cordelia points at the dinner plate laying on the ground. Left untouched since being placed there. “When did that get there? I swear my work was important.”

“More important than food?”

“Yes-okay no. I was having a break though?”

“Not an excuse”

“Fine, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

The coven had no idea what they were up against. Cordelia sent Madison to investigate the supposed ‘Alpha’ origins linking back to a large house in Los Angeles. The boy, Michael Langdon, brought back Misty from the hell, if that wasn’t a testament to his demonic power, what was? Misty claimed to get bad vibes from the male and that her instincts have been write since she was a young child. From the findings that Madison (and Behold who choose to go with her), Cordelia only had one rational idea for her next step, make a deal with the spirit world.

Cordelia made a deal with Dinah Stevens the current reigning Voodoo Queen for her to Papa Legba. She wanted him to open the gates of the underworld for long enough for her to lure him into going inside.

However, since this is such a risky task, Papa Legba told her that the price for this would be all the souls of her witches from the coven. The weight of what he asked for sunk in. Cordelia hadn’t been away of what her mother did, offering a student the spirit. Now it could cost her, her whole school. All those young girls unaware of the decision that was being made.

As Cordelia went to refuse the offer, the man spoke again. He shifted in his chair, getting a whiff of the air. “Hmmm, you have a powerful one on the grounds. Not like the others.” Cordelia had no idea who he was talking about. Mallory? She was the only one that stood out from the rest. “Not a witch.”

“All my students are witches; I wouldn’t have anyone here if they weren’t.” Besides the help, of course but nowadays they got the students to do it. It kept them responsible for themselves.

What the spirit said brought the Voodoo queen concern. “I’ll make one more offer. The angel for the gate being open. You have no use for down here and she’ll be back where she belongs.”

“Angel? We don’t have a- No. You can’t have my girls. If you want a soul take mine.”

“You are not good enough”

“I’m the most powerful witch on earth.”

Papa Legba laughed. “I have made my offers, turn them down and you will not get another.”

She turned them down. She didn’t want to get rid of any of her girls, not a single one. She wasn’t aware of who the spirit spoke of, but if they were a part of this coven that she protected, she wasn’t going to offer them up.

“Dinah, what do I have to do? There must be something else I can offer something else I can do?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Dinah said. “Papa made you an offer-two- he never makes more than one- and you refused him. That’s it. You blew it.”

“No no no”

“Now not only do all your girls die but now six billion other people.” Dinah had all her belongings packed and was about to head out. For all their safety, they better hope the girl that Papa Legba thought was powerful enough to change his offer was good enough to save them all.

The Supreme remained in her office questioning if she had made a mistake. Her duty was to protect her coven and by offering her students she had failed. By refusing the offer she had doomed them and the rest of the Earth. With no clue of the Langdon’s next moves, she was at a complete loss. Choosing to move on from her decision she made, she decided to search for a new way to save them all. Cordelia walked down the stairs when she almost collapsed on the final step. Zoe who was passing helped her gain her stability. She asked her friend to help her back to her room, not wanting any of the girls to see her weak like this. As Zoe helped her upstairs, Cordelia told Zoe that she was in no state to fight Michael. Zoe shared that she believed the woman was fading because of Mallory not Michael. She’d seen the girl do something she’d never seen done by a witch. She mentioned that she was going to go to you about it when Cordelia dismissed the idea.

“Y/N doesn’t need to know. She’s your student, not Y/N’s. Let her worry about her own students.”

Zoe was confused as to why she did not want you to know but said nothing. All the teachers loved celebrating students' achievements no matter how small and besides that, this would be something you would be genuinely curious about. A witch with abnormal powers, you would love to learn about that. She didn’t question her supreme, there was probably more going on in the background that she was unaware of. You were work orientated, maybe Cordelia was trying to sway you from that and you knowing would impact that in some way. Who knows, the two were private about their lives, you more than her.

“Should I tell her about Coco’s new power or wait until Coco tells Y/N herself?”

“Coco will tell the first time she sees her. Speaking of which, where’s Y/N?”

“Your bedroom, I’d presume, she spends most of her time there when she has no classes,” Zoe said. “We need to get her an office; the floor can’t be good for her.”

“I offered to get her a desk, but she refused.” Cordelia’s walking showed down the closer they got to her room. “She can have my office after- I doubt Mallory or whoever the next Supreme is will be ready to take over the school, that's if they even want to.”

“Will Y/N be? She's nice to the students and knows the curriculum and has spent the most time at the school since she arrived but she’s always preoccupied on something else.”

“She doesn’t need to be the face of the coven just the inner workings. I’ll leave her a list, so she isn’t left in the dark.”

If Cordelia trusted you to do the job, that was sufficient for her. It went without saying, the council and the school’s students would be there for you as you have been for them in this trying time. You would all get through it together as she wants. For now, there’s no point in worrying.

“I can make it the rest,” Cordelia said. If you were in there, she didn’t want to concern you. She could simply say she was tired or thought that you’d appreciate some cuddles. Anything to hide the truth from you.

Cordelia woke up from her slumber with an arm of another draped atop of her. She smiled to herself at the thought of you seeing her asleep and choosing to join her. You had cuddled up to her side with one hand loosely laying on her. She brushed the hair of your face. The action causing you to snuggle closer to her body.

Sadly, she knew she would have to leave your sleeping form. She needed to catch up with the council about their finds. Myrtle had recreated one of her friends Bubbles McGee to help figure out the warlocks’ plan. Two of their own changed who they sided with, one vanishing from the face of the earth, the other overhearing her discussion with Madison about going to the house where Michael was born and joined not trusting the boy the others believed was the next ruler.

She pulled away from her girl, making sure not have woken her in the process before tiding herself up and heading downstairs. She’d ordered a special dinner for Mallory and the group to celebrate because it might be the last time, they were all together.

The group at dinner was informed by the two eldest witches of the warlocks that they had killed their brother as well as their plan to do the same to them. Mallory was upset because, in order for her to become Supreme, she had to take power away from Cordelia. Cordelia told her that she isn't dead yet and to enjoy the dinner. Mallory commented on your absent, she assumed as you were part of the staff and their group, you’d be joining them. If she was to rise and be the next supreme, you’d be her best lead on how to look after the witches after Cordelia’s gone.

Cordelia didn’t comment immediately allowing the others to comment in on it. The others knew you weren’t in the loop as for the reasons why they weren’t sure. “Shouldn’t we tell Y/N?” It didn’t make sense as to why you were in the dark, you were one of them. You weren’t in the council, but you are one of the main carers for the students, if there was a threat, you should know so you can prepare for the worst-case scenario. “We can’t be completely irresponsible; we still have girls to protect. Someone needs to look after the students while we stop Michael.” The comments kept going. “It might be a good idea to at least keep her in the loop, she’s a wiz with magic after all. Mightn’t see get sceptical if you don’t talk to her, she is your girlfriend after all.”

“I’ll inform her about the warlocks-” Cordelia said.

“What about the rise of the next supreme? Does she know about you Michael or you fading yet?” Zoe asked.

“Is that why she isn’t with us tonight? Haven’t you told her yet?” Mallory asked.

“She only just got me, I don’t want to tell her- She’s had a long day, that’s why she isn’t here.” She opted to change her tale mid-way through. She wasn’t in the mood to express her emotion fuelled reasoning. They were going to have to respect what she told her. It wasn’t their story to tell. It was hers and the time wasn’t right. “We should go and save our fallen brother and prove that Mallory is my successor.”

They go to the gas station where John Henry was killed. Cordelia asked Mallory to use her powers to bring John Henry back to them. She used her powers and passed the final test. They brought the man back to the school so they could question him on what happened in safety.

You were awake by the time the group came home. You had been up for an hour speaking to the warlock Behold Chablis who had been the coven the last few days. You’d taken the time to make sure he was comfortable while the others were out. He accidentally slipped out about the murder of his brother witch John. You acted oblivious to it, telling him you were sorry for the loss. He figured it out quickly that though you were a staff member you weren’t aware of the outer workings outside these walls. It made him question his supreme.

The two heard the front door open and they both went to check on it. You noticed a group come back with a warlock. You looked at Behold as if to ask if that's his brother warlock, he gave you a nod of recognition.

“Everything alright?” You asked when you caught sight of Cordelia. She gave you a quick nod before asking you kindly to make some tea and bring it up to her office. Mallory offered to help you which you appreciated.

“I’m so happy you guys found him. I just heard he died. I can’t believe something like that happened,” You said getting a pot ready to make the tea. You preferred doing it the old way, electric kettles are good if you are making one but for multiple, brewing it in a pot was better.

“Coco, was the one that found him.”

“Seriously? Coco, that’s awesome. Great job, new you had it in you.” You cheered; the girl looked embarrassed but flattered. “I feel like that calls for a celebration.”

“I didn’t do much. Mallory was the one who brought her back.”

Mallory’s eyes darted to Coco. It took a second for her to realise what she said was wrong. If you knew that she could reset how long would it take you to figure out the rest. Neither wanted to be responsible for you finding out. You eye the two of them. “Hell yeah Mal. Now were definitely celebrating. You two drink wine?” They both did. You informed them there should be the replacement bottle of wine you bought after Madison drank Cordelia’s. You’d bought a couple so you could save it for a celebration.

“There’s a half-finished bottle, should we have that first?”

“Yeah. Madi must have gotten into the wine again.” The bottle was leftovers from the dinner they had earlier that night. Neither decided to mention that. “You guys pour the wine while I deliver this tea to the peeps upstairs.”

You carried the tray to her office placing it on the coffee table Cordelia had set up for less formal meetings. You minded your own business as you poured a couple cups for the guests.

John started a coughing fit, when he settled you handed him a cup. He thanked you, locking eyes with you briefly. The night he died flashed into her head. You averted your gaze. You mumbled about getting the tea later as headed towards your escape. Cordelia thanked you as you left.

You ran your hand down your face, gathering yourself before joining the girls downstairs.

The three of you finished the half bottle and moved onto another, by this time you’d had your fair share of alcohol. The other teachers and Madison had joined when they saw alcohol was involved. Zoe only had one glass and only stuck around to make sure you all didn’t wake up the sleeping students with your loud antics.

The topics shifted from television shows they’d seen to celebrity crushes. The girls were arguing over who was the hottest out one. Somehow, Madison started telling stories of her time in the industry and then it ended with her telling you how she ended up being sent to this school in the first place. That started everyone on their own personal journey on how they found their way to the place they all sat drinking in today. Some you already knew, but others like Mallory’s you hadn’t. “You know what I love about your generation of witches,” You caught all their attention. They expected you to tell them your story about how you found your place at the school. “You guys aren’t taught you get all your powers by your 40’s. Like what dumb ass came up with that. You never stop learning new skills, so why wouldn’t it be the same for magic? Take Delia for example- supreme at -what -like 42? Better than 18 like her mother.”

“Anyone is better than Fiona?” Zoe joked. Mallory and Coco didn’t know much about the woman you spoke of but a tale or two had been shared about her and her time tormenting Queenie, Zoe, Madison and Cordelia.

“Oh yeah, you guys met her, didn’t you? Poor souls.” You finished off your latest glass. “I’ve always been terrible at magic, but it’s history- no witch here could beat me, and I can bet on that. I think the misconception was to belittle the weaker ones, keep them in place like they did with the men.”

“You’re talking like you aren’t one of use” They all look at coco like she was supposed to be in the know. “I don’t understand-”

“She’s 45.”

“You’re-” She gave you and full inspection. She was in disbelief by the information she’d heard. You nodded and quickly filled Coco on everything she had missed out on. “That explains a few things.”

“Explains what?”

“Nothing.”

You glared at her, she averted you gaze. You pushed it off deciding to take a sip of your drink instead. You knew what she was on about. The girls in the school were nice but they did talk about you. You shut in nature only helped to create more mystery surrounding you.

Queenie steered the conversation away from the current topic to something more light-hearted. The attitude picked up a bit by everyone but you.

Cordelia and Myrtle came downstairs from their meeting to find the girls had been drinking. Thankfully however the one they needed hadn't drunk much.

She scolded the lot of you drinking on a school night, especially the three staff members. She asked whose ideas it was suspecting it to be the former movie star. When all fingers pointed to you, she was taken aback. You barely acknowledged her presence, deciding to forget about your glass instead taking a swig from the bottle.

She informed the group that the council had to deal with the warlocks and since the main supervisor of the school had gotten 'wasted', council member Zoe would have to stay behind and look after the school. Cordelia informed Coco that she would be requiring Coco's help tomorrow so the group would have to try and sober up before then. She also warned them to dress in black. There was going to be a witch burning.

“You're in trouble now,” Queenie teased.

"Oh well." You finished off the bottle before scrambled up and fumbling through your pockets for your packet of cigarettes. You shoved a stick in your mouth. It was lit the instant it met your lips. Bet Delia didn't know you could do that. Book nerd has learnt a thing or two. "I'm going to smoke. Don't stay up too late."

~~~

To truly understand something you must see it up close, to experience something (by either first hand or by a secondary source) and to formulate your own ideas on it.

“To tell you the truth, this may not be the best idea.” A cigarette in hand, you flicked off the ash into a tray nearby. You never said it was going to be the best idea. “You’ve gone in two deep. Someone’s going to get hurt-” You rose your hand cutting them off by their fear of you alone.

“I’d call you a friend,”

“Thank you?”

“I’d hate to see you die too.” You brought your cigarette up to your lips, inhaling the deathly sweet smoke that has and will kill many. “But you treat me as a god and not an equal. I am no different than you. You see, I have to do this. You aren’t the first to confuse me for something better and if I am to truly understand, I must live in your shoes. Submit myself entirely to science.”

“But this can’t be done the way you plan without flaw.”

“So, let there be flaws.” Your friend, the man you’d been with since he was a young man, who dedicated his whole life to you was in disbelief. You were driving yourself into insanity and in turn bring him down with you, for he worshipped you, claiming he had found god reincarnated. But the man was wrong, you were no god.

“And when it’s all done, what of it then?”

“That won’t happen until the end times.”

#cordelia x reader #cordelia foxx x reader #cordelia goode x reader

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sablesides-writing-corner · 5 years ago

Note

cinderella, prinxiety? :))

"Virgil! Clean these dishes!"

"Virgil! Why havent you made breakfast yet!"

On and on and on went the nonsensical commands, pounding in Virgil's head like the inssesent beating of a drum. His stepbrothers had to be the absolute worst people he'd ever met, and his stepfather didnt fare any better. Always yelling at him to do one thing or another, he was terrified of even slightly screwing up. Virgil crawled out of bed with a groan and walked over to his dresser. After adorning what his stepfather deemed 'proper attire' he walked down stairs and grabbed a broom from the closet. He was halfway through work when his stepfather trudged down the stairs, clearly annoyed. Virgil braced himself, but as usually nothing could prepare him for his stepfather's wrath.

"You missed a spot." said the man.

Virgil's face stung, but he simply smiled and nodded "Yes father, sorry father," he said quietly, earning him another slap on the wrists. He tried not to flinch and continued cleaning the floors. He waited until he heard his stepfather's footsteps fade into the distance before letting silent tears fall down his face.

"Are you actually crying right now?" said someone behind him with a laugh. He turned to face his first stepbrother, Presley. "Goods gods you ARE pathetic." he said, stepping down the stairs, making sure to leave as much of an impression on them as possible, more work for Virgil he supposed.

"What do you require, Presley," said Virgil, his voice once again abnormally formal.

"Oh cut the crap you sad excuse for a human, Izzet and I require your assistance, our rooms are simply DREADFUL and we cant be expected to clean it all up!" Presley said, not even attempting to hide the smirk on his face, nor the menacing glint in his eyes. Virgil supposed the brothers had caused the mess themselves.

"Very well, I'll get to it as soon as I finish up with this," Virgil said, gesturing to the floors. His brother didnt seem pleased, he stormed back up the stairs, what Virgil suspected was mud splattered across them.

It took him what seemed like decades to finish every task assigned to him, every time one was accomplished his step family seemed to find another for him to do. By the time he got back up to his room in the attic it was already night fall. The mice and rats that lived in the floorboards had gathered around the fireplace, and proceeded to burrow into his apron as soon as he sat down.

Virgil didnt pride himself on his voice, he didnt pride himself on much of anything. But for a man who slept so near soot and ashes, his voice could have been enough to cause the heavens themselves to weep. Any chance he could find to sing, there he was, the words ready on his tongue for even the smallest moments of joy. The rodents adored it, which Virgil supposed was an improvement over what he could expect if his step family ever discovered this particular talent of his.

So Virgil sang, he poured his heart out for only the mice and rats and bugs to hear, blissfully unaware of the open window, and the runaway prince who had been out for a night time voyage, just close enough to hear the sweet music as it travelled through the air.

Virgil awoke the next morning to a loud knock on the door.

"Sort through the mail, we're busy," said his father. Virgil stood up and dusted himself off. Soot still clinged to his hair as he approached the door. He picked up the letters. As he sorted through them he noticed a very important looking wax seal on one, the royal crest.

"What's that? Who's that one for?" said Presley over Virgil's shoulder, before snatching the letter out of his hands and rushing off. Virgil followed after him and entered the kitchen doorway just in time to hear Presley and Izzet's shocked gasps upon viewing the contence.

"A ball?"

"The prince?"

"A husband?"

Virgil listened intently on the conversation, the gears in his head whirring and sputtering.

He finally spoke up when the conversation seemed to lull to a stop, "Do you think, I could go?" the glare his father gave him could've killed him in an instant, and the small smile that traced his face soon after offered no consolation.

"Of course, Virgil, as long as you remember to finish all your chores and find a suitable outfit, then you can go to the ball," he said, almost growling. Izzet and Presley exchanged looks, dumbstruck, until their thick skulls finally processed the sentence, then they broke into cruel smiles.

The demands started almost immeadietly, and they went on for eons, sometimes Virgil would complete the same task multiple times because something had gone wrong the moment he left the room, the poor boy felt as if he might explode at any moment.

The day finally ended, and Virgil hadnt found a single thing to wear, he hadnt had the time, nor the energy. He stumbled up to his room, ready to give up on any hope of being happy again in his life, but upon opening the door he was greeted with an unexpected surprise. A black suit with a purple ombre cape was set up on a mannequin in the room, the rats and mice were skittering around the room, appearently working further on the garment. Virgil felt tears in his eyes, but this time they were not sorrowful.

"You guys did all this for me?" he said to the small creatures scattering about the floor. They all looked up at him as if to respond with a yes, Virgil smiled. "Thank you, so much, I only hope its enough," said Virgil, before collapsing onto the bed.

He awoke the next day with a new found confidence, cape billowing behind him as he rushed down the stairs to join his father and brothers. But they looked absolutely appalled at the sight of him. Within mere seconds, the outfit his friends had probably worked so hard to get him, was reduced to scraps, his stepfamily cackling and snarling at him all while they ruined what he felt had been his only shot at happiness. He watched them leave for the ball, tears drenching his face. He walked out into the gardens and sat under a tree, the familiar feeling of emptiness washed over him.

"Why are you crying kiddo? Shouldn't you be at the ball?" said a voice Virgil didnt recognize. He looked up only to be faced with a short man with round glasses almost as big as his face.

"I cant go, I have nothing to wear and no way to get there, it's not like the prince would want anything to do with me Anyways, and dont try to tell me I'm wrong, I'll bet you barely even know me." said Virgil, the words burned like acid as they fell from his mouth.

"Nonsense! I'm your fairy godfather! I should think I know plenty of things about you!" said the man.

Virgil's eyes widened "Well what do you expect me to do? I cant fix this. . ." he sighed.

"Bring me a pumpkin, some mice, and a frog," said his fairy godfather. Virgil got up and completed the strange requests.

The fairy godfather took out a wand and began waving it over the various items, Virgil watched in awe as his mice turned into horses, the frog into a man, and the pumpkin into a carriage.

"Now, what to do about that dress," said his godfather. He pondered Virgil's tattered outfit for a moment before his eyes caught a sudden spark.

A flash of light and feeling of warmth enveloped Virgil, he let himself be consumed by it, an excited smile plastered across his face. When the light subsided Virgil was dressed in a black hooded dress-shirt, purple pants, and what seemed like black glass shoes.

"Now, all of this disappears at midnight, so you best leave before then, now hurry- go enjoy yourself," said his godfather, urging him into the carriage.

Virgil spent the entire ride to the castle marvelling at the scenery, and the view of the castle itself left him speechless.

Virgil had been off to the sidelines, singing to himself out in the castle gardens as he admired the flowers, when a hand fell over his own.

"You have a beautiful voice, you know," said the voice. Virgil turned around and was greeted by a man in a white and red suit embroidered with what may have been the brightest gold he'd ever seen. The man's eyes met Virgil's and he gave him a devilish grin.

"I was just uh, taking a break, I'm not the beat at parties," said Virgil, trying to sound calm.

The mysterious man took him by the hand, "Then perhaps you wouldnt mind dancing alone with me out here? It's much less noisy and crowded than the throne room," Virgil simply nodded and allowed himself to be lead into a slow dance, the world seemed to melt away as he and the man stared into eachothers eyes. His were so full of light and happiness, Virgil felt as if even the sun couldnt outshine them.

He was snapped out of his trance by the sudden chiming of a distant clock. It was then that he'd realized just how long they'd been dancing.

He broke away from the man's grasp "I have to go- I'm sorry-" before the man could even open his mouth Virgil had disappeared into the throne room again. He raced down the stairs, only to be momentarily inconvenienced by the loss of a shoe.

Virgil managed to get home with few issues, and he stayed up in his room until he'd fallen asleep, hoping to avoid awkward questions from his stepfamily.

He awoke the next day to the shadow of his stepfather looming over him- holding, to Virgil's horror, the second glass slipper. "Can you explain, why the day after an announcement about a mysterious young man with black glass slippers running away from the ball, I find this in your room?" he said, a wicked smile appearing on his face.

"I-I didnt- I'm not-" Virgil tried to explain himself but the words got caught in his throat.

"The prince is looking for the owner of this shoe, and I for one dont think it should be you that he finds with it. So while your brothers will be trying for a prince, you will stay up here." said his stepfather, walking out of the room with the shoe. Virgil tried to race after him, only to hear the door lock click. He collapsed to the floor in shock, his hand clutched to his chest. Tears ran down his face, he'd been dancing with the prince all night and hadnt even realized? He'd truly been that close to happily ever after and he'd thrown it away?

Virgil crawled over to the window and rested against it. Once again he began to sing, he heard the doors open downstairs, heard his father and brothers talking to the prince and his servants downstairs. He sung louder to drown them out, until he was so caught up in singing he could barely hear his own thoughts.

The thing that did, however, break this trance, was the opening of the door and the protests from his stepfather. Virgil snapped his head away from the window and stared at the sight before him, the prince, eyes wide, a smile broad across his face, standing in front of him.

"Its you. . . you were the man from last night. . . I recognize your singing," he said. Virgil turned to the window, he hadnt noticed that someone had opened it, the mice in the corner of the room seemed to nod at him as he stood up. He approached Prince Roman with hesitation, until the royal took him by the waist and held him closer than he'd every thought royalty would keep a simple servant. "I want those men in jail, they clearly havent been treating him properly," said Roman, waving a hand at Virgil's stepfamily.

"N-no, even they dont deserve that- perhaps exile would work better?" Virgil said, he had no idea why, he knew the three were guilty, but Roman simply smiled and nodded.

The castle seemed even more brilliant now than it had the night of the ball, perhaps it was Virgil's newfound happiness, or seeing Roman smiling at him as though he were a priceless gem. But for once in his life, Virgil felt happy, and he was never letting that feeling escape him again.

#cori answers #cinderella au

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

Text

Full. A 15x05 “Proverbs 17:3″ Coda, Sam & Dean, Dean/Castiel

Dean can't think about Chuck back on his bullshit, writing his own timeline of their lives without their input. He can't think about Cas, his angel ignoring their calls and following through with his promise to 'move on'. Can't think about the end.

What he can do is eat. So he does. And he won't let anyone stop him, especially Sam.

But there's only so much he can stuff down. What happens when there's no more room, and he has to deal with what's left? Will he be strong enough?

Dean frowns at the mess waiting for him in the sink. Plates stacked upon plates with smears of foodstuffs and crumbs on their surfaces. Some wet from being repeatedly drowned whenever he turned the sink on and others dry because of how long they sat going unwashed.

Sighing, Dean adds another plate to the stack. Careful to place it where it won’t fumble, slide, and clatter against the rest. Then he grabs another from the above cabinet’s short supply, walks to the fridge and begins searching for his next meal.

Weighing the roast beef leftovers with his hands Dean guesses there’s enough to slice off and make a sandwich with. He grabs a few more ingredients to fill out the sandwich. Sprawls them on the island’s counter, surrounding the plate. Finishes preparation by slapping two pieces of bread down and pulling a knife from the door.

Sam finds him squirting mayonnaise on one of the bread pieces.

He walks in sifting through cards, brows scrunched together. “Dean?” he asks, “Have you seen our fake press passes?”

Dean spreads the mayonnaise with the knife blindly, watching his brother. “Why do you need those?”

“Figured after our last hunt we should update our old credentials so they, y’know, so they look like us.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffs, “maybe I got a few more wrinkles but that’s it.”

“ Sure, Dean .” Sarcasm drips from Sam’s words like icing off a warm cake. Dean lets it slide off him. Focuses instead on plastering the lettuce onto the mayonnaise so it will stick. However, while he presses his hand flat against the greens, Dean feels his skin burn under a focused spotlight. Glancing up he meets his brother’s gaze.

“What?”

“You’re eating,” Sam starts, lips pursed, “ again .”

Dean pauses with the tomato, squeezing it. “So?” he asks, “I got a healthy appetite.”

Unimpressed, Sam’s mouth implodes and stretches into a flat line. “Funny. That’s exactly what you said after you made that 50’s spread for breakfast… and made at least three different lunches… buffet dinner. This is…?”

He shrugs. “A midnight snack?”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“Fine, a nine-forty-five snack?”

Sam shakes his head, striding forward and closing the distance between them. Stopping at the island, across from him, he slides the IDs onto the edge. Quickly sneaking a peek, Dean sees a babyface version of himself smiling up at the ceiling. Laughing, probably because he knew the Federal Booby Inspector badge was a stupid risk that would pay off. Unaware of all the crap he’d have to wade through that made the first half of his life seem like a cakewalk. His brother clears his throat, drawing his attention back to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice soft and expectant in the way Dean hates . Like he cornered some injured animal, ready to snap. “Everything okay?”

Dean licks his wounds and snarls. “Peachy. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you seemed pretty down yesterday,” Sam dredges up the memory of the conversation from yesterday. Learning Chuck still kept a vested interest in ‘guiding’ them in their lives. Dean brushes his fingers against one of Lillith’s cuts, remembering how after Sam went to the library for research Dean hid in the kitchen and ate cookies, ice cream, and pretzels dipped in frosting. Fell asleep with a spoon in his mouth, slumped against the fridge.

“Of course,” Dean says, “it was a hell of a day.”

Sam nods, tapping his finger against Dean’s face. Each point of contact makes Dean flinch somewhat. Trying to carry on with what he was doing, Dean sets the tomato on a nearby cutting board. Cleans the knife with a rag and gently slices through it.

“Have you heard from Cas yet?”

The knife stops halfway into the second cut, Dean seizing. Eyes glued to the tomato, watching the juices slowly ooze from where he wounded it, he swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he tells him, “he hasn’t answered you yet?”

Sighing, Sam finally stops tapping and snatches the tiny bit of tomato Dean already chopped. He pops it into his mouth. “I’m starting to get worried,” he says, “it’s not like him to be radio silent.”

“I mean, yeah…” Dean says, continuing cutting with careful movements.

“Do you think maybe Chuck did something -”

“ No. ” A sharp whack accompanies him, startling Sam. “Look, Sam,” he continues, pointing the knife at him, “just because Cas hasn’t hit you back doesn’t mean something bad happened. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.” A panicked filter warps his voice. “Y’know maybe he decided, with all this free will, that he’d rather spend time with people who aren’t us and start fresh elsewhere. Maybe that ’s it.”

“Dean,” Sam says, careful with his approach, “It’s okay. Please calm down -”

“I am calm!” Dean shouts, knife waving wildly, “I’m also fed up hearing about this. About everything. ...Who cares?”

“ I do,” Sam tells him, “And so should you? What’s gotten into you?”

He won’t answer. Instead he returns the knife to the tomato. Slicing through it with enough force to scare his brother away from the path that tempts him.

Except he can’t be scared so easily. Sam rounds the island to question further. “Seriously,” he says, “Cas hasn’t answered us for this long and you’re not bouncing up the walls? You get sent to his voicemail one time and you think he’s found trouble and are raring to get out of here. This isn’t like you, Dean.”

“What?” he sighs, “You think this is Chuck again? Now he’s messing with how I react to things?”

“No! Maybe? I… I don’t know!” Sam bites his lip, his silence distracting Dean while he moves in for the next cut. “Because every time I try and talk about Cas you somehow change the subject and -”

“ Sonofabitch !”

Dean stumbles backwards and into the counter, hissing while pressing one hand against his palm. Sam’s eyes widen as he takes in the entire scene. From the droplets of blood mixing with the pooling tomato juice on the cutting board to his brother staring at his palm in disbelief.

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Dean did you cut yourself?”

His mouth opens and shuts, but no words escape.

Sam sighs, advancing towards his brother. About a few steps away Dean’s gaze jumps from his wound to him. Green eyes, usually so confident, were shaken by the accident. Sam’s figure looks warped like by some funhouse mirror. He flinches when Sam raises a hand with spindly fingers reaching for him. “Come on, Dean,” his brother says, “let’s get you patched up.”

The next time Sam inches close, Dean allows him to grab his wrist. First Sam inspects the cut, a clinical sweep detached in a way he wishes to have. But the second he caught sight of angry red that marred his skin Dean’s mind shot down into a terrifying whirlpool of darkness.

It wasn’t the most painful cut he ever received - especially in the past few days. But it was the straw that broke his back. Crueler than all the lives Chuck stole from their story, again and again, because the only one to blame was himself. He made another careless mistake and he now suffers for it. At the end of the day his own worst enemy isn’t sitting behind a computer screen but greets him in every reflection.

He sobs, a broken sound that surprises both of them. Sam turns away from the faucet, where Dean’s hand soaks under the running stream.

“Dean?”

“It… it, it...” he stutters, “it hurts .”

Sam glances at the cut, frown deepening. “I’m sorry if it stings,” he says, “a few more seconds and we can put some antiseptic on, then bandage -”

“Not the damn cut, Sammy,” Dean tells him, “ Everything hurts. In… in here.” He pokes his chest, tears freely flowing and drowning him. “What with Chuck… all that… that happened… Ma, Jack, Rowena, Ketch and… and Cas -” Knees buckling, Dean collapses to the floor. Sam follows and eases him so his knees don’t slam. “It all hurts and I feel so drained and - and empty. Especially after… and I keep eating, and eating, but Sam I’m never full. I… I can’t stop eating, I can’t stop hurting . Hurting everyone ... “

“Hey, hey hey hey hey,” Sam shushes him, squeezing his wrist and dragging him into a hug. Wet hand pressed flat between their chests, Sam rubs his back. “You’re not hurting everyone .”

“I want Chuck to end it already,” Dean admits to Sam’s shoulder, “Before I do it again. You’re the only one who hasn’t left me, Sam. Once you go I… I don’t think I can take anymore losses, man.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam growls, “It’s all Chuck’s fault, Dean. Chuck is controlling our lives - making us run this stupid maze of us. Using us for cheap entertainment to get his rocks off! It’s not you .”

It’s comforting to think it was Chuck pulling his strings in those moments. Dean considered it himself. But Sam only says this because he doesn’t know the whole truth. “It’s partly me,” Dean starts, deflating in Sam’s arms. “Mostly… Chuck put us in this crazy situation but he didn’t… he wasn’t feeding me lines when I said what I did to Cas. Blaming him for everything that went wrong and spitting on eleven years of… of us .”

“What -”?

“And now he’s gone!” Dean chuckles madly, more tears soaking Sam’s shirt, “He… he moved on . I didn’t think he’d do it but he did and I hate every day since.” Gasping, he leans away from Sam to look him in the eyes. Accepting the mild expression of disappointment shadowing his features. “All I want is him here, except every time I think of apologizing I can’t get past this stupid block. It could be fear or - or I’m still angry with Cas. I try and think about why I get this headache and it all becomes so… so confusing . Maybe that’s Chuck or maybe I’m a coward. Can’t talk to him but also can’t live like this… so I stuff my face. Only that’s not working either and I’m… I’m out of options Sam. What do I do?” Dean begs, “What do I do ?”

He quiets after the outburst, waiting for Sam’s response. Sam, his brother who can always see the light in a darkened room. Who can think through the toughest of puzzles and come up with an answer. Who has decades of emotional maturity over Dean who can’t say a few little words his best friend deserves without his palms sweating and jeans dampening. Swallowed his heart more times that there’s nowhere that hasn’t been burned by his stomach acid.

Too much time passes without a response. “Sam?” Dean shakes him, “What do I -”

“I can’t tell you that, Dean.”

“...What?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeats, smiling, “and neither can Chuck. What happens next between you and Cas that… that’s up to you. I know you can do what’s right.”

“No… no, Sam,” Dean says, body trembling, “I… I can’t. Especially when it comes to Cas, man. My track record with him… I wasn’t always the best to him but he never thought that until… until I…” Chest heaving, Dean wipes away his tears. “I’m a screw up, Sam. I’ve always been… and that’s what I’ll keep being. Chuck doesn’t want me to have any character growth -”

“I wouldn’t say that Dean,” Sam interrupts, stretching forward. Blindly searches atop the counter, he smiles when he finds what he needs. As he brings it closer Dean sees they’re the fake credentials.

“Sam -”

“You’ve changed, Dean,” he shows off the top badge, that same frozen Dean from earlier smiling at him . “Do you think this guy would own up to his mistakes… would he struggle with his feelings… openly admit that he has them so easily like you have… cry in front of me? Dean you’re nothing like you were in the past. These two guys might be the same person but I prefer the you you are now and not the you you were then. He didn’t know who he was, didn’t allow himself the opportunity to explore different parts of himself. Stuck to one path and didn’t question if there were any others. Now you’re right, that on the surface nothing’s really changed… but I think we both know that the boy in this photo is a stranger.”

It’s always hard fighting Sam’s logic, especially with how worn out he feels. Even if he had enough energy to do so, Dean wouldn’t. Because finally Dean agrees with Sam. “It… doesn’t look like me. Like at all.”

Sam laughs, nodding. “I’ve been trying to tell you…”

“Updating these are gonna be a bitch, though,” he grouses, rubbing his eye, “I don’t think there’s a Kinkos left in America.”

Shrugging, Sam tucks the credentials into his shirt pocket. “I’m sure there’s still one kid with a van and a laminator.”

“Probably won’t accept a fake credit card though.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dean smiles. Breathes easier without the crushing weight of his worries on his chest. Shouldering them with Sam proves better than doing so alone. Their mirth dies and his brother returns to the heart of their conversation.

“So,” Sam says, “what do you want to do?”

Dean thinks about it. Reflects on his addled mind, extends his awareness past it and to his body. Checking in from the tips of his fingers to his toes. Relaxing against the island, he stretches his legs in front of him. “Kinda don’t feel like doing much of anything right now,” he admits, “just wanna sit here a while and do nothing.”

“That’s okay.” Sam unfolds himself as well, readying to stand from his crouch. Dean catches him before he fully stands. “What?”

“I... “ Dean can’t meet Sam’s curious gaze. Blushing, he stares at his lap. “I also don’t want to be alone…”

Sam’s mouth forms a perfect circle on its journey to becoming a gentle smile. “Sure, Dean,” he says. Mirroring Dean, Sam joins him on the floor. However where Dean’s feet brush the cabinets, Sam bends his knees to fit his log-like legs in the space.

Together they hide behind the island. Away from Chuck and all the responsibility waiting for them. Soon they won’t be able to run away from all that needs addressing. To be the men they are and face each challenge with courage in their hearts.

But for this moment, they’re the boys they were. Boys they haven’t been since before the fire. Brothers sitting in the kitchen, together.

Many things might change, but the most important things don’t. What Dean believes in, what his angel means to him, and how important his brother is to him.

“I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

“...I promise not to kill you if you don’t try and kill me.”

Snickering, Sam shoves at him. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“What?”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x05 #Proverbs 17:3 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Winchester brotherly bonding

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themadlostgirl · 5 years ago

Text

Intoxicated

*Hello! I am back and I have requests!*

Prompt: Shy Y/N has been pining after Peter for a long time without saying anything. Until one night he stumbles into her tent drunk as a skunk.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: none

~~~

I’ve never given much thought on my relationships with the opposite sex. Growing up I didn’t know a lot of boys and those that I did were barely acquaintances. So when I started living on an island that almost completely consisted of them I found myself a little nervous. After some stressful accommodation I grew to really like all the lost Boys. To a degree that is. One out of all of them though held my interest the most.

The leader Peter Pan.

I couldn’t quite explain why. He was unlike anyone I had ever known in both personality and actions. I found myself watching him when I had nothing else to keep my focus. When he fought he was scary, so quick and sure in every movement. The intensity in his gaze chilling. But when he was playing games he was more relaxed but still focused. Like he didn’t want to let on how much thought he putting into his next move.

Then there was the time I found him on the beach. He was in the shallows where the waves met the shore. Shoes long forgotten as he splashed his feet in the water. The pipes he kept on his person at all times played a simple calming tune. A small smile on his face as he went about. It was the only time I saw him completely at ease. There was no mask. No role to play. This was the boy behind the name.

I almost felt like I was intruding on his privacy. As if this were a moment not meant to be seen. Yet I couldn’t look away.

I smiled and watched him disappear down the beach splashing his toes in the water and playing his simple tune. Then my heart missed a beat as a realization came to me. I was in love with Peter Pan.

I never told a soul of course. How could I? If anyone knew they would laugh at me. What was I but a silly girl with her silly emotions wrapped up in her head. If Peter knew...I didn’t want to imagine how he would react.

Not to say it stopped me from daydreaming. Wondering what it felt like to be held by him and to dance with him. Imagining him confessing his undying love for me and kissing me softly. Most of all I imagined that night I realized I loved him. I imagined being there with him as we strolled down the beach. Our hands intertwined and sweet nothings whispered in my ear.

Some days I even let myself believe it could be a reality. Moments I searched for more meaning in. Like when he assisted me in my training, taking extra care to make sure I was doing everything right and well. Or when I flippantly mentioned how much I missed reading and he showed up with a couple books the next day. The one night he asked me for a dance and I was so nervous I missed a step and made us fall over. I was a mess but he gazed at me softly and asked if I was alright.

Dumb little moments he probably didn’t think twice about.

It was the one night that it all came to a head though. Peter was missing from the camp again as was pretty normal. There would be days at a time when Peter had just gone from the island with no explanation. It put me in a dower mood but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything.

I turned into bed early and ran my finger of the spine of books next to my cot. At least one good thing that came with Peter’s trips off the island was that he always returned with trinkets for me and the boys. At least I assumed the boys also got something. Peter couldn’t just be getting me books and knick knacks and not the others.

I let out a sigh and blew out the lantern near me. Hopefully Peter would be back in the morning.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard someone shuffling around outside my tent. Who was here? Usually the boys are decent enough to not come harassing me when I was trying to sleep.

“Anybody home?” my eyes snapped open. That was Peter’s voice.

“Peter?” my heart started to beat faster. He was home!

“Y/N!” Peter stumbled into my tent and fell face first into my lap.

“What are you doing?” I pushed him off with a laugh.

“Wanted to see you,” Peter mumbled as he struggled to right himself. “Couldn’t remember which tent was yours though.”

“Are you okay?” He was acting really weird, “Are you sick?”

“Yes.” he leaned in closer towards me, “I am very sick.”

The smell of booze hit my nose. “Peter, did you raid Hook’s rum supply again?”

“He sucks at hiding it. It’s his own fault.” Peter pouted. “You gotta help me. I am super sick.”

“No, you’re drunk.” I sighed and started to pull him up, “Let’s get you back to your tent, buddy.”

“I don’t wanna! I wanna stay here.”

“In my tent?”

“Yes!”

“Nope.” I tried to pull him up but he wouldn’t budge. “Peter, come on! Get up!”

“No, I wanna stay!” he collapsed onto his back and I stopped trying to get him standing.

“Why?” I groaned as I sat down next to him, “Why can’t you go rest in your own tent?”

“You’re not there,” he rolled over so he was facing me. Even inebriated this boy was able to give me butterflies.

“Why does it matter if I’m there?” I asked him.

“Cause I like you.” He reached out a hand and placed it on my thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth, “I’ve always liked you.”

“We are good friends…” I mutter not wanting to get my hopes up.

“No!” he snapped and pinched my leg, “Not friends!”

“We’re not friends?” my heart started to break.

“I don’t wanna be your friend. I want to be more.”

“Oh…” my heart started racing again, “When you say more, what do you mean?”

He looked at me with a dopey little smile on his face. “I wanna be able to kiss you.” he whispered, “I want to hug you and fall asleep next to you. I wanna tell you stuff that I can’t say when we’re friends.”

Peter’s confession had shaken me to my core. He wants...oh my god.

It may just be the alcohol talking. I’ve seen him intoxicated enough times to know he probably won’t remember any of this come morning. It is only for that reason that I pry further.

“Peter,” I cradled his head in my lap, “What are your feelings for me exactly?”

He stared up at me with those big green eyes and poked my nose, “I love you. I love you! I love Y/N!” he got increasingly louder until I was forced to cover his mouth. “I wanna tell the world! I love you, Y/N!”

“Yes. Yes. I heard you.” I shushed him. I didn’t want the boys to hear and come eavesdropping if they weren’t already.

Peter just said he loves me. Peter loves me. Peter loves me! Okay. Remain calm. We can’t rely on this information. He is severely intoxicated. He could just be spouting nonsense. The thought made me sad but it only lasted a moment.

All I had wanted. Everything I had wanted to hear and it was becoming a reality. Even if the confession was soured some by his drunken state. I could hold the memory of Peter Pan saying he is in love with me in my heart.

“So?” he stuck out his bottom lip.

“Huh?”

“Does Y/N love me?” he asked.

And here I thought that his drunken declaration of love would be the most shocking thing I heard tonight.

“Do I love you?” I could barely keep myself from shaking. I couldn’t even look at him I was so nervous. “Well...um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Peter whispered in the saddest voice ever. He sounded devastated. “I just wanted you to know how I felt.”

“Wait, Peter,” I took a deep breath to try and steady myself. There can’t be any real harm can there? He’s drunk and won’t remember any of this when he wakes up. At least if I said something now I could get it off my chest with no repercussions.

“I love you too.” I traced his cheek with my thumb, “I’ve loved you for a long time now but I was just too shy to say anything. I didn’t want you to think I was clingy and I wasn’t even sure you thought of me that way. But I do. I love you, Peter.”

“Good,” he yawned, his face stretching into a big dorky smile, “I guess that means we’re in love.”

“For as long as the rum is in your system.” I nestled myself back into my sleeping position, “Sure, we’re in love.”

“Can I stay here then?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I wrapped his arms around me, “You can stay.” If only to pretend that this was real for just a minute longer. “Now go to sleep.”

The pair of us fell asleep in love. In the morning it would be just me in love with my leader again and Peter probably wondering why he was snuggled against me with a huge hangover. I knew it would hurt but I got my heart broken every day. What was one more day?

~~~

Peter woke up first. Y/N was still fast asleep in his arms.

He was so glad that last night had worked out.

Acting like he was drunk and confessing to his shy little Lost Girl that he was in love with her had been the easy part. She didn’t take any of it seriously, safe in the thought that none of it would be remembered by him, which made saying it a whole lot easier.

He was in love with his Lost Girl.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. One day he was lounging in a hammock as the boys danced and hooted around the bonfire. Then he looked across the way and saw Y/N sitting on a log. Her gaze lost to the flames that lit her features and made shadows dance across her face. Fire burned in her daydreaming eyes.

Peter’s heart froze and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there with a contemplative smile, completely unaware of the world around her. In that moment he had nothing but the intensest need to join her by her side and lay her head on his shoulder.

He tried to forget about the moment but in the subsequent days that followed it only solidified. Her wide smile when she laughed, her focus when she was training, the happy melodies she hummed to herself all the time. Every little bit of her ingrained itself on him until he was forced to accept it.

He loved her.

Of course Peter didn’t want to scare her away with his feelings, especially if she didn’t feel the same way. So he did little things to put her at ease and hopefully convey what he felt. Bringing her books, helping her at training, offering her interesting trinkets he found in his travels that he thought she’d enjoy. He tried asking her to dance once but he could tell she was uncomfortable with it so didn’t ask again.

Finally it became too much. He needed to know if she felt the same way. But he couldn’t say anything that would put him in a compromising position so devised a plan to get to the truth. Act drunk and then confess. Not his most elegant ruse but it had worked.

Now came the hard part though. Telling her he was pretending and that he does in fact remember everything he said and what she said.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “Y/N, wake up darling.”

“Hmm?” she peered at him through squinted eyes. “Peter?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” she closed her eyes again, “Nice dream…”

He pressed a finger against her lips and smirked. “Not a dream, Lost Girl.”

She bolted up right, brushing the last of the sleep from her eyes. “Peter--you--what are you--”

“Calm down,” he chuckled, “Don’t you remember last night?”

“Last night?” she took a moment to think, “Yeah. You were drunk and decided to sleep in my tent.”

“Yes, about that…”

“Wait,” she inspected him closer, “Why aren’t you hungover?”

“I have a small confession.” he reached for her hands, “Last night I wasn’t actually drunk. I was only pretending to be so that I could confess to you and see if you felt the same way about me.”

“You were pretending to…” a look of horror passed over her face, “Oh my god. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Afraid not, darling,” he pulled her just the tiniest bit closer, “I meant what I said last night. And if you meant what you said then there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I still think there is plenty to be embarrassed about.” she pouted. “I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

“I do. I have for a long time now. When did you start liking me?”

“Forever ago. I can’t even remember anymore.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one other thing to do.”

“Which is?”

“We confessed to being in love with each other and I am really liking this just woke up look so I am going to kiss you now.” he closed the distance between them and left a long soft kiss on her mouth. He’d be lying if he said a little thrill didn’t go up his spine when she started to kiss him back.

This was a new adventure he couldn’t wait to start.

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