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oumaheroes · 11 months ago

Note

Congrats on 1000 followers!! If you're still taking requests, I'd go absolutely feral for some of your scotfra! I love how you write modern nationverse with where characters reminisce or philosophise about the past <33

Phi I... I strayed. Okay, I strayed way off topic because this came to me so clearly that I couldn't not write it. I hope that you like it, even though there is no nationverse philosophying ;u;

Characters: Scotland, France (ScotFra)

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Starscape

Their home hits him with unexpected force as soon as he opens the door, the brass handle cool against bare palm. The smell of their lives together, clean linen and cedar aftershave. Walls cluttered with photos, Alisdair’s large leather armchair in the corner, Francis’ collection of Vogues tucked neatly besides Alisdair’s nature books into a handmade bookcase- collected fragments of two lives turned into one. A busy, friendly, assault of the senses.

Francis is in the kitchen, warm yellow lights and background radio above the metallic clatter of their cutlery drawer.

Alisdair sloughs his coat off, drapes it over the sofa, and walks in to join him.

‘Hello there.’

Alisdair can hear Francis’ smile through the words as he hugs him tightly from behind where he is at the counter, chin to shoulder. His arms go around him to their places automatically, right hand to Francis’ left hip.

Francis tilts his head back and up to try and meet his eye, ‘Good day?’

‘It’ll do.’

Francis snorts and cups his cheek lazily with one hand, reaching to place an empty pan on the stove, ‘Better than nothing.’

‘How was yours?’ Alisdair is loath to let him go but Francis wiggles free, gently nudging him back and away to let him get on with things. Alisdair retreats to the table in the middle of the room and watches.

‘Oh, you know. Same old same old.’

‘Tell me.’

Francis gifts him with a raised eyebrow. He fills up a pot with water and sets it salted to boil. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do you remember that new woman from a few weeks ago?’

Alisdair casts far back in time to find the name Francis might be referring to and finds too many to filter. ‘I remember you telling me about her.’

Francis raises an eyebrow, ‘Tina.’

‘Ah. Tina.’ He had forgotten Tina.

‘I cannot understand what is driving her to-‘ Francis sighs and clicks his tongue, ‘I don’t want to judge, but-‘

Alisdair smiles, ‘Yes, you do.’

Francis waves a hand. ‘Yes, fine. I do. But still, I am aware it’s not my place to say older people can’t randomly move jobs out of nowhere, and obviously they can learn how to do something new, but it’s...’

He stops, ties his hair up, and Alisdair's smiles widens. ‘Some people are slow, and I understand. It’s irritating to train them but I understand. Everyone has their own pace, and all that. Christ, I sound like Arthur when he’s being his most pretentious.’

Alisdair wants to call his brother then and has to swallow the feeling away, eyes fixed on Francis to keep him focused.

Butter to pan, salt to onions. The smell in the air is sweet. Condensation softens the windows, fogs the dark shadows of their garden beyond the glass. Francis moves whilst he talks, stepping lightly from one task to another.

‘But she’s not just slow to train. She’s someone who keeps questioning things, rather than just learning them. “Why do it this way, that way is much better.” Or, “In my last position, we did X Y Z blah blah blah”. Horrible. Aggravating.’ Francis tips mushrooms into the pan and shakes his head, ‘Anyway. Today I found out that she didn’t just move to join the analyst team because she wanted some sort of end of career change or have a last-minute depressing existential crisis. She was asked to move down. Because she was terrible at her job.’

Francis grins at him, his smile sharp teethed and wicked, ‘No wonder she’s so picky with everything. I got the feeling that she thought that we and what we do were beneath her but now-‘

Alisdair cuts him off before he can finish. Away from the table before Francis can stop him, he presses his mouth to Francis’, then to his cheek. Cups the back of his head in his hand, kisses his neck and feels the beat of Francis’ heart jump his pulse strong against his lips.

‘Stop it.’ Francis swats at him but the gesture is half-hearted at best, ‘You’re going to make me burn dinner.’

Alisdair kisses him again, Francis’ long hair soft and undone in his hands. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I care.’

Francis never burns dinner. No matter how busy the day or how many tasks he’s doing at once, dinner is never something to be sacrificed as part of a greater good. No matter how hard Alisdair could have tried to force it, in their life burning dinner was not a thing that would ever have happened. Today is no different. Francis extracts himself just in time to save things and Alisdair lets him go, knowing he needs to in order for things to work as they should.

The taste, once Francis is done, is perfect- one of his best meals, in Alisdair’s opinion, a warm mushroom soup. Thick bread- not homemade, Francis laments, but good enough- lightly toasted and thickly buttered. Alisdair savours every bite, takes small spoonfuls to draw out the experience for as long as it can go.

After they’ve eaten, the cooking a perfect mixture of memory and longing, they retreat to the living room sofa to fall deadweight against the cushions.

‘That was too much food.’ Francis says where he sits against Alisdair’s chest, their legs together under blankets before them on the L-shaped bend. ‘We keep on eating portion sizes that are way more than we need.’

Alisdair disagrees entirely. He is slimmer now, of course, much slimmer, but Francis doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the meat of Francis’ thigh and then grips it tight, ‘We’re doing just fine.’

Francis rolls his eyes and tuts but Alisdair sees the smile in his eyes, ‘No, not that. I mean that it’s expensive.’

‘It’s doable.’

‘Not with the sheer amount of lamb that you’re eating.’

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘It’s the costliest of all of them.’ Francis smiles and reaches up an arm to play with the short hair at the nape of Alisdair’s neck, ‘This needs a cut.’

‘You said you wouldn’t cut my hair anymore.’ Alisdair reminds him. Francis’ hand is warm, so warm, and Alisdair closes his eyes. ‘You said I complain too much.’

‘You do.’

‘Only because you threatened to shave me.’

Francis laughs lightly, ‘It would suit you.’

‘Well. That's why I complained.’

Beep.

Alisdair opens his eyes.

‘Shall we watch something?’ Francis sits up for the remote on the coffee table.

‘Only if it’s not a period drama.’

Francis sighs, weary, ‘Emma is not just a period drama. I’m told it’s a brilliant film.’

Alisdair wrinkles his nose and then grins at the look Francis gives him, ‘I’m sure it is. But are you going to be able to sit there quietly and not bitch about the costume design?’

Francis blinks at him. ‘Yes,’ he says after a while, ‘Obviously.’

‘Fucking liar.’

‘I will! I won’t say anything.’

‘I’ll bet you a fucking tenner you won’t be able to stop yourself saying something.’

Francis glances at the TV, then back to him. ‘Fine,’ he says after a moment, ‘If it’s shit research, I won’t be able to help myself. But that doesn’t detract from it potentially being a very good film.’

‘Besides shit costuming.’

‘… So I’m told.’

‘But see, there you go.’ Alisdair leans forwards, ‘You’ll have a great time nonetheless but I won’t be able to focus on anything because-‘

Beep.

Alisdair wavers, ‘…because I’ll have you going off making comments all the time and I’ll forget what’s happening and-‘

Francis looks scandalised, ‘You don’t know the story anyway?’

‘Why the fuck would I know the story?’

‘Oh for the love of-‘ Beep. ‘We have to watch it. That’s it, I can’t have this.’ Francis clicks on the TV and scrolls to Netflix, ‘What on earth was your mother thinking. You’d think with the amount Arthur goes on-‘

‘Arthur was the weird one. I-‘

Beep.

Alisdair feels a tightness in his chest. He tries not to think of the cause.

Francis turns to him. ‘What?’

Alisdair’s tongue feels heavy, throat tight. ‘What.’

‘You were saying?’ Francis prompts. ‘Something about you and Arthur.’

His hair is tucked behind on ear but strands have fallen free. Alisdair wants to reach forward and brush them back but he can’t move. He feels hollow, belly empty.

He takes a deep, long breath in. His lungs fill, then release. Under his fingers, he feels the whorls of the sofa upholstery on the arm rest. Feels the warmth of Francis near his outstretched leg, face buttery yellow in the lamplight by the wall. It is all so real.

‘Right.’ He runs a hand over his face, ‘Arthur was the one who read all the books. I was a normal child and young man, and went outside. Made friends.’

‘I read those same books.’ Francis presses a hand to his chest, ‘And I feel I came out quite normal from the experience.’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’

Francis nods, sagely, and tilts his head to one side. ‘You’re not entirely wrong. I’m with you, after all.’

Alisdair nudges him with his foot, in the softness of his stomach, and Francis laughs.

Beep. Oxygen levels critically low. Warning.

Alisdair should have turned the alarms off.

Francis settles back against him and Alisdair leans back against the sofa, tucking them back in as he goes and wraps his arms around Francis, hold him tight. Here, like this, it would be so easy to forget. To think that this was happening, and was still something he could have and return to. Francis is so solid, so real.

Beep.

But Alisdair cannot forget. Thousands of miles above earth, his body free from gravity, he watched as without warning mushroom clouds peppered through the skies below him. Rushes of clouds shot across oceans to collide with another wave, and then another, until the planet fell still.

The silence was loud. Space pressed in against the glass, a thick, dark nothingness that stretched on and outwards around him. Endless stars dull when there is no one waiting to share them with, Alisdair has found.

He still has no idea what happened. Whether it was planned, who started it, who could be left. He waited weeks for something, endless days on a knife’s edge by the comms system, unable to leave in case something came through or his planned replacement arrive to relieve him. Sleep in broken chunks, too tired to stay away any longer.

He doesn’t know now how long it has been. He stopped checking the days. There was nothing that could be done for him, anyhow. What good is it to know details of his final days, when the grand fact was that no one was coming. He lived because he was too scared to die, and that was that.

And now, here it is.

Warning.

Alisdair had remembered to override the auto-safety control that diverted power to essential systems, at least. That was the important part.

Warning.

It could warn him all it wanted; he wasn’t going to change anything.

Oxygen levels critically low.

A few more days with the bare essentials to sustain life, or this. One last go at the hollo-systems, one last story to play.

Warning. Oxygen levels critically low.

Alisdair had been holding back on playing this one. Eking out the power left on his ship for as long as he could, everything non-essential closed off to- why? To live? To remember?

Just in case, maybe. Just in case.

In his arms, the programmed memory of Francis shifts under the blankets and sighs through his nose. The film has started, Alisdair hadn’t noticed. The colours and sounds all curl and bleed together, flashes of something distinct stand out before falling away like a motion blur. Francis breathes in Alisdair’s arms, his face calm and easy, and Alisdair watches.

Beep.

This is how he wants to go.

Beep.

To go home to a life that only he can remember. Kept safe here in memories and code, a final goodbye.

‘I love you,’ he says. His voice cracks, ‘So, so much.’

Francis turns his head. He reads something in Alisdair’s face; Alisdair sees the flicker in his expression as he notes that something is wrong. But memory and code can only go so far, the real Francis would never have seen him like this before. Alisdair doesn’t know how he would have reacted. Whatever his husband’s virtual echo sees in Alisdair’s drawn, wasted face, it is not something that he was designed to see.

So, he smiles. Sees him as whole. ‘I love you too.’

The living room darkens, shadows fill the edges. Alisdair closes his eyes and buries his face in Francis’ shoulder. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

Francis turns slightly and wraps and arm around and under Alisdair’s back, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

#aph france #hws france #hws scotland #aph scotland #scotfra #hetalia #hws #aph #heroes writes

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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

Love knows not its depth (until the hour of separation)

pairing: Kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! warnings: a tiny smudge of suggestive content wc: 4.9k m.list ~ taglist. ~

a/n: this is my rendition of a grown up Kuroo. life has been a little hectic for me recently, so i’m only getting around to posting it now. pls be kind and i hope y’all love it <3

“I need a break.”

Kuroo continues to snore. You are unsurprised he doesn’t hear you. After all, he came home glassy eyed, smelling strongly of alcohol after yet another night of drinks with his boss before quickly falling asleep in bed. It’s what he does most weekday nights, leaving you alone at home to manage your two daughters and tuck them into bed.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro.”

You are too tired to even tell him how you feel. You have a career of your own, two daughters to raise, a never ending list of chores and errands that must be done. You are a mother, a wife, a career woman. You have so many roles to play yet there is no space for you.

You must do something, anything or risk your heart imploding in your very chest.

You cannot survive that.

The next morning, you call your boss, ask for a day off. Then you pack your girls off to your mother’s place with two little suitcases with toys and clothes enough for a long weekend before you take the train to Hakone, check yourself into the ryokan with a view of Mt. Fuji that you spent your honeymoon at - except this time, you’re alone (but then again, you’ve been lonely for so long, you hardly notice the difference anymore).

You dip yourself into the hot waters of the onsens, watch bamboo sway in the breeze. It’s been at least a year since you’ve been even able to take a bath uninterrupted. There’s always something - Aiko needing help with her homework, Fumiko whining for another piece of mochi, your boss calling to chase for yet another report, so all you’ve ever had time for is a hurried shower before placating your daughters or seating yourself in front of your laptop to deal with your boss.

Finally, you’ve stolen a day to yourself. It’s absolute bliss.

The water is kind to you. Its heat soothes your aching muscles, the rising steam steadies your breath. You walk out of the baths feeling refreshed, renewed, but when you enter your room you find Kuroo Tetsuro waiting for you.

“I’ve been calling your phone all afternoon”, he says, face pinched. “I was worried.”

“Were you?” you say before you can stop yourself. “Really?”

“Of course”, he says, uncrossing his legs to stand. “You’re my wife and the mother of my children, of course I care.”

Wife. Mother. Employee.

The roles that life has handed you haunts you again. There is no escape for you.

Your skin suddenly feels as if it’s stretched too tight over your frame. Your bones rattle, brittle. They threaten to break if you take another breath. Yet you laugh and laugh and laugh, the sound spilling from your lips filling the room, suffocating the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“If you really cared, you would have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between bouts of laughter. “I tried fixing myself with a break but you can’t even give me that.”

Kuroo stares at you, equal parts horrified and confused. He takes a hesitant step forward towards you before thinking the better of it, swerving over to the kettle instead, clutching it as if it holds the cure to your madness.

“Calm down”, he says, “take a seat”, and you do. He offers you a cup of tea. You accept it, even though you’re still shaking from the aftershock of your laughter. “Drink”, he says, and you bring the cup to your lips, though you wonder absently why you taste salt in the bitter tea.

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.”

You want to tell him that you’re not strong enough to do what’s expected of you. You want to tell him that you’re drowning from the weight of being his wife, the mother of his kids, from being a working woman that he can be proud of. You want to tell him that you understand his career is important, but so is yours, and you can’t carry the weight of the world alone.

But that would take too many words, and you are far, far too tired for that.

So you say blankly - “I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.”

His face falls.

You should remember that Kuroo Tetsuro, first and foremost, is a child scarred by his parents’ divorce. You should remember that you made promises that you and he would never put your daughters through that. But you’ve floated beyond hysteria into a grey indifference, your mind too broken, too tired, too numb to consider him when you can barely even hold on to yourself.

You don’t even notice the hot tears soaking through your yukata. You are deaf to his pleas to give him another chance. There is nothing left in you to give because you’ve poured all you’ve had into him, into your family, into your job. You are so, so empty, and you just sit and sip your tea and wonder idly if the warmth from the liquid you’re ingesting will make you feel a little more alive, or if it’s possible to ease the dull ache in your heart.

It is only when you wake up the next day and the sun is high in the sky that you register that he rolled out your futon for you, tucked you into bed, and kissed your forehead as a goodnight and goodbye. But all of this is washed away by the relief you feel when you read the note he’s left behind telling you that he’s returned to Tokyo, and to enjoy your break.

So you do.

You relish every bite of the meals you have at the ryokan. It’s nice not having to cook or scarf down your food at your office desk for once. You fill your time flitting between the onsens and curling up in your room with a book, taking frequent cat naps until tomorrow comes around again and it’s time to check out and head home.

There’s a brief moment of surprise when the reception informs you politely that your husband already paid your bill - but you suppose that’s just Tetsuro being efficient at racking up credit card points. The bullet train takes you back to Tokyo, and a couple stops on the subway takes you home.

“Okaeri”, you call softly out of habit, not expecting anyone to respond, but Kuroo responds with an even softer ‘Tadaima’, striding over to take your bags from you and usher you into the apartment. There are pink roses sitting in a vase, but you pay it no mind.

“The girls?” you ask, already headed in the direction of their room.

“I picked them up from your mom”, Kuroo responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed”.

A peek into their room and it settles your mind to see that your girls are safe and sound asleep.

“Thanks,” you say, back in the kitchen, checking the fridge for what you can whip up for breakfast for you and the girls tomorrow. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine”, Kuroo answers, scratching his head. His hair seems a little more rumpled than usual. “I’ll cover it. I should’ve realised you needed a break.”

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me, I’ve got money of my own.”

“No, let me pay for it, please. It’s the least I can do.”

You shrug. “Okay”, you say gracelessly. “Thank you.”

He continues to watch you over the kitchen counter as you lay out bread, eggs, ham, cheese. It’ll do for a quick breakfast for the girls tomorrow, never mind the guilt eating away at you that you really should do better than feeding them processed food all the time. You’re so preoccupied with planning the morning rush, the best way to clear the stack of reports that must have piled up on your desk at work by now that you miss Kuroo rounding the counter to stare down at you worriedly.

“You haven’t had dinner?”

“Oh no, I had a bento on the train on the way back.” It’s second nature to you to brush away anyone’s concern. “It’s for the girls’ breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them to childcare before work tomorrow. Sleep in and take a break.”

“Really?” You stare back at him, confused. He doesn't even take charge of the girls in the mornings when you’re sick, your mother always has to fill in your place. He only ever turns up on the first day of school each year.

“Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve rearranged my work schedule so I can take them to school all of this week at least.”

“Oh”, you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, I guess. Wake me up if you need my help.”

“I won’t”, he replies, with a cocky smirk that seems almost false. “Goodnight, love.”

You don’t think of Kuroo’s strange behaviour overmuch, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Kuroo continues to act strangely all of next week.

As promised, he takes charge of getting the girls out of bed and ready for school. But you’re taken aback when he starts coming home for dinner, completely floored when he hands you a whole armful of bath salts and orders you to take a relaxing, hot bath while he wrangles both the girls and the washing machine into submission.

He even calls your mother to ask her to babysit on a Saturday evening so he can take you out for dinner at a fancy restaurant that serves foam instead of food. You manage to stumble through conversation with him - a commendable effort, since it’s been so long since you’ve even held a proper conversation with him besides snatches of discussion about the girls.

At least until he states during dessert - “we can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.”

The mousse on your spoon melts by the time you put it down on your plate.

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls? Is that what this is about?”

Kuroo shakes his head frantically, reaches across the table for your hand, but you yank it away with a glare. The extra rest you’ve gotten this week has injected a little more fight in you.

“I try my best to be a good wife and mother, but I’m sorry I can’t be perfect and be there for you and the girls 24/7.” You press down on the sliver of cake with a vengeance. Clink! goes the flat of your spoon against the porcelain plate. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to be reliant on you.”

You regret your harsh words when Kuroo slumps back into his chair, murmuring “I just wanted you to be happy. Forget I ever said that.”

He pays the bill and you walk home in silence. He bids you goodnight with a crumpled smile.

It finally clicks when you are startled awake by Kuroo’s shout of alarm.

You roll over, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake from the nightmare that has him in its grip. His eyes jolt open, and the sight of your face makes him sink back into the pillow with a sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.”

“Why would I leave? This is my home, isn’t it?” You mumble, turning your back to him again.

You feel the bed shift as Kuroo sits up.

“No”, he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I was afraid you left me”.

Oh. So that’s what all of this is about.

You must stay quiet for far too long, because he gingerly crawls over to you.

“Dearest”, he says, your heart suddenly aching because you don’t remember the last time you heard him use that pet name with any amount of affection. “Darling”, he tries again, pawing at your back. You shut your eyes resolutely and refuse to turn to face him.

He doesn’t give up, even though the distance between you seems to yawn wide and wider with each passing second.

“Are you?” he asks, his words small, shrunken in the still, dark room. “Going to leave me, I mean.”

No, you’re about to say, the word balancing at the tip of your tongue but it feels wrong. Your break has given you the space to breathe, the time to think. It’s made you realise what you’ve said to him in the ryokan that night remains true.

This week has shown you that Kuroo can do better as a husband, as a father if he wants to. But he’s poisoned your marriage with neglect, forced you to dress up your sadness in silence, allowed your resentment to fester and simmer into frigid indifference. If you reassure him that you aren’t going to leave him, it’s only because you’re too tired to, not because you actually love him anymore.

“I don’t know, Tetsuro. Our daughters deserve to grow up with both their parents, but I’m not sure I want them to learn from my example that it’s okay to shoulder the weight of marriage, parenthood and a full time job all by themselves. Your dreams and career are important, I know, but I’m just so tired of being alone in this marriage when it was always supposed to be a partnership between me and you.”

You hear him choke back a sob. You should comfort him, but the exhaustion you feel at being honest with him, with yourself, weighs your bones down, forces you to sink further down into your mattress.

“I’m sorry”, he finally says.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro”, you whisper brokenly, clutching the blankets to your chin. “I think I deserve better.”

“I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

You want to ask him how, but your eyelids grow heavy, and you allow yourself to submerge into slumber.

You’re not sure what to expect, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. Things start to change.

Kuroo continues to take your daughters to childcare in the morning on the way to work as he did last week. That very weekend, he straps Fumiko to his chest, takes Aiko by her hand, and within an hour at the department store aided by a flash of his credit card, he purchases a dishwasher and robot vacuum for the house. He loads the dishes without you asking, runs the robot vacuum remotely once a day. It buys you time to breathe, a little more time to sleep.

He doesn’t always make it home in time for dinner, but he tries his best to rush home so he can read the girls a bedtime story and tuck them into bed.

“Dada”, Fumiko lisps, chubby fists wound around Kuroo’s tie. ‘I wanna hear another princess story!”

“No Fumiko! Papa promised to tell us how he met mama!” Aiko prods Kuroo’s side with the wooden doll Yaku sent from Russia that you know he abhors. ‘Keep your promises, papa!”

“Alright, settle down you monsters. I’ll tell you two stories if you promise to go to sleep right after that.” The girls cheer. “Now. Let’s see. A long, long time ago, your papa met your mama when she decided to beat him up because she thought he was trying to steal her food.”

“You were trying to steal my food”, you interrupt, leaning against the doorway amused. “You didn’t stop til I stabbed you with my fork.”

He glances up, surprised when you sit beside him on the bed. Then he grins.

“You left it on the table, dearest. What was a guy supposed to think?”

“Mama, please let dada tell the story”, Aiko interjects with a huff.

“Hurry up, dada! I want the princess story next!” Fumiko pulls at her silly dada’s shirt, pouting.

You both laugh. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips when his eyes meet yours.

Travelling all around Japan is still part of his job as a marketing director of the Japanese Volleyball Association. But now Kuroo pares it down to the bare minimum, makes sure he’s always back by the weekend at the very least to sweep the girls in his arms and shoo you off for a break of afternoon tea with your friends or shopping with your mom.

“Will you be ok when I’m gone?”

You hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.”

He bends down to kiss Aiko on her forehead, pinch Fumiko’s cheek playfully.

“Yes. Well. I’ll come home soon”, he says, quietly. You startle slightly as he brushes his thumb over your wrist, lets it drift over your pulse point. “Please wait for me.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’ll see you soon then”, you reply. His smile widens, his eyes are hopeful, bright.

On the weekends, he stops flitting off for work functions and events. Instead, now he joins you for lunches at the kaiten zushi near your house, indulging the girls by ordering yet another plate of sushi just so Aiko has another chance to win a toy from the gachapon and Fumiko has another chance at feeling grown up when she lifts the plate from the conveyor belt. He stops ducking out from dinners at the grandparents’ place - both his and yours. Your mom stops giving him dirty looks when he actually turns up more than three times in a row with sake in hand.

Once every so often, he even throws little parties for your family of four, going so far as to buy a frilly pink apron that makes your daughters giggle when he whips it out for the first time. After a few mishaps (and a number of frantic calls to Fukunaga), he masters how to make takoyaki and okonomiyaki, and in the colder months, he makes steaming pots of nabe and shabu shabu.

“Itadakimasu” you murmur, and the girls follow suit. “It tastes good”, you say.

He ducks his head bashfully, pink dusting the column of his neck.

“Thank you”, he replies. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

You start to savour the bubbles of happiness in your chest when you see how your daughters’ eyes shine when they see their papa whip out the pink apron. You learn to laugh when you hear the pitter patter of little feet, their delighted squeals and shrieks when they tell you the latest exploits their silly papa is cooking up - sparklers under the stars one weekend, a nerf gun fight, the next.

The weight on your shoulders grows lighter and lighter until one day you hardly notice it at all.

“What’s wrong?” you frown at the sight of your husband dashing out of your bedroom, hair a frazzled mess.

He whips around at the sound of your voice. “Oh. Oh.” He approaches you, slowly, carefully. “You’re still here.”

Your frown deepens. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed. Tetsuro, is everything alright?”

He nods. “It’s fine - I just... I just woke up and thought you were gone.”

You take a closer look. It’s dark, but the shadows of the night fail to hide the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the fine lines carved into his brow. His shoulders are bowed, his lips downturned and he looks broken, battered.

Your heart hurts for him.

“I’m here”, you say, beckoning him towards you. Physical affection has been scarce between you two for so, so long but he looks so distraught it’s only natural to pull him close, let him rest his head on your lap. “I’m here, Tetsuro. I’m not about to run off into the night – you know I don’t like the cold.”

He doesn’t laugh at your feeble joke. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?”

“Yes”, you say firmly, combing your fingers through his hair, rubbing circles along his back. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do.”

You can feel him sag in relief.

“You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for me. That’s – that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired, you need to take a break.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can bear it as long as you don’t leave me.”

“Tetsuro –“

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his.

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he begs, head bowed. “I know I’ve been a shit husband to you for so long. It’s no excuse, but I thought - ” he swallows heavily, waits until his voice stops wavering. “I thought we were ok, ‘cos we didn’t fight, not like my parents did before – before my mother left.”

“I was too tired to fight with you”, you say simply.

He nods once, jerkily. “I know – I know that now. When you disappeared that day, I didn’t know what to do. I went to your mom’s place and she reamed me out, screamed at me in front of the neighbours. I took the kids back, and it made me realise how fucking hard it was for you to do it all alone.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if the memory aches. “I know it’s late but I’ve changed, I swear. The girls need you. I need you. I’ll do anything as long as you stay.”

His fingers are freezing, but you do not pull away. Not when the desperation reflected in his irises makes your heart lurch in pain.

“It was hard”, you confess, and he shudders, struck in the chest by your honesty. “It was so hard, Tetsuro. You hurt me so damn much that I think I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was really functioning for a while. For a long while.”

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, and you nod shakily.

“I know”, you reply, reaching out a hand to cup his face, a bittersweet twist to your lips as he melts into your touch. “That’s a chapter of my life, of our marriage that can’t be re-written. We can’t rewind that. But the past few months have been so different. I – you’ve shown me you’ve changed. And I think –“

You fall silent.

He prompts you. “Dearest?”

You recall the glimmer of light in your daughters’ eyes every morning when he takes their hands to walks them to school. You hear the echoes of their laughter, the lilt in their sweet voices every night when they welcome him home. You think of the tea parties he throws, the blanket forts he builds, the frilly pink apron he wears without shame and the bedtime stories he weaves every night.

“I think”, you say, with a smile that reminds him of the rising sun. “I think we can make this work again.”

He stares at you until the weight of your words dawns upon him, and he surges forward to fold you into his arms.

“Thank you”, he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

“Don’t thank me, you silly man”, you nuzzle into his neck sleepily, draping your arms around his waist. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.”

He laughs wetly, cradling you close as you fall asleep against his chest, soothed by his heartbeat and the tenderness in his gaze.

Fumiko wakes you up unceremoniously before the sun even rises by climbing into your lap, and you open your eyes to Aiko pouting, hands on hips, demanding to know what’s for breakfast, and dada, dada, make a ham sandwich, pretty please with a cherry on the top.

“You guys are little monsters”, Kuroo teases with dancing eyes. “Can’t even give your papa a break to snuggle up to your mama.”

The girls shriek in dismay. “Don’t be mean”, you admonish him gently.

He mock sniffs. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.”

Aiko and Fumiko crowd the sofa, clamouring to give their papa a kiss, but he stalls them with an imperious wave of his hand.

“This morning, only a kiss from your mama can chase my crankiness away”. His tone is teasing, but his shoulders remain tense.

“Nonsense. You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine”, you scold, swatting his arm lightly as the girls giggle.

“Yours do!” he protests, and you roll your eyes as you press your lips to the corner of his lips, laughing when he puffs out his chest and declares his day can now start, that everything’ll be as right as rain.

Some days are full of sunshine, whilst others are full of rain. That’s life – but it’s bearable, enjoyable even, now that you and Kuroo face each day together, thanking the sun when it shines, and splashing through puddles on rainy days.

Things recalibrate.

The mornings are his domain now – he’s a master at concocting the most random breakfast items to satisfy your finnicky daughters. Aiko sniffs when she informs you that she’d prefer her papa to braid her hair, thank you very much, and when you shoot a look of death at Kuroo, he can’t even keep his face straight, his trademark hyena laugh erupting from his chest.

You cook dinner in the evenings, appreciating the times when he can join you at the table, not counting the nights he can’t against him because you know he’s trying his best. The girls clamour for his stories every night, laughing when he teasingly scolds them for yanking on his tie, demanding goodnight kisses from both him and you.

Now you force Kuroo to take some time to himself, shoo him off for lunches with Kenma, get-togethers with his Nekoma schoolmates. “I know you can manage it”, you tell him archly, “but you need breaks so you don’t burn out, or worse – you’ll lose your hair and we don’t want that”. When he opens and closes his mouth without a smart retort, you smirk. You get your way.

Both of you organise parties and playdates, inviting your shared friends – Kenma, of course, is a frequent guest, Bokuto, who brings along Akaashi and his sweet tempered little son (who Aiko always manages to pick a fight with, much to Kuroo’s amusement). You host Kai, who always brings offerings of flowers from his garden, Yaku, when he’s in town with his daughter, son and alarmingly fat cat. The adults congregate in the kitchen with food and alcohol, cracking good natured jokes at Kuroo and his frilly pink apron, watching the children cause a ruckus in the living room.

But you cherish the quiet moments you share with Kuroo at night when the children are asleep in bed. The chats you have whilst soaking in a hot bath about your day at work, the snippets of stories he shares about his boss, his crazy colleagues, the warmth of his arm around you as you stay up to clear emails late into the night, the heated kisses he presses to the nape of your neck to distract you when he thinks you’re working too hard.

It’s a good life. You’re happy, and so is he.

A year slips by.

The seasons come full circle. You return to the ryokan, finding peace in soaking yourself in steaming pools, watching the bamboo sway, the sun rise over Mt. Fuji. But this time, you’re not alone. You persuade Kuroo that he, too, needs a break - deserves one, truly. So you leave the girls with your mother and take the bullet train down to Hakone.

He shoots you a smirk as you both emerge from the private bath he’d insisted on booking. You swat at him, pulling your yukata higher up your neck, scowling as he winds an arm around your waist to press you into his side.

“You couldn’t wait til we got back to our room?” you hiss at him.

He chuckles lowly in response. “Didn’t hear you complaining”, he retorts.

“We were in an onsen, Tetsuro!”

“A private one”, he says with a waggle of his eyebrows, laughing aloud when you try and fail to slap your hand over his mouth. “What d’you think I was going to do with my lovely wife? I’m not a monk, sweetheart”

You try your best to shush him, but his cackling manages to capture the attention of everyone in the lift.

“What a happy couple”, an old lady remarks, within your earshot. “They must be newly married”

You think she must be a little senile. Or a little blind.

Neither of you are in your first flush of youth anymore - there are streaks of grey in Tetsuro’s mop of hair, extra weight in your hips and lines in your faces. No one could conceivably mistake you for a pair of newlyweds.

“Nah”, Kuroo drawls easily into your ear. “Just your regular old, married couple.”

You don’t speak until you’re safely in your room.

“A regular, old, happily married couple”, you say, as he hands you a cup of tea. “That obaa-san got that part right at least.”

Kuroo chokes on the lump of emotion in his throat as you serenely sip your tea.

The tea tastes bitter (as it always does), but the kisses that follow are so very, very sweet.

#haikyuu angst #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader angst #Haikyuucafe #haikyuucreations #love knows not its depth

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soullesscoffee · 4 years ago

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men after midnight || part one.

{ poly!the lost boys x fem!reader }

|| part two ||

rating: explicit

word count: 3287

chapter summary: y/n organizes a beach bachelorette party for her best friend. just as the party was getting started it is crashed by a group of punks dressed in leather with big attitudes. y/n is hesitant at first but as the night goes on they are enchanted by their charm.

warning: fem!reader, use of alcohol, use of tobacco, mentions of jealousy, heavy petting, dirty talk, sexual tension, and slow burn.

a/n: i re-listened to the mamma mia sound track and this is what came to my brain. this has not been proof read and i am posting his five hours before i have to go into work, so no sleep for me. but enjoy!

An airy laugh left your lip escaping into the wine glass. The wine swished as your body shook from the brief moment of entertainment. Digging your toes in the cold sand of the night you are kept warm by the bonfire that sat parallel to you. The echoes off laughs surround you as the other members of the bridal party are laughing about themselves as well to the story that the bride, your best friend, was telling,

“No I swear, it was the funniest thing I have ever seen, that poor waiter must’ve been so embarrassed. I tipped him like 25% because I felt so bad!” The bride's words are broken by the laughter that she cannot contain. Her own body leaning back trembling with laughter as she clutched her beer bottle in her left hand. Your eyes admire the glimmer of the rock that sits on her ring finger. Every time your eyes even glanced towards it you felt a pang in your chest. This was your best friend. There is no way you should be hurt, or jealous by it. But why were you? You’re still young, full of life, in need for an adventure. You don’t need to be tied down by a ring and a piece of paper. Titling your head down you glance down at your wine glass and take a deep breath, suddenly no longer laughing like the rest of the group. The voices around you go muffled as you start to think about the wedding that is only weeks away. The duties of being the maid of honor was starting to sit on your shoulders. You were the one to set up a bachelorette party. The bride didn’t want anything special, just a night of hanging out and drinking. Something you two haven’t done since the two of you were in high school. You were cut out of your trance when the girls started to squeal and get up. One of the bridesmaids started to turn up the radio. A chuckle left your nose as the ABBA - Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie! starts to blast through the speakers of the large stereo. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you sipped your merlot not paying attention to the women dancing around the fire. It wasn’t until a figure covered your light and warmth from the fire did you look up. The bride, your best friend, Jennifer was standing in front of you. Her white crop top and skirt accompanied with a flower crown was in your presence as she held out an extended hand. “Come on! We used to dance to this song all in the clubs!” She whined, shaking her hand for you to take and presumably dance along with her and the four other girls. You shake your head, “Fine, but you get to pour me another glass after this,” you respond tilting your head back to chug the rest of your wine. As you did so you grasped her hand setting down your empty glass next to the drift wood you sat along.

Standing you could feel the instant rush of the alcohol invade your system making your stomach feel warm and fuzzy. Then your head started to feel light and relieved. You danced along with the other girls as everyone danced along the fire. You stopped dancing around the fire as everyone, including yourself started to sing along to the excitement of the song.

“There's not a soul out there! No one to hear my prayer!” You belt at the tops of your lungs pausing at different poses to the beat before letting the song drop. You start jumping and laughing, your subconscious being grateful that the beach was practically abandoned for it was nearing midnight. Though the group was a distance away from the boardwalk to not be interrupted by any juvenile attitudes.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight! Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away!” You laugh and grove your hips along with the melody enjoying yourself and getting lost in the music, “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight! Take me through the darkness to the break of the day!” You start dancing around the fire once more enjoying your time grooving along, not noticing the four figures emerging from the darkness.

“Well it looks like your prayers have been answered ladies!” A booming voice cracks through your musical hypnotic state. This causes you to jump and a couple of the girls to shriek but laugh it off. You however weren’t laughing. You were quite pissed at the interruption, “Sorry fellas this is a private function!” You holler from afar, the look on your features clearly unamused. Yet you couldn’t help but be amused by the get up of the loud one. His hair tufted into a long blonde straight mullet, donning a fishnet shirt and a blazer with a chain of coins trailing down his chest and safety pins scattered through the fabric. There was only a ripple of giggles and chuckles, but the grip on your arm from the bride was what made you look at her. “Y/N! I think it’ll be fine if these boys join us. I mean look at how cute they are,” she whispers into your ear before biting her lip and clearly eye-fucking the boys. You open your mouth to protest but Jennifer started to pout at you giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“We’ll be good, Y/N. Won’t we boys?” The one in the front of the semi v formation calls towards you, the sound of your name coming from him causes shivers to go down your spine. You huff and roll your eyes. “Fine, but one funny move and I am kicking all of your asses.” You spat returning towards your piece of the driftwood as the girls started to whisper amongst themselves and started to offer the men drinks. Are they even allowed to drink? You question to yourself before grappling your empty glass from the sand to go fill it up at the drinking station. The girls continue to sing and enjoy their time but your mood has switched a complete 180. As you reach out for the Merlot bottle fingerless gloves grasp it before you can. “Merlot, aren’t you fancy. This isn’t even the cheap shit.” You look up trying to connect the voice to the face. Your eyes met a small face framed by curly long hair and a Cheshire like grin. “Yeah, I should’ve gotten the cheap shit. Sometimes it has a high alcohol content.” You reply with a smirk trying not to be hostile and ruin the mood of the party.

One of his hands grasped your wrist softly pulling your hand towards his body. The man carefully poured you a decent glass. “The name’s Marko,” he starts before looking you up and down. The action causes you to blush. Marko took a red cup himself and filled it a little bit, “I am guessing your the manager of the function. I hope we can keep you ladies entertained tonight. We did hear your call,” his sly grin grew on his lips. A chuckle left your lips, “I’m pretty sure we were fine on our own. But thank you Marko, if it was up to me you guys wouldn’t be drinking our alcohol and partying.” You reply bluntly sipping your wine, but then the sudden chill causes the hairs on the back of your neck to rise. “Man, this babe is feisty,” the one who interrupted the party in the first place calls from behind you. He places his hand on the small of your back as he reaches over you to grab a red solo cup. Marko poured him some wine as well and smirked towards his friend, “Y’know Paul, it’s not nice to invade the ladies space.”

The one named Paul snickered from behind her, “I think she’s just fine with it, aren’t you babe?” He asks you with his breath caressing your ear, causing a tingle to form in your brain. You clear your tightening throat to slip from his grip. “Not really,” you admit honestly and he feigned an expression of hurt. “Ouch,” Marko however on the other hand could only laugh at this interaction. You parted yourself from the boys cheering yourself from the two men and sigh to yourself as you trudge back to your bench of driftwood. Once you sit yourself down you watch as the two blondes start to mingle themselves with the girls. They clearly were flirting with all of them, including the bride, she was playing with Marko’s ornate jacket. Twirling the fringes between her fingers and grazing the patches. In reaction you chug the wine out of pure petty anger and lean back to stare into the fire.

“So who’s the lucky one?” You whip your head behind you to see the platinum blonde standing behind you admiring the crowd along with you. “I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he bluntly states as he pops a cigarette between his pink lips. The first thing you notice is his bright blue eyes that seemingly glowed in the dark. You could only roll your eyes and give a dull chuckle. You lift your left hand, “Clearly. She’s the one in the flower crown. Well the one with the biggest flower crown.” You inform crossing your bare legs over one another. The sudden smell of burning tobacco and nicotine hit your nose, but you try to ignore it. Before you knew it he was sitting beside you. He held the cigarette out towards you between his leather glove clad fingers, your eyes flickering to it before flickering to his. He raises his brows and nudges it towards you, “Thanks,” you mumble plucking it from his fingers and taking a couple of puffs before handing it back to him, “I’m David. I see you have already met Paul and Marko. The brunette is Dwayne. Thank you for letting us join your function.” David snickers, leaning back and letting the smoke come out of his nose. “Well it wasn’t my choice,” you start and David tilts his head towards you in pure curiosity, “Clearly, it’s not your party,” You blink at him as you try to figure out whether his tone was condescending or not. “Yeah, you’re right. Not my party.” You reply by taking another gulp of your wine hoping the farther you got down the glass the quicker time would go by.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, and you don’t look like you're having fun at all. At least not like the way you did before,” He notes before inhaling a deep draw from his cigarette. An airy chuckle leaves your lips, “Not really, the party got crashed- Wait, you were watching us?” this time it was David’s turn to chuckle, “We heard the amount of fun and Paul couldn’t resist himself to a party.” You furrow your brows at the reply, “So why did you follow?”

“I can’t say no to a night of fun.” He responds giving you a smirk leaning closer towards you, starting to close the proximity. Heat rises to the tips of your ears and the base of your neck. You try to fool yourself, it's the alcohol. However, you can smell the man’s cologne and musk directly off of him. It was so hypnotizing. Just like his eyes, you tilt your head slightly as he continues to speak, “Have some fun, Y/N.” he states, quipping his index finger under your chin. Suddenly you felt your whole body go numb and your mind go blank.

As the night grew you found yourself getting more comfortable with the punks. You were not in the arms of Dwayne, the two of you swaying back and forth to the music as the other two were dancing with the other girls. David sat chatting with the bride clearly enchanting you with his charisma you picked up on so quickly. You glance over your shoulder to look at David who was talking to the bride, yet as you looked over his piercing blue eyes flicked your way. A sudden sly smirk on his lips left you mouth agape with wonder at what was happening in his eyes. Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen echoes through the night sky. Dwayne however gripped your chin between his thumb and index and pulled your attention to him. His hands rested back on your lower back barely grazing the bare skin under your clipped shirt. “It’s rude to not focus on your dancing partner,” he muses with a charming smirk as he pulls you closer flush to his bare chest. A slight gasp left your lips as the contact surprised you. You swallow and look up into his piercing brown eyes, “I-I’m sorry,” you whisper clearly blushing under the moonlight but was thankful it was dark and farther from the fire. “I was only joking,” he claims before spinning you out and pulling you close once more. Your hands rested awkwardly on his shoulders. Keeping eye contact with you, his fingers grazed your sides, ghosting over your sides as he pulled them up your arms. He formed your hands behind his neck. You couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture as your eyes trail along the painted leopard on his arm. “You’re more relaxed,” he notes and you nod at him, “Yeah, thank you for pulling me away from those two. I thought my brain was going to hemorrhage if I kept talking to them,” You tease about Marko and Paul, to which Dwayne could only chuckle. As the second chorus started to pick up Dwayne settled his leg between yours, “Believe it or not they bring the fun with them,” Dwayne replies, starting to smile as he twists you to where his chest was flush with yours. You freeze for a moment as the chorus builds up, “Yet maybe, we can offer a different kind of fun?” Dwayne whispers in your eyes, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. You instantly felt your cheeks get hot as his large hands travel down your sides to your hips guiding you to sway along with him. You could feel your backside grazing his groin as he pulled you closer with guidance. Your breath started to pick up as your heart raced with anticipation as one of his hands traveled to your navel splaying across only his pinky dipping in your waistband of your denim shorts. Looking up from the sand your eyes connect with David’s who held an intense eye contact with you as you started to feel yourself unravelling. “I asked you a question,” Dwayne whispers once again in your ear trialing his lips down to your neck, long brown hair cascading down your chest. His seemingly chilled lips contrasted against your hot skin. “I- I- don’t-” you choke out as you feel another finger enter your waist band, causing heat to grow at your core. You hand held onto his with a deathly clutch.

You feel his bare chest rumble from a chuckle as he ground himself into you, nipping at the base of your ear. You gasp from the action, a surge of adrenaline rush didn’t make you correlate as Dwayne pulled you back around to only grasp your belt loop and spin you away from him. You land in another person’s arms, you look up to see Paul looking down at you. His handsome smile beaming down at you as he pulls you close. “Finally, I was starting to feel Dwayne was going to keep you all to himself.” He smirks as pulls your waist down, guiding you to dance alone with him, his hips moving seemingly against yours. Your lips parted as your heat grazed for a moment against his thigh, “Why were you starting to get jealous?” You couldn’t help but tease. The tease caused Paul to quirk his brows in surprise but also amusement, “It’s not fair for him to hold someone as fit as you to himself,” he quips pulling your hips down so your core continues to grind on his thigh. A gasp leaves your lips involuntary, “Especially when you gasp like that,” Paul rasped against your parted lips. You head spun with how all of this was happening and how quickly. Heavy pants coming from both parties started to ignite a fire deep within. On instinct you close the gap between his and your lips, engaging in a fiery kiss that took your breath away. As your hands crawled up Paul’s chest to wrap your arms around your neck you feel fingerless gloves graze under your shirt. Then a pressure from behind the culprit you assumed to be Marko pressed amongst you dancing along as well. You part your lips from Paul, hypnotized by ministrations from both of the men.

Marko had both his hands up your cropped shirt gently clawing and pawing at the plush bare skin underneath. “Starting without me?” Marko asks against your shoulder before pressing his lips to your skin. You tense a moment before relaxing into his touch, wrapping an arm behind you to Marko’s neck, drowning in the intoxicating smell of both men’s scents. The grinding and the pressure from both of the men caused you to pant along with the beat. “The fun’s just starting.” Paul purrs as Marko connects his lips to the crook of your neck. The sensation causes a sigh to leave your lips and you loll your head to the side giving him more access to your neck. Marko’s hands trailed down, over Paul’s hands on your hips to your thighs. He even gently grazes his index finger over your zipper before gripping the hem of your denim shorts, digging his nails into your skin as he bites down on your neck with his blunt teeth. You gasp distracted by the excitement to notice Paul leaving your grip. Your hands grip his as your nails dig into his gloves. You close your eyes for a moment letting a sigh float from your lips as he pulls you by your belt loop like Dwayne and spinning you away from him.

You snap your eyes open to see your hands land on a layer of leather. Your toes touched the tips of boots. You graze your hands to the black t-shirt. Gloved fingers pinch your chin and pull it upwards. You are met by stark blue eyes and a honeyed voice, “Having fun?” David asks, tilting his head down as he waits for your breathless answer. You could only nod as your legs felt like jelly and your head spun at a million miles per house. “Good,” he whispers against your lips, ghosting his breath that had reminisce of cigarette on it. You were in trouble. You thought to yourself. His other hand pulled you close by the small of your back to press against him as he entrapped you in a powerful kiss. You could feel the tip of his nose pressed against your cheekbone. His gloved hand moved from pinching your chin to grasping your neck just below your jaw. His kiss swallows your quiet moment that you tried your hardest to suppress. David pulls away after a moment, his hand still placed under your jaw as he admired your flushed face. You could only admire his face amongst the bonfire that lit his dilated pierced ocean eyes that looked at you as if you were his next meal. A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he looked at your haphazard state. “Are you ready to get your prayers answered?” He questions with a knowing smirk. The only response you can give him was keeping your lips parted as his eyes sunk you deeper in a hypnotic state. You slowly nod as his gloved hand caresses your cheek.

#soulless writes #the lost boys #men after midnight #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys fanfiction #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #i need to quench my thirst now #i literally won't sleep after this #enjoy ya filthy animals #poly!the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

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is this all i have?

^ hey all, a little different fic I have for you today.

If you decide to read it, it’ll give you some insight into why I haven’t been posting a lot ... it says more than I probably would normally share about my struggles but @genshin-karebear encouraged me to be honest and, so, here I am. (thank you, friend)

Warnings -> negative self-talk, comfort, one curse word

I sat at my desk, head in my hands and tears on the verge of spilling over the edges of my eyes. For days I’d been struggling, frantically, painfully trying to get back into the swing of things with nothing to show for it other than tear stained clothes and empty pieces of paper.

Where did it all go? Where was the spark that used to ignite in my heart when I sat down to write the words which once came so easy? Am I spent, have I used up all that skill in a matter of months … what’s wrong with me.

A single tear cascaded down my cheek as I stared at the massive nothingness that lay before me. The taunting paper which looked back at like a score card of failures after failures, as if to remind me that I will never be a person worthy of it’s time. I rubbed my eyes, pushing my glasses over my brow and feeling the hot liquid which rested in them, this would be the tenth time I’ve done this today.

“I’m just spent and I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore.” My lip quivered, my cheeks became wet, my eyes blurry. “I’m a failure.” I whispered to myself shaking my head and holding onto the last ounce of energy I could muster - it didn’t matter that the sun was warm and shined through my window, there was nothing strong enough to push through my veil of despair.

I looked out the window and saw the world move on around me; it never waits, while it pushes on I’m left behind. The trees continue to spread out their leaves in an attempt to soak up the necessary nutrients they need to survive, seeds float on the wind looking for a place to rest, bugs move from place to place at random, the cat lounges on the chair lost in its dreams as its fur is warmed by the sun I cannot seem to feel. I’m jealous of that cat.

I contemplate getting up and doing something different, but there is a voice inside of me that tells me to push through, to keep going and write something - put anything down on this piece of paper. Fuck you, paper … you are nothing to me and yet you have total control over my pen. I’m angry and frustrated at an inanimate object when I should really be mad at myself. It’s my fault I cannot get anything out --- I’m broken, that must be the only answer.

The tears have all fallen, water droplets speckle the parchment and my eyes look onward without any ounce of life left. I feel empty and hollow, I have no more energy for it all and so I lay down the pen, drop my head to the table and close my eyes.

I don’t know how long I sit like this, time has been moving so slowly for me as of late that this feels like nothing new. I don’t even hear the sound of the door opening, or footsteps headed my way. In fact, I barely register there is another presence in the room until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Hazel?” I stir, but only enough to turn my head onto its side and glance at the person who called me by name, a name I didn’t feel I had the right to claim. I looked up and felt my stomach drop, of course it would be him … the one person who I continued to fail over and over again. “Are you okay?”

I bit the inside of my lip, desperate to keep my emotions in check. I hated looking weak, and complaining about my frustrations only made me feel worse. These worries and inadequacies are my own issues to deal with, there was no need to drag others down into my sorrow, so I changed the subject.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.” I leaned up from the desk and turned myself to face him. Instinctually, I placed my hand on the blank paper, an attempt to hide my shame.

“Yes, there wasn’t much for me to do, it seemed everyone had it under control and I didn’t see a need to stick around.” He placed a few items down on the table in the study. It was some of the only sounds which broke the monotony of my day. “… did I disturb your work?”

“No, I only just started.” I lied, grinning to add another layer to my coverup.

“Oh, normally you get started much earlier than this …” His observation was accurate, even if it stung a little. He was right after all, I’d been sitting at this desk since we parted ways earlier in the morning … I felt chained to it, obligated to do something worthwhile at this god forsaken wooden nightmare.

“Normally, yes. I just, uh, had some things to get done before this …”

“Well I’m sure you are eager to get started, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked down at me kindly, and I yearned to have more than just his words and kind eyes at the moment, but I knew it wouldn’t be possible to ask that of him.

“Sounds good, I’ve got a lot of ideas and think I can get some good stuff done today.” Another lie.

“I believe you will.” He looked at me and my brain screamed. It battled between the side of reaching for him and letting him go. As busy as he was, he didn’t need to be bothered by my struggles. So, in an effort to keep them under control I pushed my knuckles to the small space between my chin and lips, the nail of my index finger digging into the corner of my mouth for extra sensory support. I smiled weakly at him and watched as he made his way through the threshold, disappearing beyond my line of sight. When the door closed I stood from my chair and walked to the window, my hand extended to capture the rays of the sun which normally brought me comfort, but today only illuminated my skin.

The emotions bubbled up in my chest and, like a sad child who didn’t get what they wanted, I removed my glasses, dropped my head into my hand and cried. Soft, quiet sobs spilled from my mouth while my eyes remained shielded by the darkness of my hand. Something caught my attention and as soon as I allowed my vision to adjust to the source, dark cloth and a flash of red envelope me.

“What …?”

“I knew something wasn’t right.” His voice was so soothing, his arms tight around my body, his chest inviting and the way his hand spread across my back ... it all meshed perfectly together. “For days, you’ve been acting strange … I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“What .. what are you talking about ..?” my voice was strained, telling of my emotions, and still I tried to push through. “I’m fine, I-I just got something in my eye.”

“You know you can be honest with me.”

“I know …”

“So, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“This isn’t something to worry you over.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulled back so he could look at me and I was glad my glasses were still off. I couldn’t bear to see him clearly right now. “Something is clearly weighing on you, how could I not offer my support?

“It’s stupid, and I just need to get over it.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then whatever problem you have isn’t stupid.” He pressed, and his words, combined with the closeness of him, was starting to break my resolve. I didn’t want to put anything else on his shoulders … I didn’t want to appear weak … I didn’t want to be a failure.

“I’m … struggling.” He didn’t let me go or say anything, which made me fill the silence with my own pitiful words.

“I’ve been trying for days to get something, anything out and every time I do the words don’t flow like they did. I’m worried … did I write all that I’m ever going to write. What if I can’t do it anymore … what if this is all I have …” The tears began to slip down my cheeks, some found a home in the bend of my lips and filled my mouth with the taste of salt. I shook my head and bit my tongue, this is stupid, I’m acting like a child. I tried to push away from him but he only tightened his grip. “God, there are so many more important things to be upset about, and here I am whining about something so petty.”

“When was the last time you took a break? Perhaps, that may help?”

“I’ve done that … I’ve taken such a long break -- I-I don’t want to take a break anymore. Why is this so hard.” I felt the pressure of my brows as they moved closer to one another, the bending of my nose as I scrunch my face out of frustration. “I’m wasting time and people are waiting on me … how long can I ask them to wait … how long do I deserve their patience …”

“Has anyone pushed you to work faster than you can?”

I parted my lips and ran my tongue over the back of my teeth, “No … but I can’t expect them to wait forever. There’s gotta be something wrong with me, right? That’s the only explanation I have at this point. I’m not good at it anymore … I’m worried and stressed and ... just ... so sad.”

His hands slipped around my arms, one resting against my shoulder and the other cupping my face. “I know this feels like an impassable obstacle, but you haven’t lost anything … you just need to give it time.”

“Haven’t I done that?”

“You told me you’ve been in here trying to force yourself everyday, have you really taken time to rest?” I shrugged my shoulders and shifted my eyes away from him.

“You don’t take breaks either …” I mumbled, my words were an effort to get even and show him how the suggestion was nothing but a silly statement that had no meaning.

“Maybe, I should.” I didn’t want to look at him, but I could tell his tone had grown more thoughtful. He let his hands fall to my wrist, the feeling of his glove against my skin was somehow comforting. “Come with me.” He gripped tightly and led me through the door of the study faster than I could protest. We walked down the stairs, confused maids and staff staring at us as we blew by them before leaving through the heavy doors of the winery and onto the dirt path which held endless possibilities of destinations. I protested, but there was no escaping his grip and, soon, all my effort was on keeping up with his pace.

When I thought I couldn’t take another step we stopped, he released my hand and with him no longer keeping me upright, I fell into the grass below me, my arms sprawled outward. I breathed in deeply and relished the feeling of the wind against my face.

“It’s been a long time since I moved that quickly.”

“How do you feel?”

“Let me get back to you on that… ” I laughed and rested my hand against my chest, the beating of my heart pounding there as I tried to breathe with hot lungs.

I looked up at the sky, the vastness of it stealing my vision and removing anything else. My skin was tickled by the blades of grass that brushed against it, and I watched as a small bee flew over my face his swaying movement mesmerizing. When was the last time I was outside like this… it felt like such a long time ago.

I stretched my hand toward the sky above me, the blue color peeking through my spread fingers, my palm cutting off the fuzzy clouds that moved lazily along. His face came into view and I realized I had yet to put my glasses back on.

He bent down to meet me, his back falling into the grass at my side, hair following the pull of gravity and spreading out in the grassy hill.

“I can’t believe you are laying in the grass.” I chuckled and dropped my hand back onto my chest, turning my head to look at him.

“I’m known to have a few surprises up my sleeve.” He responded, turning his head to look at me, the light from above gracing his face and somehow only making him even more beautiful than he already was. It was so blinding that I had to look away.

“Hah, well, color me impressed.” For the first time in days, I feel a small reprieve from the darkness which had seeped into my skin. Something internal began to tingle, starting from my fingertips and slowly up my arms and as I took in a deep breath the smell of sweet flowers filled my nose. “Thank you, Diluc.”

He reached for the hand which was moving back and forth above the grass at my side, his strong, large grip providing protection and comfort, and for the first time in days, the feeling of warmth.

“Promise to tell me next time you are struggling; don’t hide away alone.”

“I’ll do my best.”

---

I feel much like Kiki did in Kiki’s Delivery Service ... how can I fly again when I feel so ... bleh

I’ll keep trying, all <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #self insert #genshin self insert #diluc #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact diluc #hazelsmusings

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bruhlsbees · 4 years ago

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it was real enough || baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

summary: heike zemo spends her last moments with her son, carl, and father-in-law, heinrich, before the battle of sokovia

pairing: baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

warnings: i always say angst but this one is for real gonna rip your heart out, major character death, heike clinging to carl in their last moments, sad phone call that ends too soon

word count: 3,502

a/n: based on this set of sentences specifically "it was real enough", in mcu zemo's wife's name is not said, so i went with her comic name of heike, also according to his mcu fandom wiki - zemo's son's name is carl!

May 4, 2015.

“Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.” Helmut whispered, holding his wife’s delicate face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones before resting his own forehead against hers.

Heike grasped onto Helmut’s hands, closing her eyes as she embraced her husband, “I know...I know, but the sounds of gunfire- the screaming, Carl can’t sleep well, Helmut...I don’t know what to do.” She didn’t try and hold back her tears as Helmut kissed her face, peppering slow and gentle kisses as he listened to her sniffle, crying quietly, “I wish we could leave...go somewhere...anywhere!”

“I know, I know. I wish we could, but it’ll be over soon. Yes? You and Carl will be safe here with my father. He will take care of you while I’m gone and until I return, and then we will leave. Perhaps Latvia? Carl enjoys the sun there.”

Running his hands down Heike’s arms, Helmut squeezed her elbows, watching as she slowed her breathing, calming herself down before nodding in agreement, “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

Helmut leaned forward, kissing his wife once more before letting out a shaky sigh, not wanting to leave her. “Please, Helmut...please come home. I can’t lose you.” Heike admitted, her voice cracking.

To him, Helmut thought this was just a temporary departure, hugging his wife tight against him as he whispered sweet reassurances into her ear as he always did. Little did he know, this would be the last.

Before Helmut left to join the others of the EKO Scorpion squad, he stood in the doorway, doing his best to stay strong as his father held his wife and son, doing his equal best to stay strong. Heike and Carl, on the other hand, were not holding themselves together - he couldn’t blame them though, if it weren’t for his own bundle of nerves that were forcing him to stay calm, he probably would be in the same boat as them.

Kneeling to his son’s height, Helmut pulled Carl in for one last hug, holding him close as he cradled his head in his hands, “You look after your mother and grandfather for me while I’m gone. Can you do that, my brave boy?”

Nodding, Carl squeezed his father tight, his sniffles calming him down for the moment, leaning into his father’s kiss against his head before pulling back with him. Watching as his father stood, Carl stumbled back into his mother’s grasp, squeezing her tight as he buried his face into her side, crying into her shirt.

Helmut wished he could stay, to be with his family, but he knew that he had to go - he had to help protect Sokovia and make sure that his family would see the end of this. Feeling the tugs on his heart as he turned, Helmut forced himself to exit the home, closing the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, he heard Carl’s sobs break out, flinching at how painful they sounded. He wanted so desperately to turn and run back inside, but his walkie crackled on, turning his attention back to joining the other members of his squad.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 6, 2015.

The night had been filled with screaming and crying throughout the city of Novi Grad. Heike tried so desperately to ignore the sounds of gunfire and explosion, but it seemed the harder she tried, the louder they became.

Sleep for Heike did not come - not since the beginning of the fallout. Laying in bed with Carl, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back and kissing his head as he slept, flinching occasionally. Heike tried to hold back the grunts as Carl would kick her in his worst fits.

If Helmut were here, he would know what to do.

Blinking away tears, Heike sighed and looked over Carl to see the sun begin to peek through the curtains. Deciding that she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, Heike pulled herself away from Carl who was clinging to her, gently moving out of the bed and down the hall to the kitchen.

Heike avoided looking out the windows, not wanting to see the damage the city endured in just the one night. She knew it couldn’t be good, judging by the troubling noises that were heard all night and into the morning. If she were to look out the window, her mind would go to Helmut - wondering where he was in all this and if he would return.

Opening the cupboard, Heike pulled down a teacup and prepped to make a pot of cherry blossom tea, blinking away tears as the water boiled.

“So, what is your poison?”

Heike smiled at Helmut from across the table, the light tune from the piano brought the atmosphere down. The restaurant would soon be closing, but the two didn’t have any plans to leave anytime soon.

Scooping a slice from the cake the two were sharing, Heike, put the fluffy chocolate dessert in her mouth, blushing and shaking her head. “It’s silly...but...I love cherry blossom tea.”

Helmut couldn’t help but smile at the confession, not expecting it to be so innocent. Here he was, planning on inviting her to go get drinks, only to find out that her own personal poison was not liquor, but tea.

“Cherry blossom tea? I would have never taken you for the cherry blossom type of lady.” Helmut teased, stealing the last bite of cake before placing his spoon on the plate.

Heike couldn’t help but giggle, putting her spoon on the plate as well before shrugging, “I never was too fond of hard drinks. I always enjoyed a warm cup of tea. Sometimes with a turkish delight, if I was feeling adventurous.”

She couldn’t believe it, but she actually got cheeky and winked at him. They had been going on a few dates now, so this wasn’t too forward, but for her, this wasn’t in the norm. Heike was rather reserved, but with Helmut, something came out in her.

Reaching across the table, Helmut took Heike’s hand into his, squeezing her soft hand into his rougher one, “Turkish delights? My, aren’t you the rebel.” He teased, grinning at her when he noticed her cheeks going more red.

The sound of the kettle whistling pulled Heike from her thoughts, quickly pulling the kettle from the stove to calm down before placing on the cooler burner. Placing a cherry blossom tea bag in her cup, Heike poured the boiling water over the bag and felt her body relax when the scent of cherry blossom hit her.

When she settled the kettle back down, she picked up the tea cup, not noticing how shaky she was until the light clattering of the cup hit against the plate. Choking back the sob, Heike felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to take a drink of the tea.

She pushed the tea cup back onto the counter, burying her face into her hands to muffle her crying, not wanting to wake up Carl or Helmut’s father, Heinrich, as it was still fairly early. She had been holding in her tears for so long, her worries over where Helmut was at that moment stuffed down. Heike only wanted to make sure that Carl was okay, forgetting her own delicate state of mind.

Heike’s tears continued to fall, soon unable to even bite down on her lip to muffle her cries. What she was not expecting, however, was to be pulled into such a tender embrace.

When she recognized that it was Heinrich, Heike wrapped her arms around the larger man’s middle, sobbing into his chest as he held her, stroking her hair.

“Shh, Heike, it’s okay. It’s okay. He will be back soon.” Heinrich assured, humming lowly to try and take her mind off of the situation. Heinrich was very fond of his family, adoring his daughter-in-law and grandson. He knew this was hard on the both of them, with Helmut being gone, and he felt it was only fair to do what Helmut would do if he were here for them.

After a few long moments, giving Heike the time to calm herself down, Heinrich felt Heike pull back, sniffling as she wiped away her tears from her face and her nose. “Thank you…” She whispered quietly, her voice cracking from the painful sobs.

Smiling, Heinrich tucked Heike’s hair behind her ears and kissed the top of her head, “Carl needs his mother now more than ever, but that does not mean you cannot have your moments to break down. Even the strongest still need their moments.”

Nodding in understandment, Heike looked up at Heinrich and smiled, looking down at the counter to collect her tea once again, this time taking a sip of the warm liquid. The warmth calmed her down enough for her to catch her breath, processing what Heinrich had told her before taking another deep sip, finishing the cup. Heike set the empty cup on the counter before making her way towards the window. She knew she shouldn’t have looked out the curtain, but her curiosity got the best of her.

When she saw the damage unfold beneath her, her heart sank. She couldn’t imagine the lives lost, the damage it caused for everyone, all while the Avengers were doing what they thought was for the best. She didn’t hate them, no, she knew they were doing what they thought was best - but she couldn’t help but wonder if they ever stopped to think about how their actions would affect the towns they fought in?

“Carl will probably be waking up soon, perhaps I should make us something to eat?” Heinrich offered, approaching Heike and placing a gentle hand onto her shoulder, pulling her away from the window.

Pulled from the window, along with her thoughts, Heike looked up at Heinrich and nodded, “Yes, that sounds lovely, I’ll go get Carl...I just- I have to make a call first.”

Heike excused herself from the kitchen and made her way down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her before she sat on the toilet, opening her phone and scrolling until she found Helmut’s contact, pressing the ‘call’ icon and putting the phone to her ear.

She knew that Helmut wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer, she had tried just last night, asking when he would be home and trying to pretend in some sad way that everything was fine. This time, though, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pretend.

“Helmut...my love...it’s me again,” Heike began, steadying her voice before continuing, “I know you’re not able to talk right now and I’m sorry if this is interfering in any sort of way but I-” She paused, feeling herself being to choke up before she took a deep breath, “I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you. It’s silly to say over the phone, through a voicemail, but I fear something might happen that we both did not see coming...I know, I know I shouldn’t be talking this way, but one of us has to be realistic. Of course, I am praying, praying to anyone out there that this nightmare will be over, and soon you’ll be back in bed with me, but so far nobody has heard my prayers.” The tears that fell from her cheeks began to fall freely now, unable to be contained. Heike did her best to try and stop, to collect herself for the remaining seconds she had, but she just fought through them. “My only prayer now is that you return home safely...alive and well. I don’t care if you come back with a missing leg or in a coma - I’ll take care of you Helmut, I will, I just want you back. I need you back. Okay? I need to go now, but I just wanted to call and tell you how much I-”

The call dropping made Heike’s stomach sink. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at the screen and stared mortified as the voicemail timed out. Her face contorted, squishing up as she let out another cry, holding herself tight as the emotions took over her body.

The knock at the door was drowned by the sounds of her cries, it wasn’t until she heard Carl’s sweet voice that brought her to.

“Mama? Are you in there?”

Sniffling, Heike wiped her face and moved to the door, unlocking it and opening it up before staring down at Carl, his hair messy and still in his pyjamas. He had a concerned expression on his look, one that matched Helmut’s all too well.

“Were you crying?” He asked innocently, reaching his hands up to feel the wet spots on her face. Heike could only sigh, dropping to his height as she knew lying wouldn’t help him, “Yes, my dear. I was...but I’m okay now. Okay? I am just missing your papa is all.��

Pulling Carl in for a hug, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back as he squeezed the fabric of her shirt, “When will Papa come home?” He asked sweetly.

“Soon, my dear, soon. Once he is done helping Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers, he will come home.” She smiled, feeling Carl grow giddy at the mention of the Avengers and specifically Iron Man, before clinging to his mother tighter.

“Your grandfather is making us breakfast, why don’t we go join him so he doesn’t eat alone?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The night came quickly for the Zemo family - along with the growing destruction of Novi Grad. The streets below began to pile with cars and waste from the buildings and Heinrich went so far as to board up the windows after witnessing someone fall to their death. Whether it was purposeful or not, Heinrich wouldn’t allow Carl nor Heike to see the horrors of war - ‘least not more than they already saw.

The three of them were laying in bed together, watching old movies that were on some VHS tapes that Heike found in the closet. Carl, fast asleep in her arms, clung to his mother’s waist, while Heike, slowly began to doze off. She hadn’t been paying too much to the movie, in fact, she didn’t even know what exactly was playing, but she was happy to have enjoyed the peaceful moment, despite everything going on outside their home.

Unfortunately, the horrors did not end, and their peaceful night was soon ruined. The blood-curdling scream woke Carl awake, sending him into a crying fit while Heike held him, doing her best to calm him down while Heinrich held them both, consoling them as what he feared most soon approached them.

“I don’t want to die…” Heike whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kept Carl’s face buried into her stomach. She looked up at her father-in-law, eyes red as she shook her head. Heinrich could only frown, not knowing what to say other than pull her close, letting her cry into his chest. As a realist himself, Heinrich knew the possibility of the building they were in to be targeted was high, but there was still a part of him that wished for the alternative.

The flames that flickered outside the windows signaled that there was sadly no way out. He didn’t want his grandson, nor daughter-in-law to have to go out in such a painful way, so he did what he believed was the only thing he could do - hold them close and sing a lullaby.

Heike’s face was buried tightly into Heinrich’s chest, Carl’s in his mother’s. The sound of Heinrich singing an infamous Sokovian lullaby calmed them enough to not think so hard as to what was going on around them. As the flames rose and the song continued, what came next was more painful than seeing a child cry - but the death of a child itself.

While the heavy concrete collapsed on them, they were fortunate enough to not feel the pain, dying on the direct hit. Even though there was no pain, the three still lost their lives, not having a single chance of survival - which perhaps was harder than the hit.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 8, 2015.

Helmut had been digging for two days. Two days since the initial end of the battle when he returned home to find the building in pieces and when the smoke cleared enough for him to be able to search. He had been told that there was no use in searching, that it would take too long to find them and he didn’t need to go through that pain...but Helmut had to be the one, he wouldn’t sit back while some stranger dug to find his family’s bodies for him.

He ignored the painful cuts that dug into his palms, the numbness in his body a shield against the physical pain he was enduring. Helmut picked up piece by piece, tossing it over his side as he furiously dug deeping into the rubble, searching for any sign of his family. He hardly slept, continuing to dig deeper in the area he imagined his family to be. The surviving members of his squad became worried quickly, unsure as to what to do in this situation. They hadn’t lost families, ‘least not in the way that Helmut lost his. Nobody could understand what he was going through, and while they wanted to help, it became clear that Helmut found it worse to have help than do it on his own.

By the early afternoon of the second day, his motions began to slow, becoming weaker as the time went on. Helmut knew he couldn’t give up though, he wouldn’t, not until he found their bodies. It was a sad prayer really, asking whomever to let him at least find their bodies, but it was one he partially wished never came true - for he wished that his family had never died in the first place.

What stopped his movements was the arm sticking out of the rubble. He recognized the watch as being his father’s and his breathing stopped, catching in his throat. This was it, this was what he had been searching for, yet at the same time was dreading. Quickly moving the rubble off of them, Helmut let out a cry when he finally uncovered the bodies, seeing his father holding his delicate wife, and his wife holding their precious son.

He didn’t know who, but one of his squad members quickly rushed to him, pulling him off the bodies as he Helmut threw himself over them, ignoring the painfully obvious state they were in. The squad member held Helmut in his arms, letting the man cry as medical members carefully made their way up onto the rubble, doing their best to carefully collect the bodies and placing them in bags to be taken away.

Helmut’s eyes stayed on the bags, watching as they were loaded into trucks and taken to the nearest area for body collection and identification after the war’s aftermath. He felt his heart racing, his head resting against his friend’s chest as he blood soon boiled.

This was their fault. The Avengers, of all places they could have chosen, decided to come to Sokovia, their home, and destroy it. Destroyed their city, their homes, and families. Glaring into the distance, Helmut continued to let the tears run silent down his cheeks. He could picture his family’s death playing in his head. How scared they must have been and for him to be where? ‘Helping’ the Avengers as they hardly helped them.

And where were they now? The Avengers? Gone. Back to their own cities, their own homes, and families. And where did that leave Sokovia? The place they decided to play war at? In ruins...destroyed into nothing - leaving Sokovia and it’s people lost and without a home.

Closing his eyes, Helmut turned his head and rested his face against his friend’s chest, clinging to the front of his shirt before letting out a painful scream, soon faltering back into sobs.

Helmut would miss Heike’s hair, how soft it felt when it finally dried after being washed.

He would miss the sound of Carl’s laughter, how eager he was to be ‘just like his papa’.

Helmut would even miss his father’s awful snoring, and how Heike would always do her best to not be frustrated in the morning when Heinrich would ask how everyone slept.

No longer would he be able to kiss his family and hold them close, but only have the memories of their souls and the voice messages to hear the sweet sounds of their voices.

This was the only way now that Helmut had any way of being with his family, through the memories. It was real enough to get by, to feel comfort while alone, but it wasn’t real enough to move on.

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #baron helmut zemo imagine #helmut zemo imagine #zemo imagine #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #heike zemo #carl zemo

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marlahey · 4 years ago

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under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren. masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly. There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary. You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.” “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.” He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan. “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.” “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night. He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?” You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.” You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.” Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe. He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror. Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet. “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead. She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied. You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open. “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?” As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.” “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?” She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks. “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn��t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson. “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax. Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room. Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.” Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.” You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return. He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #utsr redux

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magical-girl-coral · 4 years ago

Photo

(Translation of Unmasked taken from athakra on Livejournal. Please tell me if the link doesn’t work or if the translations aren’t accurate.)

Character Introductions: Matsumoto Rangiku: Lieutenant of the 10th Division, this willful beauty’s figure is second to none throughout the entire Gotei 13. After losing her childhood friend Gin, she now feels an emptiness that she cannot fill. Kira Izuru: Ichimaru Gin’s direct subordinate, Lieutenant of the 3rd Division. Even though he possesses strength and knowledge befitting his position, his air seems to give people the impression that he tends to rely on others. [Two Lonely Souls’ Wild Drunken Night] M: Hey hey Izuru! You haven’t drunk enough yet, right? K: Nope, I’m still drinking, see! (Hiccup) M: If you drink it all in one gulp, I’ll pour the next one for you myself~ ☆ K: Thank you… I’m always receiving Matsumoto-san’s encouragement… M: What – the, speaking in such a sad tone of voice! Clearly, you haven’t had enough yet! Come on… K: No, Matsumoto-san, if I have more then I’m afraid… M: I will take care of you until the very end, so today drink your fill!! K: Okay, okay. Well then, following through is better than being deferential… M: Oh~~ Izuru, I didn’t expect you to be able to drink this much! Keep drinking, just like that! Mana~ger~ heat more sake! I want the big jugs! And plates of capelin too! K: But Matsumoto-san… why have you always been so good to me? After I did such a horrible thing to you before- M: That’s all in the past. Besides, this isn’t just for you… it’s because I myself want to drink!! [Izuru, Blind Admiration] M: Say, after you had been betrayed, you were still so obedient towards Gin. Why did you still have so much faith in that guy? What exactly was so good about him? K: Even though Ichimaru-taichou always looked like that, he was really a very kind and warm person. He just wasn’t very good at displaying it and his outer persona was very easily misunderstood, but he was really very kind and warm. M: Ah! He was very kind to you too? K: Of course! Did you know that behind the Third Division’s barracks, there are some persimmon trees? Every year when they bore fruit, Captain would always make tons of dried persimmons himself. M: On this topic, Izuru you often brought some to share with us. K: Also, he was always telling me to eat more, and even if I said that I had enough, Captain would still tell me not to be polite and eat more… Even though in the end my stomach felt like it would burst – Captain, he was so kind. M: Eating like that gave you diarrhea though. K: Eh…that’s very true. He also completely trusted me as his lieutenant, and let me take care of all business within the division… Even though he never complimented me, he also never interfered at all with my work… Isn’t that enough to see that as a boss, how kind and accepting he was? M: Enough to befuddle you. K: Anyway, he was an ideal boss to me. And I still feel exactly the same about him – even though there’s a little bit of disappointment, I hope I will be able to trust Captain until the very end. M: Kira… You… K: Come on! I’m going to drink my fill today! And I have Rangiku-san here with me!!! M: Of course! Today we’re going to try our hardest to drink our fill ☆ K: I do want to hear Rangiku-san’s story. Weren’t you childhood friends with Captain? M: That’s right. Gin saved me when I was starving and couldn’t get up. [Things Lost and Things Gained] M: Back then he was one completely incomprehensible guy. He was the one who saved my life, and of course I was grateful. But, there was just one thing, I wish he wouldn’t play games and just say what he really thought. K: Hiccup… that is to say. Captain, he, was a bit… Hiccup, like that. M: My apologies~! Bring another jug of sake! Cold sake is fine, as long as it’s here fast~! K: Huhuhu… Ichimaru-taichou… Why… M: In the end, he still saved my life. And this time, that guy still sacrificed himself to save the whole world – what a fool. K: Huhuhu… I wish I could see Captain again… M: He was always leaving all of a sudden, always vanishing without warning…but now that I think about it, that was just his style. So he didn’t leave you anything either? What a willful fellow. Why couldn’t he leave just some tiny thing by our side! Just thinking about it makes me even more mad… Come, Kira!! Drink up! I haven’t poured the next cup yet! K: Okay, okay… (Hiccup) M: Come on… ah oops, it leaked out… Hahahaha. At least it’ll dry after a while. K: Huhuhu… it’s completely wet… M: Izuru, did you know? We are both here because of Gin. Both you and me. As long as you’re alive, then so is Gin. And if you want to be with Gin longer, even for just a little bit, then live just a little bit longer. K: But Captain is no longer here…? M: That’s why I said that he’s with us! Perhaps…this is what he left to us. K: …Ah. M: Hm? K: I remembered a haiku. “Ah – wet the sleeve, tears become sake.” M: Hey, Izuru you! K: Ha, ha. What…? M: Like I said, you can’t go on like this, being all melancholy and indecisive! All we can do for Gin is to be happy from the bottom of our hearts, every single day! K: …. M: He would never leave me anything, the things I still wanted to do for Gin - K: …ZZZ M: Ah… had too much? …Sorry. Manager – bill please - !!!

#Bleach #Gin Ichimaru #Rangiku Matsumoto #Izuru Kira #Ginran #this is the third time i've reposted this #if it doesn't show in the tags again i swear to god

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radiorenjun · 4 years ago

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cigarettes || kim doyoung

➶ pairing: kim doyoung x reader

➶ genre: angst, established relationship

➶ word count: 2k

➶ synopsis: You and Doyoung keep having arguments because of your occasional smoking habit. To you, it’s just a cigarette. To Doyoung, it was more than that.

➶ warnings: swearing, arguments, shitty writing, mild ANGST, half-assed fic, character death, mentions of cancer, smoking addiction, smoking, mentions of drinking, bad reputation in high school

➶ a/n: big thanks to @lebrookestore for making this EXQUISITE HEADER

➶ based on the song Cigarette Duet by Princess Chelsea

“It’s just a cigarette and it cannot be that bad.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, pulling out a cigarette from the package and a lighter from your back pocket. “Honey, don’t you love me ‘cause you know it makes me sad,” Doyoung frowned, crossing his arms over his chest with furrowed brows as he watched you walk to the balcony, lighting the cigarette up without a care in the world, ignoring his glare from across the room.

Doyoung was worried for you. You had been starting to smoke cigarettes whenever you were too stressed as you, just like him, didn’t like to talk things out. You didn’t think much of it considering you were only smoking a few a week, but Doyoung had a far greater worry in his mind. He didn’t want you to get an addiction because of something utterly stupid.

“It’s just a cigarette like you always use to do,” you rolled your eyes, taking a deep puff from the small tube. Doyoung grimaced at your words, letting out a small inaudible hiss under his breath . He turned his face away to avoid your eyes, sighing heavily.

“I was different then, I don’t need them to be cool,” he answered rather hesitantly, his pupils avoiding your own as you let out a soft scoff at him.

You both knew deep down Doyoung was only worried because he was scared that you were going to fall into the same dark abyss as he did back when the two of you were still in high school. Doyoung was previously a smoker himself. He hung out with the wrong crowd. He did many bad things in his youth, he did a lot of things he knew he shouldn’t. He was the first one in your relationship to start smoking, he had a really bad smoking addiction back then just for the sake of impressing his former so-called ‘friends’.

And one of the biggest mistakes in his life was encouraging you into trying it as well. Of course back then you weren’t that interested but you did try it out under his encouragement, and ever since then you would take a few small puffs whenever he would offer it. But recently you had decided to try it out when you were at a bar at one of the frat parties near your community college, a couple months after Doyoung finally got over his smoking addiction. And now you couldn’t help but smoke a cig or two a week whenever the stress of college and work piles down on you.

Doyoung sighed as he got up from his place on the couch to walk and join you on the balcony, wrapping his arms around your waist with a small pouting frown on his lips. He leaned his chin down on your shoulder and his head against yours, the sadness in his pupils sending small jolts of pain into your own heart.

“I know, it’s just a cigarette but it harms your pretty lungs,” Doyoung mumbled against the fabric of your thin white shirt. (which happens to belong to him) You purse your lips, blowing out a puff of smoke as you look down at the view bestowed upon the two of you, eyes gazing up a the cloudy night sky.

“Well, it’s only twice a week. So there’s not much of a chance,” you nuzzled your head against his lovingly, ignoring his puppy dog eyes boring holes into your skull as he watched you take another puff from the white cigarette. “I know, but one can turn into ten, y/n. You know that very much,” Doyoung pouted, tightening his hold on your waist as he moved his head to lean his cheek on your shoulder, pressing a small kiss to the space between your ear and jaw.

“Honey, don’t you trust me? When I want to stop I can,” you reassured him, making both of your heart aches as he grew silent at the statement.

That was exactly what he said back when he still had his smoking addiction.

“It’s just a cigarette!” you exclaimed.

Another pointless argument, another night of the two of you screaming at each other until your throats were sore.

You were tired. Doyoung was tired. But you knew Doyoung wouldn’t stop complaining about it until you stopped smoking. And today he had found out that you had moved on into a more harsher brand of cigarettes, clearly he wasn’t happy at all considering it was way more addicting than the brand you were using previously.

“‘It’s just a cigarette’? It’s malboro light! This is going too far, you’re going to stop smoking permanently whether you like it or not!” Doyoung shook his head at you, his eyes glaring daggers into your own as you clenched your fist and gritted your teeth in anger. “It’s not that big of a deal, Doyoung!” you shot back, “ I don’t know why you’re blowing this completely out of proportion!”

“I’m not blowing this out of proportion. This is going to go downhill if you don’t stop. And even if I am overreacting is one measly cigarette really worth it if we end up fighting again?” Doyoung retorted, his expression filled with disbelief at how stupid you were being. Why can’t you just listen and try to stop? Your smoking count had gone up from two per week to five a day and it was getting way out of hand.

You groaned out of frustration. “I’m not going to argue about this again. I’m tired, it’s almost midnight. Can’t we just go to sleep and talk about it some other time?” you pleaded, wishing that Doyoung would drop the conversation again until some other day. Unfortunately for you, unlike the other days, Doyoung had enough of avoiding this conversation. He didn’t want to watch you walk down to your own death in his very own eyes.

He was in your position once too, you were just too stubborn to listen to him. He didn’t want you to go to the extent of smoking two large packs a day like he did back when the two of you were still in your first year of college. It broke his heart to see the person he loves the most slowly ruin their pretty lungs and the only thing he can do is try to convince you to stop every single day.

“No. This has gone on way too long and way too far, this is going to grow into a bad habit sooner or later. And you know very well that I don’t want you to get an addiction. Where the hell did you even get it? For fucks sake, it’s already bad enough that you’ve gone from 2 a week to 5 a week, it’s not healthy, y/n. You know that,” Doyoung rubbed his face with his palms, trying to calm himself down to keep himself from screaming his frustrations out. “It’s only a cigarette I got from Jamie Lee,” you huffed under your breath, looking down at your sock-covered feet.

Jamie Lee was one of the girls in your class who was quite infamous for bringing about scandals and terrible rumors as if they were handmade chocolates. If Doyoung wasn’t upset then, he sure is now. “Jamie Lee? You got a cigarette from fucking Jamie Lee?” he asked incredulously, removing his hand from his face to stare at you with wide rage-filled eyes. He was begging you to tell him that you were just joking, you were just pulling on his leg to ease the tension between you like you always do during arguments.

But no, you weren’t. The guilt in your eyes said it all.

“I’m going to give her a smack one day, dear god.” Doyoung groaned, pinching his nose to take a deep breath before continuing your argument that lasted until you decided to walk off to take a cig outside of your shared apartment at 2 am in the morning.

Doyoung stirred, his head hurt, and he wondered why he felt so tired despite the fact that he had just woken up. When he finally decided to open his eyes, pulling the blankets off of his body as he moved his feet off the bed. Yawning, he scratched the back of his head, hissing in pain when the pain in his head got worse.

‘It’s just a cigarette and I only did it once, Doyoung’

‘It’s just a cigarette and soon it’ll be ten, Y/n.’

He stood up from the bed, grimacing at the empty feeling in his chest as he made his way to the kitchen to get himself some water. Getting himself a cup of water, he stared hopelessly out of the window in front of him before walking over to the fridge, he scanned his eyes to see if he could make anything for breakfast with whatever condiments that are left. Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, he let out another yawn before grabbing a carton of eggs.

‘It’s only twice a week, so there’s not much of a chance’

‘It’ll make you sick, Y/n. There’s not much of a chance.’

He felt tears gather up in his eyes when the silence in his ears became too loud, the empty feeling in his heart turning into a feeling of pain and despair. He rubbed his eyes before walking over to the balcony, trying his best to ignore the aftermath of his hangover. Raising a hand to give his temple a massage, he grabbed a lighter from the table near the balcony door and pulled out a cigarette packet from one of the drawers.

Lighting it up quickly and taking a deep puff, sighing heavily as he exhaled the smoke, feeling the empty ache in his chest decrease as the bitter smoke overpowered the throbbing ache in his heart. He wiped his eyes as he tapped the ashes on the ashtray nearby, his pupils dilating when he realised he hasn’t cleaned it in a while.

‘It’s just a cigarette, I’m sorry that I did it.’

‘It’s just a cigarette, you’ll be sorry that you did it.’

It’s been a couple of weeks since you passed away from lung cancer. Doyoung couldn’t even be there to tell you ‘I told you so’. He blamed himself for not trying his best to stop you. He blamed himself for your death. If only he didn’t encourage you to try your first cigarette back then in highschool, maybe then you’d be too scared to try one from someone else’s encouragement. If only he tried hard enough, if only you weren’t so stubborn.

If only you had listened to him. Maybe then you would still be by his side watching him cook. Maybe then he wouldn’t be sitting on the balcony with a cigarette in one hand and alcohol in the other, maybe he wouldn’t be so sleep deprived. Maybe he wouldn’t be feeling such a wretched ache in his chest. Maybe then he wouldn’t try so hard to hate you for bringing him into another smoking addiction.

“Doyoung.”

“Honey, can’t you trust me? When I want to stop I can.”

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neo-constellations #neoculturecafe #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct u x reader #doyoung x reader #kim doyoung x reader #doyoung scenarios #kim doyoung scenarios #doyoung angst #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct doyoung x reader #nct 127 doyoung x reader #nct kim doyoung x reader

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jubilantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 7: I hope to see you soon one day.

(AO3) (First) (Previous) (Last)

Word Count: 7059

////

She despises the loops. The memories never seem to be wiped clean anymore, and her awareness only grows stronger as they continue to tear the cycles apart. So of course the world would start lashing out violently. Mono comes to rescue her from the Tower as he always does - bag missing and tinier than she remembers. But he also seems… more different than usual. Twisted and broken as she is, even her monstrous form can see the obvious signs of harm.

A severe limp. Hand clutched to one side. And blood. Blood on the corner of his mouth, an ever growing haze clouding his eyes as he struggles to stay upright and conscious. Brows furrowed in pain as the last of his adrenaline drains away. He staggers forward and collapses against her form, almost comically sliding down her raincoat as she cries out in her broken voice.

The music box is her treasure, her one comfort in this room- but no, no that's not true. She pushes it aside for the moment and carefully cups the boy in her hand. He's hurting, he needs help, he can barely move. Thoughts and thoughts push through the haze of her mind, her moment of escapism fading away as she stares down at his broken body (a girl in yellow is falling falling falling into the ocean never to be seen again until a boy in olive is falling falling falling as he’s dropped into the abyss by her hand just as a man in blue is falling falling falling until he's broken into pieces, broken and mangled and bent in all the wrong ways and she screams screams screams-).

Reality is always a harsh wake-up call, but it's the wake-up call she chases. Safety means nothing if the little boy with the paper bag isn't safe with her. The music box continues to play, but she pushes herself forward. It plays and plays and plays and coaxes her to stay, won't she stay? Please, please stay, it's so nice and safe here with no monsters in sight (except for her), and she’ll never have to worry ever again. She’ll have everything she needs and more!

It's tempting. So very tempting. But the little boy gives a harsh wheeze, and her mind turns to Mono Mono Mono Mono he's hurting he's dying why why why why-

She breaks down the door with ease and shuffles her way out into hallways and doorways and more hallways with brightly colored lights, and she's lost, so very lost and Mono is dying, she has to get him out of here-

"Th-there." He points feebly towards a door, and she follows his directions without a second thought. The Tower shakes around her, annoyed by her attempts as they try to escape. Each exit morphs the Tower around them as the walls turn to Flesh with eyes bulging out to watch their every move. More hallways lead to more Flesh Walls protruding through the cracks. Mono gives a wet cough as the Tower shakes around them until the walls become nothing more but Walls.

Her shuffling grows frantic as the Tower collapses around her, intending to trap them in this prison covered in ever-watching eyes (eyes, always eyes, always always always eyes watching, mocking them, and she hates them, she wishes they’d leave them alone, leave them ALONE-). There's a bright light ahead of her and- the exit! So close! She forces her bent limbs to move faster, holds Mono closer, and she can feel the Walls closing in on her, grabbing at her and trying to pull her back even as she crawls ever closer to the exit-

But reality is harsh. Just as she's about to make it through, the Walls collapse around her, pulling and dragging at her limbs as she screams and thrashes against it as Mono yells and feebly struggles and-

-disgusting, slick and fleshy, audible wet blinks that stare and convey a smugness she wants to destroy, the Walls pulse and slide and separate him from her grasp and she screams and fights as that tiny warmth-

No!

Give him back!

She's spat out, gangly and monstrous and twisted with empty hands into an apartment too small for her size. A music box follows after her like a taunt.

Play with this instead of the boy.

It's not the boy.

It's not Mono.

It’s nothing but a beautiful lie.

She screams as she smashes the music box with her bare hands, metal splintering with a wretched laugh, and it hurts, it hurts so much, like she’s being smashed into pieces, but it doesn’t hurt as much as having him ripped from her hands so easily, so she slams her fists down over and over and over again and she screams give him back, give him back-

Metal cuts into her hands as she screams. The contraption is bigger than her now, her anger and rage cutting her out of the fantasy completely as she stands before the remnants of that saccharine dream. And what does she have to show for it? Only cold hands and broken sobs.

As she hugs herself, her Shadow appears before her, morose and quiet and a reminder that she has to keep going. Her stomach growls, and her Shadow looks down at a poster by its feet before nodding to her.

Move forward and satisfy the Hunger. It disappears without a word as Six approaches the poster with heavy, mechanical steps.

The girl travels and becomes a woman. She becomes the Lady with her right hand man, the Caretaker. He stands besides her, watching anxiously as she presses her palm uselessly against the glass.

Memories upon memories upon memories never prepared her for this. The Tower did something to her Thin Man. Did something that turned him more into a monster than he'd-

("...they took control of my prior iteration and turned him into more of a monster than he was ever meant to be. Or perhaps, what he was always supposed to be, but could never fully realize.")

"...Caretaker."

"Yes?"

"How close are you to working things out with the Ferryman?"

"Well," he flips through his notebook quickly, fingers twitching nervously as he scans the pages, "it looks like he's confirmed the island is habitable, but he's unsure how safe it'll be and for how long-"

"It'll have to do." Her voice trembles with an unrestrained emotion as her fingers curl on the screen. She misses him terribly, so how dare they, how dare they. "I will do what I can to bring back our dear friend."

"...Odd that he's our friend when I didn't get to meet him this time around."

“Yes," she says through gritted teeth, "a true shame."

"...Six?"

"Yes?"

He rests a hand on her shoulder, eyes glinting from under his bangs. "Don't let them win."

Quietly, she removes her mask just enough. Just so he can clearly see the fangs in her smile as she feels a familiar hunger for vengeance dig its claws into her being.

"I don't intend to."

The cycles end as they are to continue. Mono is viciously, horribly, violently taken from her each and every time, and the Thin Man is no longer a familiar silhouette in the television screen who offers companionable conversation and eager hope for a change to come. The Tower laughs at her efforts, laughs at how she tries to save the boy that had her imprisoned over and over again, laughs at her efforts of trying to take him back over and over again.

It laughs when she claws at the Flesh with broken nails, struggling and tearing at disgusting meat with bulging eyes as she tries to protect her friend, only to have him ripped away again and again and again.

It laughs when she pounds at the television screen with monstrous fists, distorted screaming shattering windows and destroying the device to pieces before she turns her rage onto the object that was supposed to calm her.

It laughs when she lashes out with her powers, too far away to harm the Tower itself, but still trying to somehow warp the television in her quarters and forcing it to work for her like how her friend once willed it to work, glass shattering and smoke curling into the air as she howls with anguished frustration.

The laughter is agonizing, echoing and repeating as she feels the lingering leers from the Eye, judgmental and chastising as if to accuse her, claiming it to be her fault. If only she’d stay in her role, continued these torturous cycles without trying to escape like frantic rats trapped aboard a sailing ship. If she were a lesser woman, she would have succumbed to the jeers aimed at her.

But she’s not. She has no room for misplaced guilt when revenge quickly fills in the gaps that her anger and grief cannot. A new goal arises besides their goal to escape, and she’s determined to see it through.

(They made a promise, and promises aren't made to be broken like this.)

When brute strength fails to work, when her hands are covered in too many scars to justify her failures, she turns to the plethora of books in her bookcase. Pages and pages are turned at terrifying speeds as she searches for answers that the various grimoires may hide. The Caretaker comes in with meals and reminds her to eat, to calm her Hunger lest it overtakes her, but she refuses in the midst of her research. There is her cursed Hunger, but there is also her hunger that takes precedence over most everything else. She will eat once she sees his face again, his silhouette, his familiar words rolling across the screen. Her hunger motivates her to keep searching, keep looking, keep hunting.

The only time she pauses is to make time for her Caretaker, pausing to speak with him and his discoveries, drinking in his presence before she loses him too. They both make progress, inch by little inch, cycle by cycle. Even with all the time in the world, she finds herself growing more frantic as the cycles continue and she sees less of the Thin Man that whispers from her broken memories. Books are tossed about, left scattered on her floors as volume after volume fails to present her with the solutions she needs, the steps she could possibly take to free the Thin Man. Piles mark the passage of each cycle, books left to gather dust as she abandons one shelf for another. Her library is mostly scoured and it leaves her frantic with ever growing anxiety as the books continue to pile uselessly around her. What was the use of collecting knowledge if it couldn’t aid her in her time of need?

Hope nearly escapes her as she grabs an old, worn out book too thin to be considered part of her usual collection of tomes. She’s about to discard it, denounce it as useless as her eyes quickly skim the pages. And then.

A picture catches her eye - a description that’s so unlike what she’s used to reading fills her with a rare sense of hope.

A little breakthrough. It’s an excitement she hasn’t felt since she was a child and had (found that little hat for Mono, the dingy sailor cap that looked like it had seen so many more better days before her little fingers plucked it out from under a desk and thought ah, perhaps Mono would like this little gift of hers) explored apartments with Mono looking for edible treasures left forgotten by the previous residents. She glides gracefully to the Caretaker’s room, looking around once before kicking open his door rudely. The man inside yelps in surprise, notebook dropping from his hands as she barges in and slams the door shut behind her.

“SIX!” He’s already scolding her before she even gets a word out. “I thought you grew out of doing that! Don’t you remember the last time you did that you broke my door?!”

“Yes, and who replaced it?”

“I did!”

“Doesn’t matter.” She brushes off his offended squawk and slams down a book on his desk. Papers go flying everywhere as he yelps and runs about catching what he can. Ah, just like the good old days of pestering one another endlessly.

“Six!” His offended yelling does nothing to stop her. “For fuck’s sake-”

“Cursing already? I haven’t even shown you my antics yet.”

“Your an-” He sputters and looks at her wide-eyed from under his bangs. “What have you done now?”

“To be more precise, what will I do soon?” She quickly opens the book and flips to a bookmarked page. Tapping on a picture brings the Caretaker closer as he leans in to see it better.

“...A charm?” He leans back out and frowns. “Since when were you into charms?”

“It’s not any charm, you ignoramus.”

“That’s a big word coming from a small person.”

“Shut. It.” She ignores his giggling in favor of looking over the charm. It’s quite simple in design - a small pouch is tied up with a drawstring with patterns sewn into the fabric, the pouch holding something inside. The book claims that it holds sacred inscriptions on paper in it but…

“Hm, how old is this book?” The Caretaker takes it from her and flips to the front, only to frown in disappointment. “No year.”

“Does it really matter?” She takes it back and opens it to the selected page.

“No, but also yes.” He taps on the picture of the charm. “The description says it holds sacred inscriptions, which typically means holy.” The Caretaker glances at the shadows that curl around her feet as he continues. “I don’t think there’s anything like that in this world anymore.”

“Then we’ll just have to make our own.”

“Six.” He turns to her fully and braces his hands on her shoulders. A knowing but sympathetic gaze keeps her from brushing his hold off. “Your powers aren’t exactly like that.”

“I know that.” Still. Her eyes linger on the charm’s description, reminding her of that feeling of gentle, kind protectiveness that she’s ever been so blessed to feel not once, not twice, but thrice now. It’s a well-meaning, warm feeling that she’s terrible at creating herself. The dark arts are denoted dark for a reason, and everything about this charm is completely unlike her very essence.

Still.

("You're the spiteful spitfire who will last the longest out of all of us. And we're depending on you to bare your teeth and fight when we can't."

"Who else would be strong enough to strongarm a change like this?"

If there’s anyone who could force the impossible to happen, a small voice says within her, it’s you.)

She takes hold of the Caretaker’s sleeve and tugs in that childish way she hasn’t done in years. Begs for his attention in the smallest of actions even when she already has all of it.

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” The sound of mirrors shattering echo in her memories of loops upon loops upon loops of fighting. “Maybe all I have to do is make my fire the stronger one.”

He squeezes her shoulders with a nod. "Alright, but don't burn yourself in the process."

"I will do what it takes to take him back." Still, she reaches up to give his hands a reassuring squeeze. "But I promise not to destroy myself in the process."

"Good." He smiles and pulls his hands off her shoulders. "Whatever it is you figure out, please don't test it out on me."

"No promises." Ignoring his aggrieved sigh, she picks up her book just as he pulls his notebook out and flips through the pages. Come to think of it, how much farther has he gotten with his discoveries? She teleports behind him in a single blink and tiptoes to see over his shoulder. The notebook is opened to a page filled with scribbles that look... more like entries than the usual diagrams and notes she's used to seeing. The phrase "Thin Man" catches her eye as it repeats over the page, and-

The Caretaker snaps the notebook shut with a barely restrained shriek and glowers at her over his shoulder. "Don't. Do that!"

"What are you reading?"

"None of your business."

Hm.

"You mentioned the Thin Man a lot in your entries." She tilts her head to the side. "Were those past ones? You haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet-"

"Yes I was rereading old entries for very important, specific reasons related to- you know, to our freedom, so stop being a bother and get out!" He points to his door as she giggles behind him. "You have your... tasks to do that I’m sure are just as important!"

"You're blushing." A guffaw nearly escapes her as she pokes his cheek. "Please tell me, why are you blushing?"

"Hhhggh- out. Now!" He grabs her by the back of her kimono as she squawks in protest - he's wrinkling the fabric! - and practically tosses her out of his room. "Shoo!" The door slams in her face as she straightens up with a prim "hmph", the book safely tucked under her arm as she makes her way back to the quarters. Whatever secrets he keeps in his notebook, she'll be sure to suss out later when she has the time.

For now though.

For now, she needs to go through her collection of old kimonos and fabrics in hopes of finding something suitable for her charms. There's no telling how many she'll need to make before she gets it right, but she's willing to dedicate as many loops as possible to make her plan work.

Time has never been one to run out on them. This she knows from experience. But as each day drags on, as each moment passes with no change, the anxious feeling builds and crawls under her skin. The buzz of static that should be familiar no longer sounds in her quarters. Instead, the snip-snip-snip of scissors takes up the empty space as she carefully sews and stitches and creates these little pouches meant to hold blessings. It's a shame they cannot do what they're meant to do.

It would have made her life easier if she truly could make a ward to fend off evil spirits and energies, or even to just cast a protective spell. But the nightmarish world they live in fails to allow such liberties to exist. She takes up a brush and tries still to make some sort of protective inscription. She takes up the needle and tries to sew a pouch to hold such hopes and well wishes. She takes up an art that was never meant for her, still trying and persevering.

Despite all her hard work, despite replicating the pouch and its design to near perfection, the charm refuses to work as intended. No matter her intentions, no matter how hard she tries to dampen the darkness inside her, dark magic will always be dark magic. Her power taints the paper and instead houses a destructive force that would rather harm the holder than protect it. But still she tries and tries and tries. Against all odds, she fights to work with cards dealt to her.

Dark magic cannot be used to protect - it works better to destroy, to manipulate, to change. But such things have workarounds. For instance: those nomes that shamble about her ship. True, they never will resemble the little children they used to be and are doomed to a life where communication is near impossible, forced to labor away until a paradise is found for their hopeless little lives. But there’s a little twist to their story - they will never be hunted by adults ever again. Otherwise ignored by the forces that would have killed them at a single sighting, these little creatures can live an otherwise safe life, so long as they stay out of the way.

A twist. It's all she can depend on as she imbues the small sheet of paper with her power. The power to drain the lifeforce of anything around it. This tiny sheet is dangerous - it could drain the holder's lifeforce if she's not careful. Her little Guests are proof of that as she watches them writhe uselessly at her feet, charm clutched in their disgusting, meaty hands as she tests it out on them. With each fallen Guest, she adjusts the potency of her little “charm” and tries to make it focus on a specific type of energy.

The Signal Tower works on frequencies that are otherwise untouched by her. But the insides are just as fleshy, just as meaty as any other living creature. It is both alive but not - a paradox she can exploit, much like how the loops have constantly exploited herself and the Thin Man. One little charm won't be enough to kill an entire building, but it may be enough to weaken the surrounding area enough to prevent whatever brainwashing or mental torture it could inflict on her Thin Man. The next problem she has to fix is the duration - it has to last for as long as possible. Past the midlife of a loop, until the end of their lives. A quick drain, one she's accustomed to, won't work.

It needs to be a slow, gradual drain. And it needs to be focused on one particular entity to keep it from harming the children. There's no way of knowing if it will work unless she tosses one of her Guests into the Signal Tower's domain, or if she somehow manages to attach it to one of the Viewers in the Pale City just before they are sucked in. But it feels like she's running out of time - each minute passes by her like a haunting whisper, a silent taunt that she may never save her dear friend from his fate, and that they will forever be stuck in the loops as a result.

Her final product is nothing short of simple - made from the brown fabric of her kimono, the golden thread she manages to find is used to very carefully stitch in the characters that she's seen in her books. "Safety" is what she hopes it denotes. The back of the pouch has her mask embroidered in. Whether it can heighten the power of her charm, or simply to show the Tower just whose power is slowly draining it from the inside, she doesn't care. All that matters is that the little boy is protected to an extent. Perhaps the life force or energy taken by the Tower will be directed to him; perhaps it will help in keeping him lucid enough to fight off the Tower's influence. Or perhaps it will help in building some form of resistance against the Tower if he has some of her power within him. No matter what, all that matters to her is that the boy grows into a man who can keep his wits about him.

Of course, the charm is big for a child, but she accounts for this and makes the little drawstrings into straps of sorts so that he could choose to wear it on his back (under his coat, if he has the sense to do that), keeping it like an extra layer of protection. The little charm sits innocently on her palm.

Perhaps this will do it.

The last thing she needs to do is find a way to actually get the charm to the boy. Pocketing the tiny thing, she finds herself once again barging into the Caretaker's room without a care. He startles with a yelp, notebook juggled in his hands before he catches it with a relieved sigh. The old thing is tattered around the edges, but the leather bounding looks carefully maintained, almost lovingly so. If she could count all the tallies he's made, would she be able to figure out how long they've been at this impossible task already?

"Six?" Irritation drops from his posture as he looks over her form. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm at an impasse." She presents him with the charm and wonders if she needs to give him context. How many loops have passed? Just a few? More than that? Less than? Keeping track was never really her thing. "I don't know how I'll get this in the hands of the boy."

"Hm." The Caretaker steps forward and takes the charm from her hand. "A charm? Ah." He keeps it looped on a finger as he quickly flips through and scans his notebook. With a nod, he closes it and puts it away. "It wouldn't be easy for us to simply go on land and hand it to him."

"If only."

"But." He smiles as he hands it back to her. "We can certainly try mailing it out."

"To the boy?"

"No. To Roger."

"Why him?"

"My notebook tells me that the Thin Man once told me a story of how he, as a child, handed a package to a resident in the Pale City. It was one of the few times a resident didn't try to kill him. Likewise, when I am working with Roger, he's ah, said to me, so to speak, how he got here. A little messenger gave him a package from the Maw that told of his accepted employment."

"Oh I do recall sending a package out to him long ago." Replacing employees she killed as a child was always quite the surreal feeling. "Even with you around, we still need a Janitor. Or maybe I should mean, especially with you around." She gestures to his disorganized room with a poorly hidden chuckle.

"Uh huh." He rolls his eyes at that before turning back to his desk. "I suggest we keep the charm with the package and leave a note for Roger. Tell him to hand the charm to the little messenger as a tip for his services."

"Do you think it'll work?" She wanders over to the Caretaker's side as he sits down to write the note.

"I don't see any other option." He takes out his brush and quickly writes it out. After the ink dries, he folds the letter up and puts it in an envelope. She places the charm into his waiting hand and watches as he drops it in with the letter. "Only thing we can do now is hope it works. And if it doesn't, we try again."

She takes the letter from him and holds it against her chest. All bets were on Roger now, and if the monster was anything, he was at least... reliable, to put it simply. The Caretaker quickly scribbles something down in his notebook before waving her away.

"I suggest getting that package made ahead of time before our time's up." He looks up from his writing and smiles. "Methinks the clock's already begun to tick on my end."

As his words sink in, her heart sinks as well. Her glide forward has her embracing him close, mask buried in his hair as she sighs.

"How can you be so calm about your death?"

"How can you be?" Always like him to deflect. Still. She hugs him closer and refuses to let go for as long as she can.

A few days later, after she has the package ready with a note to her future self to mail it, she sees a familiar blue blur fall past her with a chilling scream. A glimpse over the railing has her finding his broken form splayed out in a growing puddle of blood. She'd think that after experiencing loops of the same tragedy, she'd have run out of tears to shed.

But things always manage to surprise her as her hands reach shakily under her mask to feel the moisture that gathers underneath it. Soon enough, her loop ends without a whisper from her Thin Man as she closes her eyes in tears.

The loops continue as they are wont to do. Very little changes as they go on. Mono still gets beaten and bruised beyond what his little body can cope with. The Thin Man still remains silent and unreachable beyond the screen of her quarters. But Six notices the differences.

Or at least, her Shadow does. The little thing whispers in the Lady's head as she continues about her business, fashioning a new charm as per the notebook in the Caretaker's hands, as well as the Shadow's little guidance.

Bits and pieces of memories help guide her hands through the motions, her sewing fervent and desperate as she bites her lip. Each attempt is aided with a little change the Shadow had noticed - he walked without a limp, he could drag the hammer, he could manage a single sentence.

Small victories, but not enough to make it end. Still, the Shadow continues to list each accomplishment.

"He managed to walk by himself to the bridge this time," the Shadow whispers, filled with childish hope and confidence.

The memory of a boy holding her monstrous hand as his staggers fill her mind, and nothing of the scene fills her with that same amount of hope and confidence. Instead, it fills her with a heartbroken pain as she recalls how his hand slipped from hers, how he tried to push and save the monster that she was with a pained smile before the Walls claimed him again. The Flesh had crashed down on him, stealing him from her yet again even as she cried and screamed for him, hands desperately clawing at the Flesh before she was tossed out unceremoniously. He hadn’t even tried to reach out for her, didn’t even ask for help. As always, Mono’s main goal was to protect her and never himself. How the Shadow cries with excitement at such a scene leaves her wondering how much it has seen to find this cause for celebration.

"It's working!"

"But not enough," she mumbles to herself, mask removed so that she can bite the thread off. The pouch is put aside as she reaches for the paper and ink. As soon as the writings are inscribed, she focuses all her energy and power and spite into the sheet, teeth bared and gritted in anger as she channels all that rage into the sheet. Take her friend away from her, and she'll take more from the Tower. More and more and more until the boy can grow into a Man, a Thin Man who can fight back against whatever torture the Tower puts him through. Shadows dance and swarm around the page as she forces the essence into the paper. More and more and more. She puts more and more into it until she can practically feel the cursed energy that drips from the paper. Quickly, she folds it up and slides it into the pouch. As she's about to tie it off into its signature straps, she grips it tightly in her fist and imbues it more with her dark magic.

Just in case.

Another sheet of paper is grabbed as she quickly scribbles out the familiar note for Roger, setting up the letter and package necessary for the Janitor's employ. It's gotten to a point where the motions of setting up the package are as familiar to her as going through the motions of killing the Hunter, or being caught at the school, or burning the Doctor alive - now it's preparing the package for the Janitor she will later kill as a child. A weary sigh escapes her as she slumps undignified in her seat.

How long must they keep this up without him? The thought of leaving him behind in pursuit of their freedom disgusts her and feels too unlike the guilt that still lingers in the back of her mind. Even without asking the Caretaker, she knows he’ll refuse the concept as well despite having never met him in loops. But how long can they keep this up? What if they run out of time before the Eyes try to disrupt them more aggressively? What if they have more to contend with than the Maw jostling itself violently, or the Tower destroying and manipulating a boy into a monster? Whispered memories from repeated conversations with children whose names she will never know remind her of the other monsters that still linger out there in the world. What if they come to ruin everything they’ve struggled to prepare so far? What if, in the name of survival, in the name of their sought after freedom, they have to-

A loud bang startles her out of her reverie however as the Caretaker howls with excitement. She quickly covers her face with her mask as the Caretaker closes the door behind him.

"Six!" He practically barrels into her as he grabs her by the shoulders, pulling her out of her slump and onto her feet. "Six, I think I will die today!"

"Could you not be so enthusiastic about your death?!"

"I think I'm allowed to, given the news I have for you!" He pulls her away from her desk and drags her towards her bed. Once he sees her seated reluctantly, he pulls out his notebook and plops down next to her. With a wild speed, he flips through pages before settling on a rough sketch of an island. Bushes and trees that look to be laden with fruits grab her attention, but more so is the sketch of the monster- man, who continues to take her younger self to the Maw. The same man that the Caretaker has taken detailed correspondence with. The Caretaker jabs at the sketch enthusiastically. "We found it."

She straightens up as the soft voice in her mind coos with excitement. "The safe haven?"

"More or less." He shrugs as though it can't be determined, but the hopeful gleam in his eyes says otherwise. "The Ferryman finally found the island. A place for children that is safer than whatever it is the Maw has to offer."

No adults. No monsters. Food for as long the little ones may need.

"Home," the little voice breathes out like a saving grace, "a real home."

"What about shelter?" She hates to rain on his parade, but she knows that even with food and the lack of adults, the children can only manage so much on their own. "It's a bare island with only so much."

"I'm going to try and smuggle items down to the drop-off." He turns to another page where a list is compiled among the tallies. Blankets, pillows, tarps, buckets, even spare basins- "Children are clever. I'm sure they'll be able to figure something out with these."

"It can last for only so long," she murmurs, and she recalls the books in her library that are otherwise untouched. "Perhaps, a few of the books may have something about survival in the wilderness."

"I've checked." The Caretaker shakes his head but lacks any disappointment despite his declaration. "Nothing in your library except the dark arts and manuals for running the Maw, books of old traditions long since gone-" He pulls torn out pages from the back of the notebook and reveals diagrams of baskets and techniques for weaving. Her eyes quickly glance over the pages, her excitement still bubbling despite the words of doubt that pour from her mouth.

"But there's no guarantee that the children will have bamboo-"

"They can improvise. See what they have and do what they can." He stows the papers and the notebook to take her hands, squeezing them tight. "Everything is set. All I have left to do is try and sneak as much as I can off the Maw before I die. And while I do that, you focus on the Thin Man." His eyes soften at the mention of a man he's never gotten to meet in… so many loops. "You always talk so highly of him, and my notebook has pages and pages of entries that make me wish I could remember those conversations I once shared with him. He sounds kind, funny.” A sad smile crosses his features as he fails to grasp the kind of nostalgia the Lady carries. It’s unfair, truly. The two men must have gotten along before in the past - apparently when she wasn’t around to witness it much to her chagrin - but having to read about it and never really know what it’s like to be graced by a presence they both yearn for… “I'd really like to meet him again one day."

She squeezes back, her mind set and determined as she meets his gaze. "I'll ensure it. I just need to keep trying. We're so close, I can feel it."

"Good." He pulls her into a hug and digs his fingers into her kimono. "I want to finally be free of all these tragedies."

She buries her face into his shoulder and clings just as tight to him. "We'll make it. I want to know what it's like to live."

A sigh escapes him as they remain like that. Precious minutes tick away, and she takes the moment to reeducate herself of his warmth, his scent, the way he huffs when he doesn't want to let go, a habit he's never grown out of since they were children. Hugging always seemed to soothe him, and letting go was always something he loathed to do.

No wonder the children took so quickly to his comforting presence.

Ever so reluctantly, they pull apart, and he reaches over to readjust the pin in her hair carefully. "There," he says with a huff, "now you look as regal and elegant as you should be."

"Try not to let the Maw kill you off so soon." She takes his sleeves and tugs on them lightly. A soft chuckle escapes him as he pulls her into another embrace, tucking her head against his neck with a sigh.

"I'll try not to." He rocks them back and forth on the bed, humming lightly as they take in each other's warmth. How did she manage to survive these loops without the Caretaker's comfort nearby? There is no doubt in her mind that being so close to him has made her softer, but.

Perhaps this softness is what changed her from wanting to stick with that sorry excuse of "survival", and made her crave for something more.

Something just as soft as the Caretaker's smiles and warmth. Something that could be shared with another person.

She closes her eyes and hums with him. Whatever time she has with him, she'll take.

The clock ticks on, and the loop continues.

He falls, as he always does.

But not before she notices that the nomes have diminished in number.

A little girl in yellow stands above her, anger radiating from her as she screams and roars at the Lady in tears as blood drips from her mouth. The Lady smirks, and hopes that the anger festers in the little girl as a boy in blue drags her away, a power newly inherited within her soul.

The loop ends as it begins, and the new Lady of the Maw comes across a package so drenched in dark magic that she nearly drops it from the sting. Still, at the behest of that small voice in her mind, she sends it out and continues her task of growing stronger, more powerful, pieces of memories falling together quickly as she recognizes the picture for what it is.

More and more and more. That's what she does until her fingers bleed from how often she still manages to prick herself on the needles. Scraps of fabric litter her room, kimonos snipped to pieces as mannequins lie bare in another room. The stench of ink permeates the air as her brush continues to write character after character, stroke after stroke. Her motions move with a remembered fluidity, nothing like the mechanical actions she took to arrive at the Maw. There’s an importance to what she does, a quiet desperation that pours into her work as she puts her hopes and prayers into this tiny little thing she creates over and over again. Her fingers sting, little drops of blood mingling with ink as she carefully makes the straps for a charm that is yet to be sent out. Dark magic flows into it, flows until it overflows, flows until she grits her teeth and growls, flows because she won’t stop, can’t stop, not until he’s safe again, not until he’s safe with them, and she pushes and pushes and pushes until-

Suddenly.

In the corner of her quarters, where a television is left almost forgotten for decades and decades and decades.

It turns on. And an unfamiliar but familiar hum of static greets her. The charm falls from her grasp. It barely makes a sound as it hits the floor, the Lady rising up slowly from her work area with shaking breath. A wordless cry escapes her as she rushes over and presses her hand against it as familiar habits resurface.

Wait. Wait and watch as the signal tunes itself. The static turns and straightens out into an image. She holds her breath as the screen twitches and stutters, as if threatening to end this little moment before it can begin. But of course, her old friend is oh so very stubborn. The screen refuses to shut off, continuing to persevere as the image fights to straighten itself out. With a low, tuning whine, the screen makes a soft pop as finally the television does as it is supposed to and.

And there. In the middle of the screen.

There sits the familiar silhouette of a familiar man.

A sob escapes her as she presses her masked forehead against the glass. Fingers curl in a half attempt of grasping a hand she's only felt in her childhood. No hand presses back against the screen, but warmth still radiates from the screen as the figure straightens with awareness. Alert. Present.

Words pop up beneath the figure, and she nearly collapses from pure rapture as she shrieks her ecstatic sobs.

"Hello, Six."

Warmth. So much warmth.

"Mono...!"

She has her beloved Thin Man back.

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #ln lady #ln thin man #ln runaway kid #ln six #ln mono #YOOOOO WE GOT ONE MORE CHAPTER (?) LEFT TO GO #man can you believe i almost posted this as an entire #chapter by itself #just one whole one shot #i have more words but i'll save it for the finale

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ms-rampage · 4 years ago

Text

Eden’s Gate: Aftermath Chapter 6 - The Man Who Sold The World

Warnings: Swearing, slight violence, some Kate and Wheaty cutensss, usage of drugs (Bliss)

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: In the penultimate chapter, Paige, Kate and Mandy finally meet face to face with Joseph Seed, but there will be bloodshed, and maybe a few sacrifices the family will have to make.

Guest OCs: Just the usuals.

Guest Characters: Archangel Raphael [Supernatural: mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned], An Archangel? [read until the end]

Note: One more chapter!!! Then New Dawn begins.

*****

Another few weeks have passed, October is here and that means Fall in Montana is beautiful. The fallen leaves, the crispy cool breezes, orange, red and yellow leaves. Fall colors.

Pumpkins, hot chocolate, sweater season, blood shed, violence, and crazy fucking Cultists.

The Winchester-Smith compound has never looked more alive. The trees on the property with their orange, and yellow leaves.

The threatening words of graffiti on the gates of the compound. Sinner. The Father. The Power of Yes.

John Seed’s followers tried to retaliate, and avenged his death, but the Winchester family is always 10 steps ahead of them.

7:00 am. A letter arrived at their front door for the 3 females of the Winchester family that morning. From the man whom they’ve been looking for, The Father Joseph Seed himself.

Telling them to go to his church at 5:30 that evening. He didn’t say for what, or why, but they weren’t gonna let this opportunity slip.

“It’s clearly a trap” Kenny tells his wife.

“What if it isn’t?” she asks.

“Why would Joseph send you a letter telling you to go to his church?!?” Nate asks, as he pours coffee in a cup.

“I don’t know, but we’re going” Kate says.

“You two are pregnant!!” Kenny exclaims, “You aren’t going”.

“Okay! Then who else is gonna take our place?” Paige asks.

“I’ll take your place, Mandy and one of the guys can go” he replies.

“Joseph asked us, and us only to go. We aren’t risking you two going, and probably getting killed” Kate tells him.

“What if he kills you guys?!” Mark asks.

“Remember the letter he left us? When we killed his brothers? He said that we were forgiven for all the shit we’ve done” Paige informs them.

“He could be lying!” Mark adds in.

“Joseph is telling the truth” Mandy steps in.

They all turn around to face her, “How do you know?!?” Kenny asks.

“I spent 6 months with him. I can tell if he’s lying or not. Writing or speaking I can tell” she says.

Paige looks down at the letter, “So what do we do?!?”.

Mandy takes a deep breath, “When 5:30 comes we leave for church. Whatever happens, happens. This is where it all ends”.

They all stare at her in anticipation.

“I just got the chills when you said that” Mark mutters.

“Yeah for real” Adrian says, looking at her like she just gave him life changing news.

****

A few hours later.

10:00 am, everyone had just eaten breakfast, Paige is feeding Cristina 2nd her morning bottle.

Kate just threw up, morning sickness and she hates it.

She called Wheaty, and they’re gonna hang that afternoon. Not telling him about the letter from Joseph to meet at his church.

Kenny, Mark, Nate, Cody, Marty, Adrian and a few others finished putting up one of the 2 houses. Rachel is having a panic attack, knowing that Joseph knows she’s living with the Winchesters. Mandy sitting in her room, blinded by her thoughts. Wondering why Joseph wants the 3 of them to go to his church.

What could he possibly want?. What is the meaning, or purpose of this?. Is he gonna kill them? Does he want to make peace with them?. Is he gonna surrender himself? What is he gonna do?.

Paige is sitting on the front porch swing, holding Cristina while “Fade to Black” by Metallica plays on her bluetooth speaker. Humming along with the song, with Cristina falling asleep in her arms.

****

2 hours have gone by, 12:00pm.

“Things not what they used to be. Missing one inside of me. Deathly loss l, this can't be real. I cannot stand this hell I feel. Emptiness is filling me. To the point of agony. Growing darkness taking dawn. I was me, but now he's gone.”

Kenny steps outside, and sees this. A huge smile grows on his face. He takes a seat next to Paige on the swing, putting his arm around her. She leans closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He places a kiss on her head, rests his cheek on her head.

Lightly swing back and forth on the swing. Little moments like this they love. They don’t need to go out to fancy restaurants every weekend, or a weekend get away for the both of them.

Cristina falls asleep in her mothers arms, letting out soft nasal snores, making Kenny snickers at this.

“You know I still don’t like the plan” he tells her.

“I know you don’t” she responds. They sit in silence for a moment.

“If you could guess what Joseph wants. What would you guess?” he asks.

She sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe make peace with us, or make some sort of treaty between everyone in Hope County”.

“Your mom seems to know a lot about Joseph. Like how he thinks, or what possibly goes through his head.” he tells her.

“Yeah, my mom is really good at reading people, even if she’s not trying to. It’s like a power she has. Growing up I couldn’t even lie to her, and I’m really good at lying, but she knew. She always knew. Kate takes a lot after her, they both try to see the good in people even if they don’t deserve it. I take after my dad, he didn’t trust anyone outside the family. Like if he was still alive, and all this shit that happened, like Rachel turning on the Project, he wouldn't trust her either. Even if she had a change of heart, he wouldn’t trust her at all”.

Kenny zones out as she’s talking, still being able to hear every word she says. He places his hand on her 9 in half weeks pregnant belly.

“You think your dad would’ve liked me?” he asks, looking up at the sky.

Paige looks up at him, looking into his blue orbs and smiles “If he knew I trusted you, then he would’ve trusted you as well”.

He looks down at her, and kisses her forehead.

Paige sighs, “My mom-” she says before getting cut off by a soft “mom” from the infant in her arms.

Her and Kenny look at each other wide eyed, then down at Cristina who is half asleep.

She picks her up, having her stand on her lap.

“Say that again” she tells the 11 month old in her hands, “Say mom”.

“Say mama” she tells her again, “Say mama”.

“Say dadda” he jumps in.

Paige glares at him, “This is my moment”.

“Say mama” she tells her again slowly.

“Mama” Cristina mutters her first word, very softly that it sounds like a mumble.

Paige gasps loudly, her eyes widened “She just- she. She said mama. She said her first word!!!”. She gets up from the swing, and goes inside the house.

“Mom!!!” she calls out as she goes inside.

*****

Kate went on her date with Wheaty. She wanted to go hunting, but since she’s 7 in half weeks pregnant, they changed their date plans. They decided to go to the camping spot where they first met a few years back.

“It looks the same” she jokes.

“Camping spots usually never change” he replies. They sit near the water, on some boulders.

“So how’s the pregnancy?” he asks.

She looks down at her belly, chuckling “I threw up this morning. I’m peeing a lot but my mom and sister said that's normal, other than that it’s going pretty good”.

“Thought of any names?” he asks, putting his arm around her.

She thinks about it for a brief moment, “If it’s a boy his name would be either Gabriel Joel Eddard, or Samuel Dean Rhaegar. For a girl Daenerys Arya Brienne, or Lyanna Pamela Cersei”.

“What is up with you and these Game of Thrones names?!” he laughs, kissing the side of her head.

“They’re nice names!. It’ll give them character, plus Pamela isn’t a name from Game of Thrones, and neither is Samuel, Dean, Gabriel and Joel” she laughs.

“Don’t be surprised if little Daenerys asks for a dragon, or 3 for her birthday, or an Iron Throne” he jokes.

“And if she does I’ll be very happy about it, and I’ll get her a stuffed dragon. One of those giant plush ones that are like 5-6 feet tall”.

They talked, they laughed, they made out. They enjoyed their time together, holding her in his arms as they watched the lake. Watching the boats, and jet skies go by.

Even the subject of marriage and kids came up on their date. Even though they've started dating back in August but have known each other over 2 years.

She starts reminiscing back when they first met. She still remembers that night very clearly. She still has the photos.

"I still remember that day when we first met" she tells him.

A smile appears on his face, "Yeah me too".

"I never had a crush on anyone until I met you" he tells her. She looks up at him.

"Really?" she asks. He nods his head, she moves closer into his arms. Enjoying every single moment of it.

Kate knows this might be the last time her and Wheaty ever hang out again. Their last date together, and they don’t know it.

Resting her head against his shoulder as they sit by the lake. His arms wrapped around her.

"Also I wanted to give you this" he says, getting something out of his pants pocket. He pulls out a bracelet, similar to the ones he wears and puts it on her wrist. She smiles as he puts it on her, holding her hand in his. She looks up at him, and kisses him.

***

4:15 pm Kate is still on her date with Wheaty. Her sister and mother prepare themselves as they wait for her.

“Where is she?!” Paige asks, getting annoyed.

“We still have a whole hour” Mandy tells her, “She’ll be back. Soon hopefully”.

15 minutes later Kate pulls into the driveway.

She enters the house, “It’s about time you show up” Paige tells her.

“Well sorry!” she responds sarcastically, “I had a date with Wheaty, and I wanted to see him before we’re killed!”.

“We’re not gonna get killed” Mandy steps in, “Because we’re not going”.

They all look over at her in confusion. Mandy was having 2nd thoughts about confronting Joseph, and she made the decision not to go to the church.

“What do you mean we’re not going?!?” Paige questions her, “You literally said a few seconds ago that we’re going. Implied it”.

“We’re not going. We’re not gonna give Joseph what he wants” she tells them.

“Mom?!” Kate mutters in disbelief and confusion.

Paige scoffs, shaking her head “Mom, this is our only chance. To get rid of Joseph. Put an end to the Cult, and kill whoever is left”.

Everyone, Paige, Kate, Kenny, Adrian, Martin, Cody, Mark, Nate, Barbara, Rachel, and everyone else in the house look at Mandy. About 30, plus, eyes staring back at her.

“We’re not going” she tells them, “I don’t care what Joseph wants. We’re not going”.

Paige, scoffs at her mother, “Why?. Why the change of heart all of a sudden?!?”.

Mandy glares at her eldest child, and says “You wouldn’t understand”.

Kate stops her older sister from doing or saying anything else to their mom.

She still plans to go and confront Joseph. All the damage, pain. suffering and bloodshed he had caused. It’ll all end that evening, nothing will stop Paige from ending The Father.

5:20 rolls around, Kate and Mandy have no intentions of leaving for church.

The youngest Winchester thinks they should go.

“Mom?” she asks.

“We’re not going Katella” she says, not looking up at her youngest daughter.

Paige comes downstairs, and is immediately out the door, and goes to the Impala.

“Paige?!?” Kate exclaims, going after her. Too late she’s already driving like a maniac off of the property. Leaving behind a cloud of dirt.

“Son of bitch!!” she mutters, “She’s going after Joseph”.

They grab the keys to the Monte Carlo, and drive after Paige who is probably already at the church.

****

Church of Eden’s Gate

Paige enters the compound, breaking down the front gate with the car. She stops the car, exits it. Pistol ready in her holster. A few peggies on the property staring at her. She ignores them, she’s there for Joseph. She’ll handle the hillbillies later.

“Joseph!!!” she shouts his name, echoing in the sky “Joseph!!!”.

Approaching the church, the man himself Joseph Seed steps out. She stares at him intensely. He looks up at the sky, closes his eyes and says, “And the lamb broke the 5th seal, and I saw under the altar the souls of Martyrs. Slain because of the Word of God”.

Pointing to Paige, “You. You turned my sister. You poisoned her mind with your wretched words”.

She pulls her pistol out of its holster and aims at him, “I didn’t change her. She finally saw your monstrous ways. She changed on her own”.

“Lies” he hisses, “Your disgusting words against God, and his word”.

She turns off the safety on her pistol, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here. Right now”. Her voice filled with anger, and violent intentions.

He walks around her, she follows his movements. Gun still aimed at him.

“I told you. Your mother. I told you that we were living in a world on the brink. Where every slight. Every injustice. Where every choice reveals our sins”.

Paige narrows her eyes at him, her pistol still aimed at him, not lowering it once.

“And where have those sins led us?, Where have those sins led you?”.

The sound of tires screeching, breaks Paige’s concentration, she turns her head and sees her sister's car drive on the property.

Kate and Mandy get out. “Paige don’t!!!” Mandy exclaims, running towards her.

She turns back to Joseph, and aims her gun at him again.

“Paige what are you doing?!?!” Kate exclaims.

“What does it look like I’m doing??!” she replies sarcastically, “I’m ending it all”.

Joseph stares at Mandy, “Paige, you can’t do this” she pleads.

“Uhh, sure I can” she replies back. Rolling her eyes.

Mandy gets in between the gun and Joseph. “No, I mean you can’t kill him”.

Lowering her gun, glaring at her mother, “What are you talking about?!?”.

Before she could explain herself, Joseph speaks up.

“Mandeline”, his voice so calm that it sends shivers up her spine. Giving her goosebumps.

She closes her eyes, sadness and shame written all over her face. She turns to face him. Her eyes meeting his. He stares at her with so much intensity that you can almost feel the anger radiating off of him, and the fear radiating off of her.

“You betrayed me, my family, my flock, and God. You dare to show yourself to me” he tells her, slowly approaching her.

“Joseph, I’m sorry, but I had no choice. I couldn’t stand by and watch everything happen” she explains to him.

He points at her, “You turn my family into Martyrs. And I plan to do the same with yours”. He walks around them, and they see their friends Mary May, Nick Rye, Pastor Jerome, Grace Armstrong, Jess Black, Tracey Lader, Wheaty, and Tammy Barnes all under the influence of Bliss holding Kenny, Mark and Nate hostage.

“Wheaty!!!!” Kate cries out, seeing her boyfriend drugged up with Bliss.

“Kenny?!?” Paige says under her breath, “How the fuck did you get to them!?!?!”.

“Joseph let them go!!!!” Mandy yells.

He turns to her, and says, “Your friends, and family have been taken and torture, and it’s your fault. Countless people have been killed, and it is your fault. The world is on fire, and it’s your fault. Was it worth it?. Was it?”.

“You motherfucker” Paige mutters angrily, “Me killing you will fucking worth it, and I can promise you that”.

The followers on the property gather behind the 3 Winchesters, blocking them from escaping.

“Kenny what happened?!? Was it Rachel?!?” Paige asks.

“No!” he mutters.

“The others are fine. They got us, Rachel took off when they showed up” Nate wheezes.

“Paige?” Mandy mutters softly.

“Not now” she responds, “Joseph I swear you better-”

“Paige!” she yells, breaking her attention from him.

“Mom!. Now's not the time” she tells her.

“You can’t kill him” she tells her almost in a whisper.

She looks at her, eyes furrow, “Yeah I can, he has our friends and family hostage!!”.

Mandy looks back at Joseph then back at Paige, “No I mean you can’t kill him”.

“What do you mean I can’t-” She stands in front of her once again, blocking the bullet from hitting Joseph.

“Raphael” she mutters, interrupting her.

“Raphael?!?” Kate whispers, “The Archangel?!?”.

She nods her head, “Yes, I was told by Archangel Raphael that Joseph had to be protected, and I was the one to do it. That’s why you can’t kill him.”

Kate and Paige look at their mother in disbelief, and confusion.

“Because Chuck spoke to him” she whispers to them, “About the end. You can’t kill him because if you do everything, everyone will die. Cease to exist. The end of life as we know it”. They both glare at her with mixed emotions.

“You knew this whole time?!?” Paige yells, “This whole time!!. If Joseph gets killed, hurt and harmed in any way. Chuck will drop a bomb on all of humanity?!?”.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!?!” Kate asks, betrayal in her voice.

“I couldn’t say anything. Raphael forbidden me from saying anything to anyone!!” she says.

Paige lowers her pistol, putting it back in her holster.

Shaking her head, “I can’t believe you. He could be playing him for all we know” she tells her.

“Let them go” she orders Joseph, pointing to Kenny, Mark and Nate.

Joseph stares at her, “Are you deaf?!? I said let them go!!!” she orders him again.

Mandy holds her back, “Let me handle this”.

She turns to face Joseph, and pleads with him “Joseph please, let them go. We don’t want anymore bloodshed. Please let them go, and we’ll leave”.

“Wheaty too!” Kate shouts.

“You betrayed me. Betrayed God. I forgive you for what you’ve done to my family, but that I can’t forgive” he tells her, stepping close to her, “Your family will pay for what you have done”.

The few followers grab Paige and Kate shoving them onto the ground, taking their guns and other weapons away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!!” Paige yells, struggling.

“Get off me!!” Kate shouts, fighting to be let go.

“Joseph, it’s not their fault!!. It’s mine. Let them go, and you can deal with me” she pleads with him again.

He grabs her shoulders, “This is where it ends” he whispers to her. Tears stream down her face.

“You peggie fuckers!!. Pieces of fucking shit!!” Paige mutters as a peggie pushes her face first into the ground.

“Get the fuck off of her!!” Kenny yells at him.

Tears streaming down Mandy’s cheeks, if only she was honest with her family. If only she had told them the truth. All of this wouldn't have happened. Her family was gonna be killed because of her. Her own greed.

“When are you gonna realize that every problem cannot be solved with a bullet?” he asks her.

“It doesn’t have to end this way” she pleads with him.

Two of his followers, grab her. Preventing her from stopping whatevers gonna happen.

One of his Chosen has a sharp knife in hand. Almost like a miniature machete, holding it in front of her eldest child.

“Really Joseph? You’re gonna kill two pregnant women!” Paige yells. Grabbing the Father’s attention.

He stops them, having Paige’s full attention. He looks at her with a questioning look on his face.

“Yeah” she says, a smug look on her face “I’m pregnant. So is my sister. She’s carrying your little brother's kid. John”.

He looks over at the youngest sister, and she nods her head. “It’s John’s kid, Joseph. You kill us, you kill your nephew/niece, but keep in mind we’ll never be family”.

He looks up at the sky, backing away from them. His back to all of them. “Let them go” he says. They free the family of hunters, showing them all mercy.

“Wheaty?!” Kate cries, trying to snap him out of it, “Wheaty please. It’s me, Kate”.

She holds his face, cupping it, hoping to get him back into reality. All their friends drugged up, blind from reality. Paige grabs her arm, “Come on, we have to get out of here”.

She resists, shaking her head “No, Wheaty please snap out of it. We have a child on the way” she cries. The Bliss has taken over his state of mind that he can’t comprehend anything.

Mark and Nate practically dragged Kate back into the car. Her, her mother and sister in the Impala, Kenny, Nate and Mark in the Monte Carlo. They all drive back to the compound.

*****

Little did they know they’re not the only ones that have had an issue with Joseph, and the Cult. The new Deputy has had their fair share of issues with the Seed family, and their followers.

Liberating their outposts and destroying their properties. Making the Seed family look like a family of psychopaths they need to be locked up.

When Faith took off, she went to her gate and met with the Deputy. They put up a fight against her and they ended up killing her.

Faith. Rachel would’ve been the adopted sister to the two sisters. Rachel Winchester would’ve been her name.

****

They all arrive back at the compound. Kate in tears, Paige in shock.

The others come out, and see all their friends alive. Their children and wifes stand at the front porch.

“Holy shit!!” Cody says relieved, “You’re all alive!!”.

They all nod, “Yeah, yeah we are” Mandy mutters.

“Is Joseph alive?!?” Adrian asks. They all nod in disappointment, “Yeah, the fucker is still alive” Kate mutters angrily.

“Where’s Rachel?” Kate asks them. The others shrug, “We don’t know, she fled the property when the peggies arrived”.

“So now what?!” Mark asks, shrugging.

Paige shakes her head “I don’t know, we’re gonna have to-”.

As she’s speaking, it’s almost like God himself was making a huge entrance. Lighting up the entire sky.

A bright white light blinds them all, covering their faces from the burning brightness.

When the bright light clears, a giant mushroom-like cloud in the distance fills the sky.

“Oh my god!!” Nate mutters in horror, “Oh my god!!”.

A huge storm flies at them, causing the entire ground to shake violently. Making them stumble, and fall. The trees, and land go up in flames within seconds. Animals running to seek shelter. The whole sky orange, everything is a fiery orange red.

“Shit! he was right!” Martin screams in horror, “He was right!”.

“Damn it Chuck!” Paige mumbles angrily with a hint of fear in her voice.

Realization hitting hard, “Wheaty?, I have to get Wheaty!!” Kate yells.

She gets stopped by her mother and brother in law, “Kate no!!”.

“I have to go back for him!!” she cries, trying to get to her car.

Paige tries to hold her back, “It’s too late for him!!. You’ll die if you go back!. Kenny! Adrian! Get the cars underground. Everyone else get the children, pets and go down to the bunker”. They get the cars underground to the bunker garage. They get all their kids, pets, and all go down to the bunker.

Everyone settles underground. Fear, anger. So much emotion in one room. The distance rumbles of explosions going off, making it sound like the king of all thunderstorms is happening right above their heads. Paige looks around the main room of the bunker to see if everyone made it down. She counts everyone that was on the property.

Herself, her daughter, Kate, Kenneth, her mother, Barbara, Mark, his wife and 2 kids, Nate, his wife and 3 kids. Cody and his wife, Martin and his fiancee, Adrian and his wife.

“He was right” Kate mutters, playing with her bracelet, “Joseph Seed was right, and we didn’t see it coming. God, the Collapse, this sort of thing is right up our alley, and we didn’t believe him!!”.

Paige sighs in disappointment, “It’s not that we didn’t believe him. He didn't believe us, which is not surprising. It’s that he claimed that he spoke with Chuck, and for all we know. He couldn’t been played by him”.

Kate is about to say something when a fluttering sound, and a loud thud a few rooms away throws her off.

“Did you hear that?!?” she asks the others. The others stay back while her and Paige go to investigate it. Kate then sees a single golden, brown feather on the floor.

“Hey, look a feather” she says, pointing at it. Paige, who doesn’t see it, looks at her in confusion.

“Where?!?” she asks, looking around for it. They get to the source of the sound, and see a man with his back to them, kneeling on the floor.

Paige pulls out her pistol, and aims at the intruder.

They both see the same man, but Kate sees a little more. Tattered up golden, brown angelic wings. They approach the man, and stand in front of him. He lifts his head to look up at them, and they see the wounded, beaten up Archangel.

“Gabriel?!?” Kate mutters.

____

When the bombs fell

Not long after (The Angels fell)

14 notes · View notes

deltarose · 1 year ago

Text

I give so much and feel so empty

But what value do I hold if I’m not giving?

If I’m not of use?

If I’m not the support, I am nothing.

#my thoughts #stress #tired #tired?#lonely #empty #empty inside #did you love me?#do I have value #what’s my favorite food?#what’s my favorite color?#what’s my deepest memory?#who listens?#who cares #an empty cup cannot fill another but it’ll still try #depressed probably

0 notes

it-was-summer · 5 years ago

Text

Dreaming of You (Obey me! Mammon x Reader)

Requested: haha no

Plot: You and Mammon keep having the same romantic dreams with each other and you both are refusing to talk about them.

Word Count: 2,487

The air carried the smell of sweet and blissful orange blossoms, carrying the promise of spring with it as well. You let the sweet, spring breeze move through your hair, closing your eyes and relishing in the feel of it all.

When you opened your eyes you were lying in a meadow surrounded by a multiplied of magnificent flowers. Buttercups, vetches, and dandelions surrounded your body, tickling your face gently sporadically. The sky was a vibrant and cloudless blue, you felt peace wash over you with every breath.

Your tranquility thrived at the sound of melodic laughter next to you, your laughter following your companion's and the world felt like it slowed when you turned to look at him.

Dazzling white hair matched with a brilliant smile stood out among the world around him, making him all the more alluring.

You turned on your side, staring at him for a second before playing with a nearby dandelion with your hand.

You felt a rush of adrenaline race through your veins as his tan hand took yours away from the flower and brought it to his lips, brushing his lips over your knuckles so delicately you were sure you wouldn't be able to feel it if you weren't aware of the action. Your eyes watched as he brought your hand to cup the side of his face and watching as he turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand after doing so.

You let out a burst of laughter in your euphoria before whispering his name in a tone as gentle as the breeze in the meadow "Mammon,"

You jolted up with a sharp gasp, a feeling of disappointment and loneliness slithering in as you stare at the empty and dark bedroom around you. Sitting up straighter, you brought your hand up to your face, still feeling the touch of Mammon on it somehow, as if he had touched you when in reality it was nothing but a heavenly dream now lodged into your memory.

The following morning you ran into Mammon on your way down to the dining room. Your lips itched to spill the dream to your friend, but you could feel your throat tighten with anxiety resulting in you muttering a soft "Hello." instead.

As you chewed on your breakfast, you came to the presumption that if you did tell Mammon about your dream you would only be greeted with a flustered response, followed by the assurance that what you had dreamed was not possible. As you swallowed you came to terms with not saying anything about it, enjoying the pretense of peace that came with said terms.

By the afternoon, you wished that Mammon wasn't your close friend. The way he put his arm around your shoulders, as the two of you walked together, sent pleasant shivers down your spine. When he would look up at you and smile had transported you to a spring day and the way he whispered stupid jokes in your ear made you yearn for his lips on your skin.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

You drew in a dramatic amount of air through your nose before exhaling in an equally dramatic way through your mouth. You couldn't stop thinking about Mammon, every little thing he did made you desperate for his touch, his gaze, his lips, anything. You were above begging and you sure as hell were not about to beg Mammon to kiss you. Imagine what that would do to his ego, he would never let you live that down.

Running a hand through your hair, you tried to make your mind go blank as you settled down in the library, alone.

"Little human, I have been looking all over for you." whispered an optimistic voice in your right ear as tan hands gripped the back of your chair. You let out a cry of shock as Mammon tilted your chair back so he could look at you.

"Mammon," you grabbed aimlessly at the air in front of you in a poor attempt to steady yourself "I'm going to tip over and it'll be your fault!"

Mammon let out a brief snicker before simply saying that "The great Mammon would never let that happen!" before he steadied your chair and sat across from you.

"You look stressed," he said leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk you both shared.

"I'm not."

"Oh, you so it is worse than I thought!"

You gently reached across the table to give his muscular arm a weak slap "I am perfectly fine," you tensed feeling Mammon grab hold of your hand and interlocking it with his own.

_____________________________________

Mammon gazed at the night sky, sprinkled with constellations and promises of adventures. He only pulled his gaze from the sky when he felt your arms wrap around his torso, pulling him into a crushing hug. Mammon didn't even need any time to reciprocate hug, it was just an automatic response.

Currently, his brain was filled with nothing but you. The way you were burying your face deeper into his chest, the way you eased into his touch, and how your body fit perfectly in his arms.

You lifted your head from his chest and leaned in, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek, barely pulling away before you went to kiss his lips.

Mammon woke up with a frustrated sigh, blaming himself for having another dream revolving around you, only taking comfort in the fact that you didn't know what he was dreaming about. He was, unfortunately, incorrect. You had just woke up, heart leaping from your chest over the same dream.

Mammon ultimately decided that he needed to talk to someone about his recent dilemma. Just not you. He didn't think he could handle you laughing in his face and rejecting him. He could take a lot of things, but not that.

____________________________

"I keep dreaming about them,"

"Dreaming?"

"I hate these dreams,"

"No, you don't."

"You don't know what I hate Beel!"

Beelzebub gave Mammon a stoic stare and let out a low hum, not attempting to interact with Mammon's denial any further, instead, he took a small bite out of his custard. Mammon let out a frustrated sigh before muttering a soft "They make me," he paused in a failed attempt to hide his embarrassment "they make me expect things."

"Oh,"

"Don't just say that like it's nothing! Beel, what do I do? What should I say? Do I tell them?"

"Mammon, I think you're overthinking things,"

"Mammon, overthinking?" questioned a new voice in the kitchen.

Mammon let out a girlish yelp seeing you wander into the kitchen with a delicate smile on your lips.

You could see the unease in Mammon's handsome face, a look that made your stomach twist with worry. You walked closer cautiously, only to find that Mammon was slowly drawing further away from you. You felt a new sensation pierce your heart and swallowed your pain with a little laugh before grabbing a bottle of water and leaving the kitchen without another sound, ignoring the way Mammon's hand reached for yours on your way out.

_______________________________________

You stood in the cold downpour of summer rain, tilting your head up towards the blackened skies with closed eyes, feeling the heavy raindrops hit your skin. The air smelled of rain and a familiar cologne causing you to let out a long sigh. You only opened your eyes when you no longer felt the embrace of rain, smiling seeing Mammon hovering over you with a black umbrella. "Share with me this small umbrella."

"Who cares if I get wet."

"I care,"

You didn't say anything after that and quickly grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing it tight as the two of you walked through the downpour.

The two of you soon appeared in your bedroom in Lamentation, the room filled with short laughs and conversation. Your head was on Mammon's stomach, feeling him breathe beneath you as you closed your eyes in a captivating moment of bliss.

You opened your eyes once more to a dark room, your heart racing in your chest and your body aching for Mammon. You let out a frustrated groan and rolled out of bed, walking to the kitchen in search of a remedy for your romantic conscience. You frowned seeing the leading man of your dreams already in the kitchen drinking something out if a mug. "Mammon," You whispered out, watching as he nearly dropped the mug in his hands. "What are you doing up this late at night?"

"Uh," he swallowed nervously " It seems that the Sandman doesn’t want to grant me a much-needed visit," he explained lamely before giving you a soft smile. "Why are you awake?"

"I had a weird dream," you bluntly muttered before opening the fridge and reaching for something that resembled milk. "I'm just grabbing a drink before,"

Mammon cut you off suddenly "What was your dream about?"

"Nothing in particular,"

"It must have been something,"

"Mammon," you put the milk looking container back in the fridge "Why do you care so much?"

"Just talk to me," he shrugged a little "Maybe it will help me sleep," he said in a lame attempt to convince you to stay with him longer, even if it was to discuss a nightmare. He knew it was greedy of him to try and tempt you into talking to him, but it was always worth a shot.

You thought about it, staring at the liquid in your cup before shaking your head and giving Mammon a gentle "No," you set the cup on the counter "It was just a silly dream." you argued gently with a small smile. "You're sweet for caring so much, thank you." With that, you grabbed your cup once more and headed back towards your private den of romantic dreams. Mammon bit back a response as he watched you leave and let his pent up expressions of love escape him with a heavy exhale of air.

_____________________________________________

"Asmodeus, I told you to drop it." You said as pushed past him on your to the dining room.

"Desire," He said as he walked in front of you again, stopping you a few doors down from the room. " Desire is my thing! I cannot just 'drop it'! You have to tell me, right now, what you're wanting or I'll find it out myself." he vowed with a hungry grin, excited to see you yearning for something, or someone, so desperately.

Just as you were about to rebuff Mammon passed the two of you, a frown on his lips at the sight of Asmodeus talking to you. He hid his disdain when the two of you made eye contact and gave the two of you a charming smile. You heard a soft chuckle from Asmo, but when you looked over in his direction he was walking away from the two of you, silently telling you that he knew.

_______________________________________

Birds sang as the sun danced on your skin allowing your thoughts to transcend and leave you peaceful. You stood in a shaded forest with a dirt path, branches hanging down to your level and spots of sunlight scattered through branches and pink, lovely petals. As you ventured down the fair path you spotted Mammon, contrasting with the nature around him once more, in the branches of a cherry tree. He was picking at the pink petals surrounding him when you came into his view. He motioned for you to come up into the tree and you did just that, sitting next to him on a strong and sturdy branch.

"You remind me of these blossoms," he whispered as he leaned his head onto your shoulder.

"You remind me of what comes after the blossoms," you calmly stated before lifting his head so the two of you could see each other.

"A cherry?"

You laughed "No, I am saying you have potential."

Mammon stared at you with tender eyes before settling and nodding in agreement.

That was the only night that you didn't wake up. You thought waking up to a vacant room was bad, but dreaming the whole moment through only made your emotions for the demon grow. He was always on your mind and when he wasn't on your mind you found yourself craving something...anything. You weren't sure you could live through another one of these fantasies. You were going crazy, you were sure of it.

You couldn't decide what to think about the dreams either. Were they simply telling you that you wanted to be in love or that you wanted Mammon and you to be in love? You had to talk to him. You just had to get it all out, you were sure and he would call you mean names and remind you that they were just senseless dreams.

It was after dinner when you pulled Mammon from the hallway into your bedroom. Mammon laughed a little and gave you a flirtatious little smile before seeing the serious look on your face. "Oh, come on. I was just jokin'," You sighed before pulling him over to your bed and forcing him to sit down while you stood in front of him. "Kay, now you are scaring me, what's wrong?" he said, leaning back on his elbows, staring up at your now pacing figure.

"I," You huffed and stopped your pacing before playing with your hands "It started a few days ago," you began in an embarrassed voice.

When you finished Mammon stared at you as pale as a ghost. "I know it's stupid and I'm stupid,"

"No!" He suddenly exclaimed before clearing his throat lightly to clear up the desperation in his voice. "I have been meaning to tell that I have been having romantic fantasies of my own," he groaned a little bit as he stood up. "I just don't understand how we had the same dreams."

"Huh?"

"I know it is going to sound crazy, but I have been dreaming the same things as you have. The kissing, the stupid nature, and everything!" he revealed as he took a step closer towards you. "I was scared you were going to reject me."

"Reject you? Mammon, they are just dreams. You don't have to confess anything."

"But I do! Please hear me out I," You didn't give him time to get another word out as you leaned in and kissed his passionately on the lips.

The kiss was real and perfect. It was everything you had wanted. You were about to pull away when you felt Mammon's hands grab your waist and pull you closer, kissing you harder.

You pulled away laughing. Mammon frowned hearing your laugh ready to hear a hurtful comment but was pleasantly surprised when a happy "Finally," left your lips.

#mammon x mc #shall we date mammon #mammon x reader #shall we date obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me #im not sorry #mammon #obey me fanfiction #demon of greed

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years ago

Text

Smashed

(Hayffie ❤️. Sensual angst and relationship building during the 72nd Hunger Games. Raw and vulnerable Effie is without a doubt the most gorgeous muse I’ve ever had. — Thank you for sharing the prompt. Writing this story brought up memories of a young man who died in his sleep in November 2019. I’d known him since he was 5 years old. Someone who has been drinking heavily, which can mean as few as 5 drinks, give or take, on an empty stomach, may need help. Watch for signs of alcohol poisoning, and don’t let them fall asleep unattended. The young man I knew had little experience with alcohol. If someone had been caring for him similarly to how Haymitch takes care of Effie in this fic, then he would likely still be alive. I think about him often.)

***

Haymitch startled awake and clutched his knife. His ears rang with an echo of shattered glass followed by humming. The sounds were muffled but too loud to be the residue of a dream. Dawn hadn’t yet broken, and it took a moment in darkness to remember whose bed he was in. ...The Capitol’s. The penthouse. The same room he’d slept in for 22 Julys but would never stoop to call his own.

This was supposed to be his day to sleep in if he could. The tributes from 11 and 12 had been killed during the bloodbath at the Cornucopia the day before, and he’d spent the afternoon with Chaff. Everything between then and now was a bit hazy. There’d been Vodka shots, and then a *pick-up* game in the betting lounge to see which of them would be the first to be propositioned for sex.

Not ten minutes in, Haymitch was approached by a woman with pale blue hair flowing down her back, a jeweled collar around her throat, and breast implants the size of cantaloupes. “Hey, victor. Wanna get out of here?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he muttered low enough for Chaff not to hear. This was his buddy’s game, not his. The last thing he wanted in the middle of the Games was to be a piece of meat for some Capitol bitch.

A waif like creature with tattooed olive skin and an unusually large ass for her tiny frame sidled up to Chaff soon afterward. ‘I win,’ he mouthed as he walked out the door with his hand already sliding into the back waistband of her pants.

Glass shattered again, shaking Haymitch from his fog covered memories. What the hell?! As the humming grew louder, he dragged himself out of bed and followed the sound into the living room.

Effie sat on the sofa wearing yesterday’s clothes. Her ankles were crossed on top of the coffee table. “I’ll have another, dear!” She called to a red-clad Avox. He stepped out from the shadows and handed her an oversized champagne flute. She dropped her feet to the floor and promptly filled the new stemware from a large, nearly empty pitcher of orange liquid. Her flute overflowed. The liquid pooled on the table, then dripped over the edge to the purple rug. The Avox stood by with a handtowel draped over his arm, but she didn’t call for one so he remained inconspicuous.

“You know...” Effie spoke to the pink wig she’d taken off at some point and set beside her on the couch, “I’ve always thought that rug needed more color. Orange goes with purple like wildflowers on a mountainside.”

She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, bent forward at the waist, put her mouth to the rim of the glass, and sipped the drink with a loud slurp until it was emptied enough to not spill further. As she raised her head, she caught sight of Haymitch.

All traces of the lipstick she’d worn the day before were gone. Her lips glistened with whatever she was drinking. A thought flashed through his mind of what it would be like to kiss her. He’d wondered before. As she licked her lips, looking at him like she was, he had a hard time thinking about anything else.

Neither of them glanced away nor said a word as he watched her swallow the rest of her drink. The spell broke when she smashed the flute to the floor and started humming again. The tune this time was unmistakable. It was the same melody that played in the arena when images of dead tributes were projected into a darkened sky.

“Effie, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m having brunch!”

“Brunch? It’s 5am.”

“Mimosas make any meal brunch!”

“I don’t see a meal here, sweetheart. Have you eaten since yesterday?”

“Yesterday we had dinner with the children. You remember. They picked at the food, but they had the decency to use silverware.”

“That wasn’t yesterday. That was the day before. Have you eaten anything since then?”

“I never eat on the first day of the Games. Nothing settles well...”

He’d been too wrapped up in his own miserable sense of responsibility and tension on Day 1 to notice her eating habits or lack thereof.

“...But these mimosas certainly are delicious.” She snapped her fingers and the Avox stepped into the light again. Effie held up the empty pitcher. The Avox took it as soon as he was clear that she didn’t intend to throw it on the floor. “Bring us another round and two more glasses.”

“Hold up,” Haymitch said to the Avox. “Bring a pitcher of water and a plastic cup. Make sure the pitcher is plastic too. And bring some crackers. ...And an empty bucket, thanks.”

“And crepes! With strawberries and cream cheese, chopped candied pecans and a drizzle of maple syrup... and mimosas!” Effie added.

The Avox looked to Haymitch who quietly shook his head. “Let’s start with crackers and work up to the rest. I think you’ve had enough alcohol this morning.”

“Amitch Habernathy! Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot have!”

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to help.” He went the long way around the rug to avoid stepping on shards of broken glass, and he sat beside her on the sofa.

Through worn layers of makeup, he couldn’t tell if her cheeks were pale or blazing. He raised his hand slowly to her forehead. She held her breath as he touched her. Her skin was clammy but held some warmth. “How many drinks have you had?”

The back of his hand still grazed her forehead as the answer barely escaped her throat, “I lost count.”

He assessed the pile of broken glass on the floor and believed it was enough to be concerned about her. Her body was slight under all those layers of clothes she wore. He’d stared at her enough to know it. Besides, she hadn’t eaten in a day and a half.

As he dropped his hand from her forehead, she caressed along his cheek, his jaw, his neck, then down the front of his rumpled T-shirt. “You’re so pretty,” she said.

She’d never touched him so personally. It almost scared the shit out of him because she felt so good. “I ain’t so pretty. You’re just drunk,” he reminded himself.

“I ain’t so drunk...”

Effie Trinket saying “ain’t” was drunk for sure, but he knew it would be pointless to argue with her.

The Avox brought Haymitch’s requested items in a bucket. They nodded to each other: Haymitch in appreciation, and the Avox in relief that Effie was no longer breaking champagne flutes.

“You’re pretty too,” she said to the Avox. All six of your eyes are pretty. But not quite as pretty as this guy.” Her palm still lingered on Haymitch’s chest, and she whispered to the Avox, “Have you seen him naked? Holy Mary Mother of God, he’s so fine!”

Haymitch wondered if and when Effie had actually seen him naked. He blacked out too often to know. “I don’t think any mothers of gods want to see me without any clothes. Let’s leave them out of this.” Making light of her comment was safer than picturing himself naked with Effie.

The Avox poured water into the plastic cup and left the crackers in the bag instead of laying them out on fine china. Haymitch waved him off with gratitude then handed her the cup of water. “Drink this slowly. It’ll help you sober up, and when you wake up later you’ll feel like a small train hit you instead of a big one.”

“I don’t want to be sober!” What she wanted was to forget all the death she’d witnessed that day, but she took the cup of water and drank anyway. Haymitch’s attentiveness was more intoxicating than the alcohol had been. “...Is this what it takes?”

“What? Water?”

“Me being drunk. Is this what it takes?...” For you to touch me, she didn’t say. She gripped his T-shirt.

“You’re not making sense, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’ It means you’re pissed off, or worse it means nothing. I’m more than nothing. I want to mean more than nothing!” She let go of his shirt and shoved him. “I don’t want to look at you.”

But her eyes were still on him. Like inlets of a wild sea, he could drown in them if he let himself. She’s even more insane drunk than sober. But he couldn’t look away from her regardless.

“I have to go.” Effie set the water cup down and stood up. The room started spinning, so she plopped back down. “...My shoes are broken. I can’t stand up because my shoes are broken!”

“Your shoes are fine, honey. Do you want to take them off?”

“I love these shoes. Can’t you understand? How can you be so blind not to see that I LOVE them?”

“Okay, they’re great shoes. Maybe they’ll work better if you have something to eat.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a couple of crackers, eating one and handing her the other. “Food will keep some of the alcohol that’s still in your stomach from getting into your bloodstream.”

As soon as Effie ate the cracker, her long-empty stomach craved more. She took the bag from Haymitch and popped a handful into her mouth.

“Go slowly,” he said, “Like with the water.”

“Stop interfering!”

“Fine!” He sat back on the couch and folded his arms behind his head. “Do whatever you want.”

As she chewed the crackers, she bent forward to unstrap her shoes. Using his foot, he slid the table forward so she wouldn’t bang her head on it. She didn’t seem to notice his ‘interference.’

With a bit of food in her stomach and the high heels off her feet, she stood up and managed to remain standing even as the room spun. Haymitch put a leg up on the table, barricading her from walking in the direction of smashed glass. With an unsteady gait, she took the long way around the room. He followed her with the bucket of crackers and water.

As she wobbled through the living room, she unzipped her dress. “Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?”

“It’s definitely you.”

By the time she got to the hallway, she’d slipped the sleeves down her arms, and the dress spilled onto the floor in a puddle of chiffon.

His jaw dropped as she stood there in a baby blue corset, matching panties, and lace trimmed thigh high stockings. “...Holy Mary Mother of God.”

“I thought you said we were leaving mothers of gods out of this.”

“You changed my mind.”

“Oh...” Her stomach lurched, and she felt its contents pushing up against her esophagus. Shit. Throwing up was one thing that annoyed Effie more than bad manners. She commanded her stomach to settle down, but the will of her body to get rid of those last few mimosas and that large handful of crackers was more powerful.

She rushed to her bathroom, and vomited in the toilet. She crouched there in stillness while her guts churned inside.

Haymitch knelt behind her. “I’m right here, honey.” He touched her head gently and gathered her hair up into his hands. He’d never touched it before. Each strand was light and soft like a feather. Why she’d want to cover up this delicacy with wigs, he had no idea.

She threw up several more times until her stomach was empty. By then she was crying. He stroked her hair, feeling dangerously close to the brink of something inescapable. “How about I get you some water and help you into bed, okay?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, completely defeated. “Everything’s spinning.”

“Put your arms around my neck.”

She did what he requested. He picked her up off the floor and carried her to the edge of her bed. She was very drunk but not unaware of the sensation of his arms. Being there felt warm and safe and insanely good. When he let go, she didn’t like the absence. She cried some more, unable to contain the tears, emptying the contents of her heart as it had been with her stomach.

He poured her another cup of water and sat beside her, drawing small circles on her back while she sipped slowly. “The bucket’s here if you need to throw up again. I know you’re dizzy.”

She shivered. When those shudders turned to shakes, he knew it would be best to get her warm. “When you’re ready, let’s get you under the covers.”

“My corset...” Her throat hurt to talk. “Will you help me loosen it so I can take it off?”

Haymitch had loosened a fair number of corsets in the past twenty years. He didn’t know why he was so affected by this raw and vulnerable version of Effie. His hands trembled untying the laces at her back. He stopped when the corset was loose enough for her to unhook in front. If she couldn’t manage the hooks, then it would be staying on, because if he took off her corset there was no way in hell he’d be able to stop there, not with the way he was feeling.

“What do you need? A shirt? The robe on the hook in the bathroom?”

“The robe is fine,” she whispered.

He stepped away to get it for her, and when he came back, the corset had slipped several inches. There was no avoiding a view of her breasts, and he was only willing to be honorable to a certain extent. He was going to look for as long as she, drunk or not, would let him look.

She was refreshingly different than the woman he’d met yesterday in passing. Effie’s lingerie and the other’s hair were similar shades of blue, and maybe that’s why he thought of the comparison just then. Effie’s breasts were small enough to fit fully in his hands. They were firm from the fastidious care she gave her body, and he vowed right then to never taunt her again about those efforts. Her nipples were pink and upturned. She must be nearly 30, but her breasts probably hadn’t dropped a centimeter from where they’d been at 18. His mouth watered just looking at her.

When he glanced up at her eyes, they were on his, watching him watch her. He didn’t know whether her lack of embarrassment came from pride in her body or her altered brain state. Maybe he’d find out another time, or maybe this would be the only time he’d ever see her breasts bare. Either way, this had to be enough for now because she was still shivering.

He sat behind her and helped her into the robe. She fumbled with the corset hooks until the garment fell away. She tied the robe closed then peeled off her stockings. Bending forward made her more dizzy, so she sipped more water and ate a cracker before sliding under the covers.

Haymitch propped pillows behind and in front of her to keep her lying on her side. Then he lay facing her. He stayed on top of the covers because to climb inside with her, especially now, would be as much folly as unhooking her corset would have been.

Her eyelids were heavy.

“I’m gonna be here if you need anything. I’m gonna wake you up several times the first hour, then maybe once each hour after that. I’m warning you, so hopefully you won’t be as pissed at me. I know you’re tired, honey, but you drank a lot on an empty stomach, and your body has to process it. Throwing some up helped, but the alcohol in your blood could still rise for a while as you sleep. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He thought of the thousands of times he’d subjected himself to the risk and certainty of alcohol poisoning. None of those times mattered to him because that was his life. But this was Effie, and for whatever reasons, her staying alive mattered a hell of a lot more to him than he would have expected.

As she dozed off, he listened to make sure her breathing was regular.

The first time he woke her, she hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. She touched his face the same as before. “Sometimes I feel like my heart’s going to burst. You know?”

He really didn’t know what she meant by that, but he knew from personal experience that drunk people rarely make sense, even to themselves. He checked her pulse at her wrist. “You’re heart’s gonna be fine.”

When he withdrew his hand she said, “Don’t. Don’t let go.” She fell asleep again with him lightly holding her hand.

The second time he woke her, she teased, “I finally got you in my bed.”

“Finally?? I don’t remember you ever trying.”

“Trying appears differently to different people.”

The third time he woke her, she said, “I want to kiss you.”

“Another time,” he assured her, “When you’re gonna remember it.”

“I’ll remember it now.”

“I don’t think so, and I’m not willing to risk it. Someday when I kiss you, you’re for damn sure gonna remember it.”

The fourth time he woke her, she said, “You’re getting on that train tomorrow, and I hate it. Every time it takes you away from me, I hate it more.”

He was afraid of what she might say next. Soon she was going to forget this conversation, and that reality was a mixture of relief and agitation. Because he wasn’t going to forget.

The fifth time he woke her, she asked, “Why do you keep waking me up?” The bubble had burst.

The sixth time, she pulled her hand away. “Haymitch! Quit waking me up!”

The seventh time was an hour later. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He lay in bed with her until noon, listening to her normal, even breathing and periodically checking the temperature of her skin with the back of his hand. He didn’t wake her again — because he didn’t want to hear her tell him to leave.

She woke up in the afternoon alone. Her head was throbbing, and the daylight hurt her eyes. She dragged herself out of bed, pulled herself together, and put on a pair of dark glasses.

The dress and corset she’d worn the day before were laying at the foot of the bed. Why didn’t I hang them up? She did so belatedly. I must have been exhausted last night. She’d worked the floor until early morning, making connections, trying to help escorts and mentors from other districts secure sponsors.

She passed through the living room and saw her wig on the couch and her shoes on the rug. Did I take those off here before bed? I can’t remember. I must have had too many drinks. That would explain the headache. She gathered them up and returned them to her room.

Haymitch was eating in the dining room. The Avoxes had laid out a full spread. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“Like I was hit by a train.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. My stomach hurts, but yes.”

“Eat a bit then. It should help.”

She sat down, and looked awhile at Haymitch’s eyes. Almost remembering... something. She took off her dark glasses and looked again.

“I think I had a dream about you last night.”

“You’re dreaming about me, eh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Still, something danced along the edges of her memory. It was almost... beautiful.

Haymitch smirked like he knew a secret. “What do you remember about the dream?” he asked.

“I licked my lips...” I wanted to kiss you. DID I kiss you? “...And you touched my forehead the way my mother used to when I was sick.” I wanted to touch you too... your face, your neck, your chest. DID I touch you?

“So, in your dream I was your mother?” He teased.

“No!”

“...Holy Mary Mother of God, no?” His grin was big enough now to show the gap between his teeth.

It was rare to see him gleeful. Effie loved it, but... “Wait. Those words were part of the dream somehow. Did I say them or did you?”

“Maybe we both did.”

She eyed him suspiciously. The dream had been sensual, erotic at times. I took off my clothes.. Or did you? You carried me to bed. Did we sleep together? Did we...

“You touched my hair.”

“It’s soft like feathers.”

“In the dream?”

“Sure. Why not.”

She recalled confessions of a bursting heart and wanting him...

Effie’s heart was racing now. She pushed her chair away from the table, stepped into the kitchen and started opening cabinets. To the Avoxes she questioned, “Where are all the champagne flutes?”

Of course they couldn’t answer. Confusion spread across her face. “Haymitch?...”

“You smashed ‘em up real good, honey. Like cannon fire.”

Honey? “In the dream?”

“Nope. On the living room floor.”

“What happened last night?”

“Last night I was asleep.”

“Then what happened this morning?”

Haymitch took his time before answering.

“I demand to know what happened between us this morning!”

“You were drunk. I took care of you.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s ALL?! You try taking care of somebody who’s drunk. It ain’t easy.”

She dropped back into her chair with chagrin. “I feel like I should thank you.”

“You already did.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. You showed me your breasts.”

“What?” Effie’s face flushed pink all the way through her makeup.

“I figure we’re almost even now, since apparently you’ve already seen me naked.”

“What?! How do you know that?”

“You told my friend here early this morning.” He looked to the red-clad Avox for confirmation. “Right?” The man shrugged his shoulders, and quickly escaped to busy himself in the kitchen. “I recall your words were, ‘Have you seen him naked? Holy Mary Mother of God, he’s so fine.’”

Effie pressed her palms to her cheeks to try to temper the blood rushing there. “So THIS is what mortification feels like.”

“You’ve got nothin’ to be mortified about. You think I’m fine, and I think you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You make me want to do things to you that I’m terrified and thrilled to think about. “See? We’re even.”

“Did you sleep with me?”

“I watched you sleep to make sure you stayed alive.”

The way he said it, all of it, set something warm into motion. It buzzed along her spine and down her arms. The sensation throbbed in her fingers. She felt it pulling her to hold his hand, but other forces kept her frozen. Just reach across the table and hold his hand! Why is that so intimidating?

Full of uncertainty she asked, “What’s going to happen?”

“I’ll get on the train.”

“Haymitch... when you do, I’m going to hate it.”

“...I know.”

63 notes · View notes

purple-cat-demon · 4 years ago

Text

His Birthday Surprise

Word Count: 1,655

Pairing: Gavin x Hazel

Genre: fluff with smut, 18+

Tags: bathtub sex, unprotected sex, minor swearing

Totally made Gavin older than stated in the game for milestone reasons~ 30th birthday antics ensue~

~~~~~~~~~~

Gavin unconsciously reached for his wife while still in bed, but when there was no wife to be found, his eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly and listened for any signs of his lovely wife. Upon looking around, his gaze fell onto a piece of paper lying on Hazel’s pillow.

~~Good Morning and Happy Birthday, my love~ I’ve prepared a little game for you (please play along, I promise it’ll be worth it). Please meet Anna at AEC at 11am for your first gift and next clue~

He looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand: 10:32am.

“Shit!”

He clamored out of bed, washed his face (no time to shower), changed and sprinted out the door. He made it to Anaheim Electronics Company with a minute or two to spare, and saw Anna waiting patiently outside the company entrance.

“Hey Mr. Birthday Boy!”

She smiled brightly and handed him a small gift and a card with the next clue written on it.

“Here, you're going to need this as well,” she also handed him a large bag for the small gift.

“Did Hazel rope you all into this?” Gavin cocked an eyebrow at her.

“She did but we also wanted to help her make your birthday a special one."

Gavin sighed a bit.

“And you can’t tell me where she is, huh?”

Anna shook her head.

“Nope, I cannot~”

Gavin read the second clue:

~~Find Willow at the New Light Mall. She will be at the furniture store’s entrance. Please meet her at 12pm.~~

He checked his phone for the time: 11:32am.

“Thanks, Anna,” he said as he waved goodbye to her. Thankfully he wasn’t too far from the mall and found Willow just before 12pm.

“Happy Birthday, Officer Gavin! You’re probably gonna hear that a lot today,” she giggled. Gavin smiled a bit.

“Thanks, Willow. I’m a little in awe that you all are doing this,” he said she placed another small gift in his bag.

“Well, you don’t turn 30 everyday,” she mused, handing him his third clue.

~~Mr. Keller is waiting for you at the Music Gallery on Sunshine Alley. Please meet him there by 1pm.~~

‘Even Mr. Keller??’ Gavin was torn between impressed and flabbergasted at the fact that Hazel even got their former teacher to participate. He waved goodbye to Willow and set off to Sunshine Alley. Mr. Keller was sitting on a bench just outside the Music Gallery when Gavin came running up.

“Hello, Mr. Keller,” he shook his former teacher’s hand, “definitely a surprise to see you here.”

The teacher chuckled.

“Well, I couldn’t very well refuse Miss May, no, Mrs. Bai, now could I?”

They both shared a laugh over the craziness Gavin was enduring for his milestone birthday.

“Ah, I’m supposed to give you these,” Mr. Keller handed Gavin a small gift bag along with the next clue.

~~If I know my husband, he probably didn’t have breakfast this morning and is now quite hungry. Go meet Minor at Delicioso on Westmoon Street for lunch, Minor’s treat.~~

Gavin shook his head and laughed.

‘Yeah, she does know me,’ he silently mused.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Keller,” he said while shaking the teacher’s hand again.

“Happy Birthday, Gavin. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He waved Gavin off and sat back down on the bench, reminiscing the old days.

‘I’m glad you're happy now, Gavin, you deserve this.’

Gavin’s stomach growled loudly as he got to Delicioso. Minor greeted his friend with a hug.

“Happy Birthday Bro!” The silverette beamed at him, “Come on, let’s get some birthday grub for ya!”

After they ordered their food, Minor happened to notice the bag with all little gifts in it.

“You haven’t opened any of them…”

“Was… I supposed to…?”

“Well, I mean. You could if you wanted to.”

Minor put his small gift in the bag to join the rest of them; he also slid the final clue over to his friend. Before Gavin could read it, their food came, and his train of thought derailed in favor of filling his empty stomach. It had been a while since the two of them hung out together so lunch may have ran a little later than expected. Gavin’s phone buzzed with a text message from Kiki asking where he was. He quickly read the clue,

~~Kiki is waiting at the lobby of the Windsor Hotel. She’ll have the room key to where your lovely wife is waiting for you~ Please meet her at 4pm.~~

It was now 4:30pm.

“Dammit, I’m late meeting with Kiki. Thanks Minor,” he called back to his friend as he ran off, sprinting rather, towards the hotel.

Kiki huffed a little as she impatiently tapped her foot, looking around for the tardy officer. He came up, out of breath, and apologizing profusely to Kiki.

“Dude, you’re lucky it's your birthday,” she said, feigning displeasure. She quickly smiled at him when she noticed the panicked look on his face,

“Just kidding Officer~”

Giggling, she held out the room key to him along with another little gift to put in his bag.

“Here, now get to your woman already!”

He blushed slightly and waved Kiki off. As he got in the elevator, he noticed the room number.

‘Pent...Suite… #2???’ His face paled, ‘she really did go all out…’ He saw the button on the panel that said PH2, so he pressed it. Upon exiting the elevator, he was greeted with a small hallway that curved towards the right leading him to the front doors of the penthouse suite. He opened the doors to a darkened room, lit by many flameless “candles.”

“Hazel?” Gavin called out to his wife while looking around the spacious suite for her.

“In here, my love,” her reply came from the bedroom but when he walked into the room, there was still no wife. He noticed a light coming from under the bathroom door. As he opened the door, Hazel got up from the bath, a stunning beauty to behold in her husband��s eyes. Even though he had seen her naked numerous times before, there was something about how she looked now that floored him. He could feel his pants tightening with every step he took toward her. Cupping her face, he planted a deep and passionate kiss to her lips; all while she was undoing his belt buckle and pants. She reluctantly broke the kiss off and whispered,

“Hurry up, the water’s getting cold.”

Gavin didn’t have to be told twice as he hastily disrobed, and got in the oversized tub with her. Hazel had him lean back as she straddled him, turning on the jets in the process. The pulsing jets of water soothed the small aches in his lower back, but that pain was a distant memory compared to the alluring vision he had in front of him. She slowly lowered herself onto his length while locked in another passionate kiss; his hands running up and down her back. Her skin felt so soft under his calloused hands as they came to rest on her hips. This whole scenario was driving him crazy but he was trying to keep his release at bay to prolong the pleasure he was feeling until she did that—

“Ah!” He inhaled sharply as she bit, sucked and licked the scar on his collarbone. He damn near came unraveled but not quite yet. She rolled her hips slowly, almost painfully slow because she wanted to catch every reaction her husband was emitting. Gavin shot forward, capturing a nipple in his mouth, causing Hazel to gasp and moan loudly. That was it, that sound she made; he came hard, crying out into the crook of her neck. Her walls clenched around his throbbing length as she came wholly unraveled as well.

“Happy Birthday, my Love,” Hazel said into their kiss. Gavin smiled at his wife, still wondering how the hell he got so lucky to be with her. They stayed like that for a bit of time, until the water went cold. Both of them shakily got out of the bathtub. Hazel tossed a towel to her husband as she dried herself off; then slipping into a black, lace trimmed robe, which elicited a whistle from Gavin.

“You like? I got it especially for tonight~” She did a little twirl; the flared sleeves acting like tiny wings. Gavin walked over, tying the towel around his waist, and tugged at her robe’s tie.

“I do like it, but it would look even better off of you~”

She playfully smacked his arm, then grabbed his hand and led him to the balcony of the suite. It was a muggy early evening but nothing a little breeze couldn’t fix (courtesy of a certain Evolver). Hazel gazed at the city skyline, now all lit up, while Gavin put his arm around her waist, holding her close to him.

“Isn’t the view incredible?”

She asked, not noticing that his gaze was fixed on her the entire time.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her. She finally looked over at him and smiled,

“Were you even looking?”

He turned her to face him and placed a kiss on her temple.

“Of course I was looking,” he then kissed her forehead, “at the beautiful view in front of me,” another kiss, this time on her nose. He buried his face in the crook of her neck,

“Thank you for making this the best birthday ever.”

He took this calm moment as an opportunity to plant a hickey on Hazel’s neck, causing her to yelp and jump suddenly. Both laughing, Hazel bolted after Gavin towards the bedroom, where they collapsed into a giggling heap onto the bed. Unfortunately, they both knocked out for the night before Hazel could even give Gavin his cake and other presents; those would just have to wait until morning.

~~~~~~~~~

🎉A birthday fic for the birthday boy (yeah, it was yesterday but who's counting?)🎉

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love #mr love gavin #gavin #mr love game #恋与制作人 #bai qi #mlqc gavin smut #mlqc gavin x reader #mlqc gavin spoiler image #mlqc gavin bai #pcd writes

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hamster-damn · 4 years ago

Text

Overture

Ikemen Vampire: Mozart / MC

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2690

Summary: Steam in the music room w a touch of comedy our 2nd favorite tandem, the English writer and the Japanese poet!

FIRST FIC ALERT . Its my first time writing any fics... And anything smutty for that matter.

I had a ton of fun writing this!!!

Do let me know if it is o k a y or if it needs improvement. ✌🏻🥴

Finally, her last chore of the day: deliver Isaac’s midnight snacks.

As she climbed the stairs to deliver Isaac’s sandwich and blanc, she heard a faint piano melody coming from the other end of the hall: Mozart’s music room. It was slow, light, and performed with enviable evenness- fit for a slow dance under the stars. ‘I might as well bring him some snacks too’ she thought.

Moments later, she came back from the kitchen with a box of chocolates, 2 cups of freshly brewed coffee, and a vial of rouge.

The hall was silent, with light leaking from the slightly opened door of the music room,

“Wolf, I brought some snacks”, she called out before pushing the door open to enter the room.

The windows were open, and the curtains were fully tucked to the sides. The cool evening breeze brushing into the room, and the light from the chandelier subtly illuminating the pristine white and gold grand piano.

She placed the tray on the nearby table and glanced again around the room, he was nowhere in sight.

She approached the piano and placed a hand on the keys, gliding slowly upon the tips of her fingers. ’I missed this’

Being a former pianist herself, she had adored this instrument since the first time she laid eyes on it. Gorgeous and white, oh how she wished she had the same one back home.

She turned to the door, still no Mozart.

'It wouldn’t hurt to play, I guess. I just need to keep it low.’ she thought before propping herself on the bench. Gasping at the full view of the beautiful instrument.

She took a breath. Letting muscle memory take the lead, she started playing a favorite of hers, Chopin’s Nocturne - op.9 no.2 in EbM.

Pianissimo. Pianissimo.

Just as Mozart left Jean’s quarters, he heard a faint piano melody. He frowned, baffled by the audacity and stupidity, ‘Who in his right mind - even left the door wide open.’

But as the music grew, so did his curiosity. This music wasn’t from his own composition.

Pianissimo. Pianissimo.

Despite the constant reminder to herself, she eventually lost herself in the piece. Emotion poured as she played, ever so slightly changing the dynamics of the piece to her liking. The world around her disappeared.

Mozart was by the door, surprised by the sight of his love on the keys,

‘She can play?’ He had so many questions.

He walked past behind her until he got to the seats. Nothing. She was fully immersed in the music.

So he sat there, enthralled by both the music and the view.

Her fingers danced on the keys. Soon enough, the melancholic melody filled the room and seeped to the hallway. She finally reached the last chord. The last note.

She lifted her hands from the keys and rested them to the side, anchoring herself to the seat. She sighed. A soft smile painted her lips. Contented and relaxed on the bench.

‘Oh, did it feel good to play again.’

“Your cadenza could use more practice. You’re dragging, but good, nonetheless.” an insult from an all-to-familiar voice broke the silence, sending a chill down her spine. She turned in her seat, surprised.

“Wolf! H-how long have you been-” eyes wide, she found Mozart, legs crossed, seated by the table with a cup of coffee in hand,

“Quite some time now.” He said as he quirked an eyebrow and pushed a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

She was too engrossed in playing, she hadn’t noticed Mozart enter the room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” she fumbled and motioned to stand from the bench, preparing to make a run for it while trying to form a good enough excuse.

Mozart raised his hand, gesturing her to stop as he slightly choked on the chocolate he was eating,

"Stay.”

She gave him a good stare before sitting back down on the bench. She turned to face him, hands on her lap, guiltily fondling her skirt.

She knew Mozart didn’t like people touching his things, especially his music - his piano.

She gave off a light sigh as she lifted her head to the sight of Mozart handing her her coffee,

“Drink, it’ll get cold.”

She took the cup from him. It’s still warm, but not as hot as how she wanted it to be.

Mozart sat back down, fingers now cradling his jaw, arm leaning on the table, “So, what are you calling it?”

She slightly shook her head and stared at him in question.

“What is the name of the piece?” He asked again.

“Oh- Nocturne in Eb Major. I didn’t compose it though. It’s Fryderyk Chopin’s-”

Her lips curled up just by talking about it. Then she noticed Mozart’s bewildered look,

“He came, roughly, a couple of decades after you.”

He nodded, “Hmm. It’s a beautiful piece.”

He reached out for another piece of chocolate, and popped it into his mouth, trying to hide his growing jealousy of how enthusiastically she spoke of another man.

“It is. In fact, it is one of my favorites to play. Your music influenced his, and many more, you know?” She smiled brightly at Mozart before taking a sip of her coffee.

He felt his cheeks lightly flush at the compliment. Little did he know how big an impact his music has made on the world, centuries after his mortal soul passed.

Mozart cleared his throat. “You, on the other hand, never mentioned you can play?”

He stared hard at her, as if feeling cheated.

Her smile faded into a look of embarrassment. She sunk her face to meet her rising hands that cradled the cup, and drowned herself in coffee.

The last thing she would’ve ever wanted was to receive criticisms from people, especially Mozart, knowing how much of a perfectionist he was when it came to music.

“I just know a bit. There’s still a lot for me to learn.” she chuckled to her now empty cup.

Mozart let out a smirk. He obviously didn’t believe her. Her humility and simplicity always made his heart skip a beat, falling for her even more. He liked that about her.

Mozart grabbed a piece of chocolate from the box, left his seat, and made his way behind her. “Oh lamb,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and the other, finger lightly traced along the length of her spine- from her nape, down to the curve of her back, causing her to arch her back and release a soft moan.

Ahh.

As soon as her mouth opened, he stuffed the chocolate in.

“Your posture”

He bent over to nuzzle her neck, breathing her sweet scent in. Her heart beating wildly as he growled and nipped her ear.

“Your control”

He pulled the cup from her grasp, letting her hands drop gently on the keys.

“and fingering tell me otherwise, meine liebe.”

He holds her chin between his fingers, tilts her face for their eyes to meet.

“Du kannst mich nicht täuschen.” / “You cannot fool me.”

He stepped away to set the cup on the table, leaving her flushed from ear to ear, and her breathing heavy and erratic. 'What a tease!’

“Go on now. Play.” He demanded.

She froze in her seat and chose to ignore his request. She rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh, quietly whispering to herself, “der penner.”

“I really can’t, but thank you anyway.” She closed the cover of the piano.

She patted her skirt down, stood from the bench to leave the room,

“Indeed, it has been a wonderful evening, Herr Moza-ah!”

Mozart interrupts her by pulling her by the wrist, and winding an arm around her waist to keep her still. Her palms braced on his chest.

“Hmm-” He tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear and cups her cheek,

“First, you touch my music. Then, my piano. ” He pulls her in closer, the air between them getting hotter,

“Now, when I asked you to play, you call me a jerk and try to run away. ”

He looked directly into her eyes, studying her.

“What am I going to do to you?”

She looks away from those intense violet eyes, her cheeks blush a bright pink.

“I’m sorry, okay? Lesson learned-”

Mozart placed a finger on her lips, bringing back her gaze to meet his eyes that burned with passion and need.

“A lesson you shall learn then.”

He leaned in for a deep and gentle kiss, his tongue parted her lips, in search of hers. He pulls her in just a bit more as he slides his thigh in between her legs.

She grasps his shirt, breaks the kiss and gasps at the sudden friction between her legs, “Wolf-”

Panting, he buries his face in her neck, breathing in her sweet scent and sucking gently along her pulse. His fangs emerge, grazing her skin ever so gently as he unbuttons her blouse one by one.

“Wolf, wait-” she gently pushes him as she hears voices in the hall. “-please, the door.”

He growls, breaks his hold on her, and heads for the open door, immediately switching the light off in the music room. He eyes Arthur and Dazai walking down from the parlor.

“Wolfie! Done for today, yeah?” Arthur exclaims, “Fancy getting some drinks with us tonight?”

Dazai eyes Natalia behind Mozart in the shadows of the dark room, clutching on to the top of her blouse. He places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “Now, now, Artie, Mo-kun looks exhausted. Some other time, no?” He looks at Mozart and flashes him a warm smile, pulling Arthur away. The two got out of sight.

With a sigh, Mozart closes the door behind him. His eyes darken as he turns back to her.

“This-” his hand trails, ever so slowly unbuttoning the remainder of her blouse, “-is for my eyes, and my eyes only”. He pulls it off, dropping it on the marble floor.

As he presses her against the piano, he slides his thigh back between her legs, mouth traces hungrily against her jaw- nipping and grazing. She trembles beneath his touches, and her head tilts giving him full access. “No, not yet-” Mozart pants in between kisses “-not there”. He nips, tracing down from her neck, her collarbone, to the swell of her chest.

In one swift motion, he unlocks and tugs her bra off. His mouth closes over a taut nipple, sucking harshly and tugging. She moans. Hands threading in his hair, and head falling back. “Shi-ah!” Her hips involuntarily buck, firmly pressing against his erection.

He ran his fingers along the hem of her skirt, lifting it to caress and squeeze the back of her thighs. He looks up at her, voice low and eyes burning with desire, “May I?”

She cups his flushed face in her hands, “my love, I am yours.”

He shifts and lifts her, half-sitting on the white and gold piano. He sinks down to his knees, and nuzzles his face into the inner side of her knee. Peppered nips and kisses travel inner thighs, riding her skirt up in the process. He tugs both her skirt and her underwear off- the tantalizing scent of her arousal goes straight to his core, driving him to the brink of insanity.

He hooks a leg over his shoulder and lightly blows on her soaked sex. She shivers from the tease, firmly gripping him by the hair, “Wolf, please-”, she begs for more.

More it shall be.

Before she can manage a full breath, his hot tongue deliberately glides across her glistening slit, and his lips close against her throbbing clit. With every pass, his tongue pushes in deeper past her lips, and his lapping, less sparing than the previous.

She shudders in his arms, moans growing frustratingly louder.

And with a bite that almost breaks flesh, she forces out a loud cry, causing her knees to buckle. Almost.

He catches her mouth in his, pushing his tongue in, almost instantly muffling her frustrated cry, while giving her a taste of her own arousal. Her hands fondle with his shirt, impatiently removing it. Then to his belt. As soon as she unbuckles it, he grabs her by the wrists and drapes her hands around his neck.

He slides one- two digits into her heat, groaning in her lips at how tight she was.

In and out, he slides and curls his fingers at a painstakingly slow tempo- Lagro.

Her hips jolted at the maestro’s touch.

She nuzzles his neck, planting torrid kisses and lightly bites his ear lobe. She whispers between gasps, “Please-”

“Please, what?” His voice low and husky, keeping the tempo but increasing the pressure.

“I need you” her hand slips down his chest, his taut abdomen, and to the distended area of his pants. Her warm hand palming his erection through the fabric.

“I know you do” He chuckles into her ear as he unbuttons his pants with his free hand, chucking them completely off.

He pulls his digits out of her and grabs her by the back of her knees, hooking her legs around his waist. He pulls her a little closer, and just a little over the edge of the piano.

He guides his member, and rubs his head along her slick folds, teasing. He clings onto her hips, he lets out a near-silent moan as he sinks deep into her to begin a swift and harsh tempo.

Her back arches from the sheer pleasure. And her moans, louder and more erratic as her hips are in tempo to meet his, forcing her deeper and faster onto him.

His breathing grew heavy, muffling his growls into her neck. He feels her clutching him tighter as the familiar waves of pleasure build up in her.

“Mein schatz,” he rumbles before kissing her hard. Slamming in deeper and faster, “hold on tight.”

She screams and her head falls back as she goes over the edge. He follows her only a few seconds later, pounding her deep, and grinding her against the piano as they ride the waves of ecstasy.

Still trembling, she pulls her head back, stares at him and cups his face in the palms of her hands.

His silver hair disheveled by her own hands, now shines as he basks under the moonlight. And his usual stoic eyes, now dark with lust and desire.

“God, I love you.” she barely whispers through her strained voice.

He intertwines her hands in his, taking it to his lips and kissing them both as he murmurs and groans,

“God knows I love you too”

He brings her hands to her side and plants a kiss on her lips and gazes deep into her eyes, “- I love you more than anything.”

But just when she thought it was over, his hips started thrusting again- this time, slow and deep.

She trembles and whines with every pound, throwing her head back again, feeling the aftershocks of the climax build into a new wave of pleasure.

“Ah!”

His breathing is heavy. He leans in and buries his face between her neck and shoulder blade. Trailing it with nips, and grazing it ever so lightly with his fangs.

And just before she could call out his name, his fangs break her skin.

Her hands frantically grip the edge of the piano as he sucks greedily, muffling his moans on her skin. Waves of hot pleasure rush through her, leaving her numb and trembling in broken moans as he pumps into her.

He releases his bite just before he loses control, and pulls his now softening member out of her.

He cups his hands on her face, caressing her cheeks with his fingers. She limply trembles beneath his touch.

"Have you learned your lesson, meine liebe?”

She places her arms over his shoulders, clasping them behind his neck, “Well, that was uncalled for.”

She chuckles then plants a kiss on his forehead. “You know, maybe I haven’t?”

He lifts her off the piano, picks up her blouse, and wraps it around her shoulders.

“How stubborn can you get?”

#ikemen vampire #ikemen mozart #ikevam mozart #ikevamp #cybrid #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen isaac #ikevamp fanfiction

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