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tainted-wine · 4 years

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The Spring Bird Survival Guide

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

(So many of you have asked for a part two of my rutting Hawks fic. I gave in! I have no idea how this holds up compared to the first, but I hope you enjoy!)

Read Part 1 if you haven’t! This takes place directly after those events!

Words: 10k (WHOOPS)

Warnings: None, except for an absurd amount of scene transitions that hopefully don’t get too confusing.

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Tuesday

The chorus of songbirds can be heard right outside of Hawks’s window, their small shapes dashing past and making the peeking sunlight flicker across the bedroom. It sounds like it’s gonna be a beautiful day. He’d be elated, if he wasn’t feeling so ill already.

The fever and itch were coming back, like a hot rash that he couldn’t scratch because it was inside of him. He was really hoping to never feel such a hellish sensation ever again.

He slowly peeled the thick sheets off, making sure not to disturb his bedmate as he sat up. There’s no way the quirk’s effects were returning, is there? Last night, the feeling had only gotten weaker with every passing hour. Now it has returned, not in full force, but once again difficult to ignore. He peered over his shoulder to check on his guest.

You were still sound asleep, worn body supported by pillows all over as if you were in danger of falling apart. While Hawks was healing that night, your aches had only gotten worse. He at least managed to convince you that you were in no condition to drive back home and the safer choice was to stay at his place. You were still wearing the clothes he gave you, while he himself donned only a cozy pair of pants. Such a shame that you didn’t take kindly to his request to sleep nude together. Seriously, what was even the issue? He’s already seen every inch of your body, and in every angle possible.

Every hot, sweaty, mouthwatering angle possible.

The internal fire suddenly rushed to his groin, making him slap a hand over his mouth to muffle a groan. He shouldn’t be around you in this state; might as well get up early and prepare for work.

The moment he was on his feet and stretching, a buzz was heard on the nightstand. Your phone vibrated against the smooth wood as it lit up and revealed the caller’s name.

Ah, the good ol’ deputy.

What that nagging old man wanted was between him and you. It wasn’t Hawks’s right to force himself between whatever matters the two of you had to discuss.

Those facts aren’t going to stop his nosy ass, however.

The phone was snatched from the stand without a second thought, the hero walking out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible before answering. “Mornin’, sir,” Hawks greeted. You were the only ‘superior’ he could toy with; any unruly behavior around the actual important people came with a high risk of punishment. Taking his frustrations out on you has been a blast, but after the bind you freed him from yesterday…

“Hawks? May I ask what you’re doing with your handler’s phone?” The deputy questioned.

‘I completely wrecked her last night. The poor lady didn’t survive.’ He considered the joke for a second, but decided that the stuffy bastard wouldn’t appreciate it. “She’s still snoozing. Yesterday was pretty rough on her. I think she deserves a little slack.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” he said sternly, like he was offended that Hawks dared to make a suggestion. Hell, he probably was. “Well, since you’re here, I suppose I can ask you directly. How are you feeling? Has the quirk worn off?”

His wings flapped and fanned himself. “Oh, so much better, sir! You guys have the best solutions to everything, don’t you? Never doubted you for a second.” Truthfully, if his moral compass was more stable, he’d say that offering an unsuspecting woman to him like some maiden sacrifice was just a little twisted. He can’t help but wonder if he would have refused if he was thinking straight at the time.

“Very good. So you are not feeling any lingering effects? Do your usual rutting symptoms feel stronger at all?”

“Eh…” Hawks hesitated. Should he bother trying to hide it? If there’s anything he’s learned from his mentally taxing undercover work, it’s that half-truths are often the best answer. “Feels like it’s still floating around in me, but nothing to worry about. It won’t be getting in the way of my work.”

“That’s great to hear. We don’t want you hurting your image with any more of your brutish displays in public. Please keep those special traits to yourself.”

That made his lip twitch. It really shouldn’t bother him. The Commission has always expressed their distaste for his more animalistic habits, but fuck, would it kill them to at least show some pity when it’s his very own instincts that are causing his suffering? “You got it, sir.” His calm response didn’t betray his irritation.

“And if you do start having issues, then I recommend that you turn to your handler again. In fact, I was calling to inform her that we have found a more competent individual to replace her.”

Oh. That’s…ouch.

“Really? I kinda like her,” Hawks admitted. It’s pretty awkward to be discussing your possible termination on your phone during a call that was meant for you.

The deputy gave a dry laugh. “Of course you do. She has absolute zero control over you. I was hoping you were mature and disciplined enough to not take advantage of her inexperience, but I suppose I was expecting too much of you.”

Yeah, he kinda was, honestly. No argument there. “So sorry, sir. I won’t let it happen again.” Maybe.

“You better make sure of it. As I was saying, we’ll keep her around in case you are in need of more relief. Once your hormones have stabilized, I will give her the news and you will be rid of her.”

Hawks actually snorted from just how fucked up that plan was.

The cruel man ignored the sound and went on. “Can I trust you to stay quiet about this? I’d rather not have to deal with any constant badgering for however long this goes on.”

‘Totally! There’s no need for her to know that she’s only being kept around to be my fucktoy and then get fired immediately afterwards.’ Man, what an organization that he works for. Too bad they have him whipped and incapable of defying them. “Your secret’s safe with me, sir.”

“Good. Well, this call didn’t go as planned, but it was satisfying enough. I’m expecting you to remain in top condition during your duties. Do not disappoint us.” He hung up without waiting for Hawks’s response.

The winged man didn’t even notice the perspiration quickly coating his body until the phone nearly slipped out of his slick hands. As he returned to his room and placed your device back where it was, he couldn’t help but watch your sleeping form.

You were always cute, he’s not gonna lie about that. Finding new ways to embarrass you on the job became a new type of thrill for him. Your blushful glares never got old.

But he never thought that he’d see you like this, or the state that you were in yesterday. His mind was barely there as he was shrouded in that prankster of a villain’s quirk, but he could still feel you all over his extra sensitive feathers. He was practically drowning in you at the time.

The smell of your arousal. The taste of the glaze on your pussy. The sweet songs of pleasure. The look of overwhelming bliss on your face.

Your soft skin, and your hot wet opening that he wanted to invade over and over again…

“Keigo?”

He doesn’t know when you woke up, or when the hell he crawled into the bed with his face so close to yours that he could feel your breath. “Uh…”

“Are you alright? You’re looking feverish again. And…” You looked down in concern, and Hawks followed your gaze to see the full erection that totally snuck up on him.

“Whoa! Sorry about that! Little guy doesn’t know when to quit.” Hawks scooted away, trying and failing to hide the tent in his pants.

You attempted to sit up, only to wince and settle back down. “Dammit, I can’t believe how much I’m hurting from yesterday. This is embarrassing.” You groaned and snuggled up to the many pillows.

He couldn’t resist planting a kiss on your forehead, ignoring how the brief contact made his hardness twitch. “Sorry, angel. Really wish I wasn’t such an animal back there. Just stay still; I’ll get you some fresh water for your painkillers.”

You look like you wanted to say something, but decided on closing your eyes and trying to relax instead. “Thanks.”

He was already rushing out of the room, heading into the kitchen to fill the empty glass while considering dowsing himself in the cold tap water.

Why, why the fuck was it coming back? Just looking at you was making his vision foggy again. It can’t be his rut; it never made him this excited before. He didn’t have the courage to return to the bed, alternatively placing the cup onto a hardened feather and floating it back to you. He stayed where he was, leaning against the sink and wiping at his face. The heat remained at a manageable level as long as he kept his distance from you, but he wanted to stay close. He had to stay close and protect the woman he was now mated to.

Wait, what?

“Keigo?” He heard you call out and was pulled from his confusing thoughts. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Hawks gave a laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing to his own ears. “Bad news, babe. I think I’m still a horny bird,” he confessed.

There was a pause. Maybe you had taken a sip. “I don’t know if they told you, but when the deputy explained your…situation, he said that the symptoms of your rut will probably be amplified until it’s over.”

Ah, the old man did mention that over the phone. He only had about a week of his yearly phase left, but if this all means intensified aggression and arousal, not to mention the attachment to the lady he just banged for several hours…

This was going to be a very difficult week.

“Babe?” He said just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yes?”

“…I really fucked up by not taking my meds, didn’t I?”

He didn’t exactly hear your sigh, but it was still felt through his wings. “I’m afraid you did.”

Yeah, this was all his fault. This bullshit would only be half as painful if he was still taking his stupid hormone medication like he has been for years. Not only do these unrestrained imbalances feel foreign to his body, but Libido’s quirk practically put them on steroids.

The medicine’s side effects don’t sound all that bad anymore.

—————

Hawks had already eaten a slice of leftover pizza by the time you finally mustered up the strength to get up. The feel of your entire lower body cramping made you whimper and stumble.

He was already scrambling back in to catch you and hold you up, his high body temperature startling you. “Thank you,” you said wearily.

He froze for a second before jumping back, the sudden loss of support almost making you fall anyway. He wordlessly strutted over to his wardrobe, withdrawing a fresh pair of underwear.

You looked away when the pants were pulled down and his hardness sprang free. He’s not just going to ignore that, is he?

“Keigo, do you need to…do this…again?” You asked, tuning out the throb of your muscles.

He chuckled as he began to dress himself . “You are not up for more sex, baby. Don’t even act like it when you can barely stand.”

You huffed. “You’re getting really hot again and you shouldn’t go out feeling like th—”

“Nope.” His boner is covered again, somewhat. He stares at the obvious protrusion before shrugging and retrieving his hero outfit.

Even with your aches, you had the grit to push on. “As long as you go slow, I can probably handle it.”

“Mmmm, can’t promise that,” he murmured while momentarily detaching his wings in order to squeeze into his tight black shirt. “The second I’m inside you, I might lose control and shatter your pelvis.”

That’s horrifying, but… “I trust you.”

“I don’t trust me.”

“Keigo…”

“And don’t get too attached to that name, dove. Can’t have it slipping out in public.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me, since you’ve offered me your tender pussy twice already. Do you want me to pound you into mush?”

“Language, Hawks!” You strictly reminded him, undeterred by your wobbly legs as you tried to remind him who was in charge.

Hawks shot you a look, his face crinkled into furrowed eyebrows and a crooked grin, a look that screamed ‘Seriously?’

“Listen, ma’am, wood happens. I’ve dealt with it plenty of times like any other guy, so I’m telling you that I don’t need to bang to get rid of this.” He pulled up his tan loose pants, the bulge not as obvious, but still visible. “But if you really insist on ordering me to fuck you silly, be my guest.”

You weren’t exactly going to do that, it’s just that Hawks was acting so unfazed by his strong arousal, but his body was very clearly telling a different story. His breathing was heavier than necessary, and every time after he made eye contact with you, it’s like he had to spend a minute to compose himself. However, if he’s confident that he can endure…

“Fine,” you sighed, watching him suit up with more interest than you cared to admit. You hobbled on out and into the kitchen.

“Need help, granny?” You heard him offer. “I can fly you to your place if your legs still aren’t working.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled in annoyance at both him and your uncooperative limbs. The fridge was yanked open and you frowned at its contents. The pizza and chicken wings were the only real food he had, the rest being sugary snacks or microwave meals. Looks like ‘keeping a healthy diet’ will have to be added to your Hawks Maintenance list.

The flaps of wings were heard behind you as Hawks headed for the door, fully geared up and ready for hero work. “Welp, you’re a big girl that can handle yourself. Drive safely, babe. Can’t wait to hear what you have to nag me about at the office.”

“Hmph,” you gave a smirk of your own when you turned away from the humming microwave. “Probably about the next mistake you make for all of the internet to see.”

He waved dismissively and opened the door, the morning sun illuminating him with an enchanting glow. “Come on, have some faith in me. I’ll be careful.”

Crimson wings spread as he steps outside, but the door closes before you can watch him take off.

—————

Buzzfood.com

HAWKS SPORTS STIFFY ON THE JOB

Written by Yuki Burushito

Now, I know that I’ve been posting enough Hawks-related articles to last a year, but can you blame me with all the weird behavior he’s been exhibiting this month? You probably think that I have a boner for the guy, but let me tell you this: one of us has a boner, and it isn’t me.

Everyone’s favorite hawk was hiding a woodpecker in his pants today. The best part is that it apparently lasted hours, given that it was mentioned in several incidents throughout the day, but the clearest example was when he subdued a mugger at noon, which was filmed by a bystander and is already making the rounds across the web.

Yet another extreme apprehension from Hawks—though it doesn’t top the beating he gave to that frisky peacock—I sure didn’t expect the fast-working hero to swoop down on a fleeing thief and slam him into the ground. I’m certain that a few feathers would have done the job just fine. When the pinned mugger felt Hawks Jr. poking at his back, he lifted his busted face off the ground and screamed, “Is this shit turning you on?!”

While everyone is currently having a field day with that meme-able clip, the answer is most likely no. Hawks was hard before the mugging occurred. Since I’ll probably be writing about him again by...I don’t know, tomorrow, I’ll cut to the chase. You have probably heard the theories that Hawks is experiencing some sort of rut.

Well, it’s time for me to come out and say that I fully support those theories. “But Mr. Burushito!” I hear you say. “If this is something as regular as a rut, how come he’s never acted this wild before?” My answer to that is: I have no idea. He’s still a rather young man; maybe whatever sexual cycles his body possesses have only started appearing recently.

Honestly, you can never be sure with mutant types. Their bodies never make any damn sense.

“I take offense to that last sentence.”

You didn’t react to Hawks’s comment as you both read the article on your phones. After seeing multiple images of ‘Hard Hawks’, as he’s been nicknamed, taken by several random civilians and shared on their social media accounts, you knew it was only a matter of time before these petty news sites decided to take a bite out of the fresh meat.

Maybe this was your fault for trusting the hormonal bird that was currently seated in front of you while you stood across his desk. The only reason you aren’t scolding him right now is because he already looks so damn miserable. He had removed his protective headphones and visor right after finishing his patrols. A desk fan was turned to its highest setting, blowing directly into the hero’s sweaty face as he tried his hardest to focus on the small screen in his hands. He hasn’t looked at you since you’ve entered the office, but distressed or not, there was a certain matter you had to discuss.

“The deputy apparently called me this morning,” you started, ready to see how he reacts.

You notice him tense for just a second as he continues to scroll through whatever it is he’s looking at.

“It says that I had taken the call, but I sure don’t remember that. What I do remember is that you were awake before me.” Your hands were on your hips, waiting for Hawks to answer to your unspoken accusation. “Well?”

He still stared down at his phone, but it didn’t seem like he was actually looking at anything, his mind elsewhere. “Yeah yeah, I talked to him,” he admitted groggily.

You’re more angered by the fact that the deputy never bothered to call you back, leaving you in the dark from whatever he and Hawks had discussed. “So, what did you two talk about? You know, during my call that was meant for me?”

Hawks finally laid his glassy eyes on you. The energy surrounding him was drastically different from this morning and it made you just a tad anxious. Your body truly didn’t feel up to it when you offered him more sex this morning, but you knew it would be better than him reverting to another delirious state. “In a nutshell, he wants us to keep fucking until I’m better.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “What? He didn’t think it was important to tell me about this?”

He leaned far back into his chair and smiled, beads of sweat trickling down his neck. “Guess not. But hey, you’re doing your job anyway, already serving yourself to me the minute you see a hard-on.”

You glared, considering storming out of the room and calling that asshole immediately. “I don’t appreciate him expecting me to be your personal whore.”

“I know, I know. He’s a real douche, isn’t he? How about we both blow off some steam?” He was already scooting out of his chair and making his way around the desk. “I’m just making one mistake after another. Shoulda just said yes to you this morning. Never pays to be a nice guy, does it?” His voice was sounding rougher with each word, like his throat was changing into a sandpaper tube as he stopped right in front of you.

You trembled, making the mistake of looking down and spotting the erection that was very much still present.

For the sake of your still-burning body, you might need some time to mentally prepare for this. “Alright…but before we leave, just let me—”

“Leave?” Two hands clasped onto your shoulders hard, holding you in place. The raptorial eyes held yours captive, stirring up a heat within you despite your unease. “We’re doing this right here, right now.”

“Wha-I-but-” Your stutters were ignored as he turned you to the desk and bent you over, your back muscles screaming in protest. All of his weight was pressing into you, his deprived cock pushing against your ass.

“And everyone’s already left for tonight, so it’s just you and me.” He’s eagerly yanking your pants down then does the same for his own.

His fingers wasted no time in groping your sex, the swipes against your folds triggering a steady flow of slick arousal. There should be no one else in the building at this time, but your paranoia still makes you clap a hand over your mouth as you gasp from his sinful touches.

“Mmm, already getting wet for me?” He cooed behind you, his breath feeling like heat emanating from an open flame. “My brave little hen, willing to take as many poundings as she can.”

That’s a pet name you haven’t heard before. Teeth scrape across the space between your neck and shoulder while the head of his cock lubricates itself along your fleshy petals. When he pierces you with a strong jab of his hips, the light nips on your skin become a full-on bite, muffling his own cry. For you, however, the sharp sensation of being filled so suddenly combined with the pain of his teeth pinching into the crook of your neck had you wailing through your hand.

He was already setting a quick pace, giving your bitten area a few apologetic licks before leaning back to properly grip your hips and plow you. Your entire body was rocked forward with each impact, the harsh stroking of your inner walls bringing forth a raw pleasure that you admittedly missed.

But that wasn’t enough to ignore the resurging aches all over you. Your sensitive ass cheeks have become very familiar with slapping against his abdomen, every pleasurable collision also shooting pain up your lower back, and his probing dick was showing no mercy to your delicate insides.

“Haw—ah, Hawks! You need…you need to slow down!” You quavered.

The only response was a series of savage pants and growls as his violent movements continued, informing you that all of his sense and reasoning has disappeared once again. You remember the warning he gave you this morning, and fear that his quip about breaking your pelvis may have been more than just a joke.

You try to twist yourself just enough to see his face and speak to him more directly, but a hand on your back shoves you hard onto the desk, leaving your breasts and belly to scrape against the wooden surface. At least you weren’t fully stripped for this.

How the hell did this happen so fast? He was speaking just a minute ago! Do the after-effects of Libido’s quirk ruin Hawks’s mind that quickly the second his dick touches a pussy?

A moan was being ripped from your throat with every thrust as he upped the speed and force. He was showing no signs of stopping, and your thighs were beginning to cramp. The mixture of colorful pleasure and throbbing pains was making every inch of you shake. His fierce sounds were becoming distant—even with your legs on the verge of giving out and your back muscles crying, you welcomed the fog of bliss that was ready to carry you away.

Your poor legs finally crumpled like frail sticks, only for the frustrated animal behind you to lift your hips up until your entire body was on the desk, arms now dangling over the edge. There was only enough time to reposition your numbed limbs into a low doggy position before Hawks was climbing onto the desk himself, crouching over you and wasting no time in continuing his pummeling.

“Haw…ah…nngh…” Your feeble attempt to speak was quickly squandered. The new angle allowed him to easily strike your more sensitive spots, making your moans even louder. The desk jolted with each powerful jerk of his hips, the feral hero’s wings extending and flapping in sync with his thrusts, papers flying off the desk from the gusts of wind. Through all of the soreness and delightful trembles, you wondered what the current scene looked like to a spectator—the sight of this delirious bird beast, sounding a loud lustful tune of primal urges and carnal desires as he hysterically claimed you.

Your eyes roll back as the hot ripples in your core grow into pulsating waves, Hawks’s unwavering strokes prolonging the intoxicating climax as you quiver under him. You thought you heard a sound from the staggering desk—a snap—but your mind was too far gone at the moment to care.

Hawks tried desperately to keep pumping through your tightening walls, but your delicious grasp on him was draining his stamina. You were gripping the edge of his workspace for dear life, the orgasmic throbs still wracking your body as he rabbit fucked you, ready to fill your womb with the load that has been prepared since morning…

It all happened in slow motion...the sound of wood and metal breaking, the weightless feeling of falling...you had registered it all just a second too late. Your abused body dropped with the collapsing desk, Hawks’s weight crashing down on top of you while papers slowly floated toward the floor. Both of you laid there in agony, the chair somehow falling over and onto Hawks for added insult. A few groaned words revealed that the winged man was fully aware again.

“Augh, fuck…my balls.”

—————

Wednesday

“Here’s all of the completed paperwork, Hawks sir!”

Hawks beamed at the intern entering his office with a stack of papers. “Ah, thanks, Springer! You’re a real lifesaver, ya know that?”

The aspiring ‘Bouncing Hero’ hopped excitedly on his peculiar coiled legs as he handed over the documents. “Thank you, sir! I’m always here whenever I am needed.” He bowed respectfully. “Although, I just…forgive me for feeling the need to remind you, but please do not forget that I took this internship to do hero work, not to sort and fill papers.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget,” Hawks assured him, taking the cursed heap of papers. You were usually the one that he shoves all of his office-related tasks on, but whenever you were preoccupied, he would pass the burden onto a trainee that was too starry-eyed to acknowledge that they were being used. Yes, he feels a little bad, but his hatred of reading endless forms was too strong for him to care much. “I gotta test your patience and comprehension first, then I’ll be taking you out into the field with me. You’re doing great!” He bullshitted with a smile.

Springer perked up at the words. “Of course! I’ll keep doing my best!” His eyes kept drifting to the large empty space in the room. “Sir, what happened to your desk?”

Hawks looked over at the open spot, feigning surprise as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh, right. I banged my handler on it ’til it broke.”

“…”

The teen searched the man’s eyes for several long seconds, looking for something, before bursting into boisterous laughter. Hawks joined in with his own chuckles.

“You’re very funny, sir! But I don’t think she would appreciate such a joke. Whatever happened, I hope you get a replacement soon!” He bowed again before walking—well, more like skipping out of the room.

Hawks’s smile didn’t fade when he was alone again, wondering where to place the heavy stack in his hands.

Sometimes the truth makes for the best lie.

—————

Pleasing Hawks when he was a drooling horndog was a challenging test of endurance, but at least it was simple and straightforward. All you gotta do is let him mount you and brace yourself.

But that option was currently out of the question. Your entire body was just too damn stiff and sore, every single movement feeling like the impaired motions of an unoiled tinman. Nevertheless, you still needed to get rid of Hawks’s brand new boner.

So here you were, back at his bed and kneeling on the floor, shyly licking at the swollen rod in your hands. You weren’t the most experienced at this, paying close attention to his noises and responses that came with every action from your fingers and tongue. Hawks was watching your performance with an agitated glare, which was just a tad troubling and added extra pressure.

You licked the prominent vein on the underside of his dick, tracing it up to his bulging head before taking him into the hot cavern of your mouth. He groaned through painfully clenched teeth; he seemed to be enjoying it, yet it looked like his frustration was only growing.

Not yet deterred, you began to suck at him, head bobbing up and down while your hand jerked the extra inches that you couldn’t take in. Your other hand gently held and caressed his enlarged sack, heavy and full of cum that refused to be freed into your mouth. His cock was twitching wildly in your throat, so he has to be close, right? Ignoring the burning in your back and….everything else, honestly, you placed all of your focus on engulfing as much of him as you could, tongue swirling all around him until he inevitably gives in.

But a hand grabs your head and yanks you off of him with a wet surprised gasp.

“Stop…stop…it’s just getting worse.” He choked in a broken voice, staring down at the impossibly hard and red erection.

You wiped off the saliva that had run down your chin. “Why won’t you cum?”

His thighs trembled from all of the unreleased tension; you rubbed them to hopefully calm him just a bit. “Fuck, I…it’s like I can’t do it unless I’m…dammit!” The sudden beat of his angry wings spooked you.

You drew a deep breath. You really weren’t up for this, but leaving him in this state would be too cruel. Not to mention it was putting him in a very sour mood. Hoisting yourself onto the bed (with a few pained whimpers), you faced away from him and lowered your upper body to rest your arms, your ass raised and ready for him.

“You know, Keigo,” you started casually, as if you weren’t laid out in such a compromising position. “When I took this job, I imagined the countless situations I could possibly end up in. I was afraid I’d get caught in the middle of some villainous scheme, like a hostage situation. My silly fangirl side imagined going on dates with my favorite hero. The list of scenarios went on and on.”

The man behind you didn’t say anything, so you kept going. “And yet, ‘presenting myself to Hawks so that he can hump me senseless’ was not on that never-ending list.

He gave an awkward laugh, still sounding as if his throat was constricted. “You don’t have to, babe. I can…I dunno…”

“Just fuck me already.”

Hawks said no more and took hold of your rear. “I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try.”

He tried and failed. Once he penetrated you, he completely lost himself again. By the time he was satisfied, every fiber of your being was dimmed and immobilized. He helped you get tucked into bed that night.

—————

Thursday

“Please, sir. I’m quite concerned for my health. This would be easier if he was away from the excitement of his work.”

After mulling it over, you had decided to be the one to reach out to the deputy, since he didn’t seem interested in calling you again anytime soon. Your original plan was to brave through the fury of Hawks’s dick until this damn rut ended, just like the deputy intended without your say in the matter.

But when you had to visit the doctor for your pains today, and you walked out with a fucking crutch under your arm, you realized this was all a bit much.

At the moment, you were trying to negotiate for letting Hawks take at least a day or two away from work. The deputy didn’t seem convinced. “Hawks once managed to keep working for an entire day with a broken wing and no visits to the hospital, and you mean to tell me that he should rest just because he has the hormonal urges of a teenager?” His snobbish ass questioned.

“This is—!” You inhaled sharply through your nose, catching yourself and lowering your voice. “This is much stronger than that, sir. Without getting into detail, I have withstood some back-breaking nights.” You consider telling him about your recent hospital visit, but the remaining shreds of your pride wouldn’t allow you to share that. Even you didn’t want to believe that Hawks has literally fucked you until you couldn’t walk.

You heard him snort in your ear. Ugh. “Doesn’t sound like anything a steady dose of painkillers can’t fix,” he dismissed.

You gave up making him understand your suffering and tried something else. “Sir, Hawks has faithfully served the Commission since he was a child. He has become one of the most accomplished heroes this generation has ever seen. His skills and dedication have done nothing but help the Commission become a more positive icon all over Japan. Don’t you think such a loyal and hard-working hero deserves at least one day off?”

“No.”

Well, shit. “…Alright, um, thank you for taking the time to hear me. I’ll get back to my duties.”

“Yes, that would be great,” he said listlessly before hanging up.

What an asshole.

—————

“What happened?”

Hawks’s words carry a dangerous tone when he sees you enter his office with the help of your walking aid. It makes you pause.

Going by the sharp yet troubled look in his eyes, you could tell that the tone wasn’t directed at you. ‘Did someone hurt you?’ That’s what he was really asking. His concern always warmed you. “Nothing, I just…” You hate reminding yourself that this even happened. “The pains were getting really bad.”

It takes a minute for those words to sink in, then his eyes widen in some sort of amazement. “Oh.” A flurry of feathers fly off of his wings and form a small floating cushion in front of you. “There, have a seat. Don’t want you hurting anymore than you already do.”

You eye the levitating seat before approaching and lowering yourself onto it. It was like a soft yet firm pillow, and you didn’t miss how the feathers seemed to all shiver, red barbs shaking rapidly as you adjusted your rump.

“Thank you,” you said while resting the crutch onto your lap. Once you were comfortable, you looked at the hero and the brand new furniture between the both of you. “I like your new desk.”

“Thanks. This one is pure steel, much more durable.” He winked.

You return it with a roll of your eyes. “Wonderful. Anyhow, I want to discuss a local hero event coming in two weeks. Your presence would do well to—” you noticed that he was snickering, lips pursed in a strained effort not to fully laugh. “Did I say something funny?”

He shook his head while short amused breaths still escaped him. “I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting and all, but…” He was cackling now, hunching over the desk as he struggled to explain. “I can’t believe I put you in crutches!”

Your face burned with both embarrassment and anger at how hilarious he found the situation. “Hawks…”

He coughed and noisily cleared his throat. “Sorry, I promise to keep it in my pants from now on.” A mischievous grin was plastered on his face. “I mean, I don’t wanna put you in a wheelchair next!”

With a wheeze and happily flailing wings, Hawks keeled over onto the desk with his face buried in his arms, the laughs muffled but still going strong. You just watch with a frown, listening to his mumbled joke about how ‘once you go hawk, you won’t be able to walk’.

What an asshole.

—————

Saturday

Hawks was definitely getting better. You could tell with each passing day, taking mental notes on how he was having an easier time holding your gaze, or how he was able to stay close to you without growing in his pants. Thank god, because your body was still recovering. Another round of wild sex will only cripple you further.

That’s why the incident currently being reviewed on television was filling you with dread. You sat in the main room of Hawks’s house, the house that you practically lived in for nearly a week, watching coverage of the recent attack at the Fukuoka City Mall. The footage of various species of birds flying into the shopping center and swarming the unsuspecting civilians was almost comical, the colorful animals squawking loudly as they snatched every shiny valuable in sight.

A man with the head of a macaw, apparently going by the villain name of Parakill, stood at the center of the chaos, chirping excitedly as his fowl goons showered him in jewels and baubles. His robbery was cut short when small red blurs whizzed into the scene, pinning the criminal onto the floor and chasing around the army of birds until they surrendered their stolen goods. You weren’t prepared for the deafening chorus of tweets and shrieks when the winged hero stepped into the camera’s line of sight.

The restrained villain was cawing and screeching angrily, most likely commanding his birds. You couldn’t see Hawks’s face clearly due to the distance and quality, but you could still make out the intimidating glare as his wings slowly spread out into their full span, each individual feather looking slightly sharpened. Any bird that made a move was quickly poked with a red quill, each and every one of them eventually staying in place while uttering quiet submissive peeps. Parakill’s look of rage slowly morphed into one of fear. Once the danger was surely dealt with, Hawks called for any lingering citizens to leave the area while he retrieved the villain.

You were still in awe as the news switched to another story. Some sort of dominance was asserted there. You weren’t sure how, but it definitely happened. The worrying part was that tapping into his primal instincts like that has probably riled him up. Christ, he’s probably rushing over right now to fuck you into the mattress again.

Only about thirty minutes had passed when you hear the twist of the doorknob and the front door opening. You stand in anxious anticipation. How disheveled and hungry is he going to look? Is he going to jump you on sight?

But the Hawks that walks in is…composed, his face free of tension and layers of sweat as he spots you and offers a friendly smile. “Sup.”

You’re too stunned to give anything more than a “Hey” as he walks past you and heads for his room.

It’s a miracle. No sexual excitement after such a tense encounter with not only a villain, but another male bird mutant? Was he truly getting that much better? There wasn’t enough certainty to approach him while he was changing, so you stayed on the couch and stared at the large screen until he chose to come out on his own.

You were still channel surfing by the time he was strutting over in his loose and comfy clothes, plopping down onto the couch with a wing outstretched and tucking itself behind your back. You gulped—not sure what he had planned for you.

“Relax. You’re acting like I’m gonna eat you,” he teased, watching you flip through the TV’s guide.

“You’re not? I can’t be too sure after what happened today.” You turned to him, watching his keen golden eyes shift and meet yours. The gaze wasn’t glassy. It wasn’t predatory. “You really feel alright?”

“Haven’t felt this good in the past two weeks. It’s nice to be a civil human again.”

You relaxed a bit and shuffled in your seat, fully aware of how his wing was wrapped around your shoulder like an affectionate arm. “About the attack at the mall…” You began. “What exactly was happening there?”

“What, you mean what I did to the birds? Parakill was trying to sic them on me.” He straightened up with a grinning face that radiated pride. “So I rearranged the pecking order. His birds don’t answer to him anymore.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You didn’t. You can do that?”

“Sure can! It’s not that hard. I mean, don’t think that I have a bunch of attack birds at my command now. Animal control took them in to be relocated, not to mention some of them were illegal exotics.”

“Ah, that’s…impressive.”

“Heh, remember this, babe,” he leaned in until his lips were grazing your ear, his lowered voice and hot breath making you shudder. “I’m always the top bird.”

You shake off his flirting and try to keep your composure. “Right, of course. I’m just really glad that you’re getting better.”

His wing pulled you in for a tight hug that made you squeak. “All thanks to my sweet hen of a handler. Couldn’t have gotten through this without you.” He heard your pained grunts and instantly released you. “Whoops, sorry.”

You rolled your stiff shoulders and sighed. “It’s fine. You’re not the only one who’s getting better. Just do me a favor and try to forget that I was ever this sore from sex.”

Hawks laughed softly as he took your hands in his. The gesture surprised you after experiencing days of rough and impatient touches. “Hey,” he was almost whispering, forcing you to lean in closer to hear him. “It’s been a wild week. My mind’s been all over the place and I’ve put you through a lot. And…” He looked away with his brows pinched in a pained expression, troubled over something you didn’t know about. Before you could ask, his face drew closer, until your foreheads were pressed together. “Mind if I do one more thing with you?”

You were completely lost. You didn’t understand the sudden tenderness, his somber mood, or why he was talking with some sort of finality to his words.

“Let me take you to bed.”

The fuck?

“Keigo,” you leaned away from him, paying no mind to how you already missed his warm closeness. “I said I was getting better, but I’m not that much better.”

He shook his head, bringing your hands closer to his chest. “No, not like that. Just…I wanna do this properly with you for once. Some nice, regular sex. Hell, doesn’t even have to be full-on sex, I just want to…feel you.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Feel me?” You repeated.

He nodded eagerly with a big-ass smile. The normally cheeky young man was acting so genuine right now.

It was hard to say no to that.

“Alright.”

Hawks said no more, pulling you up on your feet and taking you to the room you both have shared for several nights. He was quick in removing your clothes, peeling each article off smoothly before doing the same to his own. The mood felt so different from your other intimate meetups that you couldn’t help but feel modest all over again.

Calloused hands were gently pushing you down onto your back, and you watch as the handsome man above opens up his wings, his eyes closed as if entering a trance.

“Whenever we fucked, I never felt like I was really there,” he recalled out loud, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen. “I could feel you, see you, hear you, but it’s like my body was moving on its own. I was in the backseat of my own head.”

With a deep inhale and exhale, he stared down at you with a look of desire, but not the savage kind. You’re not quite sure what it was…maybe the look of a lover.

Fingers traced your face, trailing down your cheek, brushing your lips, and skimming over your well-marked neck. “Now I finally get to feel you however I want.”

Your breath caught in your throat when his lips made contact with the flesh right over your pulse, planting a few light kisses before mouthing at your neck, the random swipe of a tongue making you gasp.

His open wings twitched in response at the small sound. He was trying to savor every single one of your reactions. That’s intense.

He was in no rush, mouth moving down slowly and stopping to observe the bruise near your shoulder. “Damn, I bit you hard. That’s…when we were in the office, right?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t as painful as a fully grown man falling on top of me after ramming me through a desk.”

Hawks chuckled at the memory while rolling your breast around in his hands. “Man, that really crushed my nuts. I swear my voice was a pitch higher for the rest of the night.” He laughed into your tits, licking at the squishy mounds as he took in each of your shivers and moans.

“Maybe, but that was probably just from you crying about how you could no longer give me chicks.” Yeah, that was a weird time.

“Shh, that didn’t happen,” he denied.

“Yes, it did. I had to hold you as you sobbed.”

“Lies.”

“You were worse than I’ve ever been on my perio—ah!” A bite on your nipple silenced you.

Hawks shot you a playful glare, daring you to say more. When your mouth stayed shut, he gave a satisfied purr and sucked at the same perky bud, soothing the sting before moving on to the other.

You felt relaxed; this was all so much calmer than what you have gotten used to. While you won’t deny that his feral side was as pleasurable as it was tiring, at least you can finally take the time to breathe and soak up what he’s doing. Judging from his vibrating feathers, he probably felt the same.

He licked down your stomach while his hands ran down your sides until they reached the purple finger-shaped blemishes on your hips. He winced at the sight. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.”

He nurtured the marks with his mouth, careful not to apply too much pressure and cause any pain.

“You don’t have to be so delicate,” you hesitantly tell him. “The day you were under the quirk’s influence, you uh, you were doing the same to the bruises on my back…felt kind of good.”

His lips curved into a devilish smile. “Oh, so you like a little pain? My innocent little hen?”

“Shut up,” you said with a blush. “It’s your fault that I’ve felt everything but innocent lately.”

“True, true. I didn’t mean to open you up to the wonderful world of rough play.” His mouth closes around a bruise and sucks hard, shooting a sharp pleasurable burn that traveled straight down to your core. “Ooooh, I felt that.”

You can only whimper as he laps at the sensitive area, but part of you wants him to bring that scary jolt of pain again.

“I wanna know,” he says between licks. “Just how much did you enjoy me letting loose on you? How many times did we do it the first day?”

A few more kisses are laid on your hips before he continues his descent. Your breath quickens in nervous excitement when he nestles his head between your legs, face dangerously close to your hot sex.

“Come on, hen. At least give me a guess.” He turns to your thighs and showers them with timid pecks.

The sheets beneath you crinkle under your death grip. “Don’t know…lost count after the seventh time,” you admit through gritted teeth.

“Aww, what a shame,” his mouth wanders further inside your thigh. “Do you know how many times you came?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

He bit into you and enjoyed the resulting yelp. “Mmmm, definitely a lot. Enough to knock you out. So sad that neither of us remember just how thoroughly I wrecked you.”

His naughty lips are just an inch away from your nether ones, your breath quickening in anticipation. Hawks looks up at you, most likely enjoying the view of your heaving chest. But he does well in reminding you how much of a bastard he is by switching to your other thigh, subjecting you to another round of kisses.

“Keigooo,” you whine pathetically, feeling your aches as your muscles tense from the teasing.

“Hold on, I’ve got more questions. What was your favorite position?”

“What?”

“Come on, you’ve got plenty to choose from,” he licks the sweat that was beginning to coat your skin.

Both your embarrassment and his tongue were making it very difficult to answer. You stammer over your words while his mouth moves inward, but once again, he stops at your mound.

“You really can’t think of one?” He gives you a ridiculously sad face—large puppy eyes and a puckered bottom lip—it would have looked more innocent if he wasn’t so close to your most private area.

You realize that he wasn’t going to take any further action until you gave him an answer. “I…when I’m on my hands and knees…” You swallow despite the dryness of your throat. “…and you’re on top of me…”

“Ah,” he sighs, and you feel his thumbs part your outer lips like a damp pair of curtains. He stares down at the pussy that he has battered more times than either of you can count, and yet it drips for him even now. The feel of a single finger running down your wetness makes your entire body jerk. “You like it when I mount you like a dog?”

“Yes,” you choke.

He blows on your quivering cunt. “What do you like about it so much?”

“I…you…I don’t…”

“Do you just love feeling like an animal too? Love it when a crazed horny guy humps you into the floor?” He finally indulges you with a long lick from your hole to your clit, and the hot muscle already has you moaning. “Is that it?”

“Ah…maybe…” You answer, and he rewards you with another lick. Listening to his questions was becoming a challenge.

“Hmm, would you love it if I fucked you until my bed gives out? You’re a pretty expensive girl to mess around with,” he jokes. He then dives in, sloppily making out with your folds that have been begging for more gentle attention for days.

Your head thrashes against the pillow. His licks and sucks were both pleasurable and soothing against your beaten pussy. You were finally freed from his powerful stare when he closed his eyes and fully concentrated on eating you out. He alternated between sucking loudly on your velvety folds and lapping at your opening, sometimes dipping his tongue inside so that he can feel your walls attempt to grab him.

The building pressure in your belly has become an old friend at this point, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t excited whenever it arrived and begged it to explode and bring you back to that lovely state of euphoria. Hawks’s mouth was moving more fervently as he drank in more of your juices, as if your nectar was intoxicating him. His deep moans rattled your insides while he smacked his wet lips against every inch of your womanhood, giving your swollen clit a smooch before sucking hard.

“Mm…oh god…Keigo, please…”

He growled with your bud still in his mouth, blinding you with the electrifying pleasure that was only enhanced by the sudden intrusion of two fingers in your throbbing cavern. The slow inner massage guided you to the top where stars burst in your vision, each orgasmic throb bringing forth a shameless moan. The stimulated wings fluttered from the overwhelming pleasure surrounding them, Hawks giving light licks and kisses until you were back down to earth.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said breathlessly, as if he was the one that just got sent to heaven. “You felt amazing, so nice and clear.” His wings finally folded behind his back as he straightened himself and wiped his glistening face.

You were ready to drift away into a happy slumber until you saw Hawks move to get off the bed and spotted the very familiar hardness that was bobbing with his movements. “Wait! You’re…” Your eyes dart from his face to his erection.

“Don’t worry about that; fapping works again!” he told you cheerfully before changing to a devious smirk. “What, did you wanna watch or something?”

“No,” you snapped a bit more loudly than intended. “I…want you inside of me.”

He froze.

“You sure?”

“Very.”

He crawled back between your legs—clearly trying not to look too eager—and was already aiming his cock at your opening. Your nod of approval was all he needed to push inside and damn, that was one hell of a face and moan he made.

You reflexively braced yourself for an immediate pounding, but the throbbing length just stayed there, twitching in response to every pulse from your surrounding walls. Hawks appeared absolutely fascinated by the sight of him sheathed inside of you before looking up to your face, eyes filled with a warm lust, not the unfocused kind that you have gotten used to.

He pulled out slowly and pushed back in at the same speed. “Ooooh, fuck, baby. So hot…so tight…” He murmured with a broken groan. The lazy thrusts allowed you to feel every inch of him stretch you, his veins rubbing against you for added texture and stimulation. Your hypersensitive pussy appreciated the easy pace, and even better, it was also working for the hero above you.

His hips gradually sped up overtime, but never into something rough and aggressive. It was more like a grind, his abs rippling with every deep push. His flushed face has gotten dangerously close to yours, allowing you to watch the pulsating pupils of his avian eyes.

The only time he ‘kissed’ you was on the first day, though a more appropriate description would be that he simply smashed his mouth against yours. Now, as you stared at his parted lips while hot breaths blew onto your face, you had a strong desire to finally give him a proper one.

Good thing Hawks was a damn mind reader, because he brought his lips down to yours right after you finished the thought. They were soft, softer than you expected from a guy that flew at high speeds all day. Then again, he was also a sex symbol that needed to take care of himself.

His mouth was clearly more skilled than yours, so you let him take the lead, lips molding perfectly against yours with playful licks. The added intimacy sped up his hips and raised his volume, his entire mouth engulfing yours as he moaned into you. Your tongue found his and engaged in a frantic dance. He’s tensing up; you give him some encouragement by wrapping your arms and legs around his sweaty form, giving the base of his wings a few rubs. Your mouths part to catch your breaths, a strand of saliva linking your tongues together

“Cum inside me, Keigo.”

“Oh fuck.” Your words have him pumping erratically into you, but you’ve dealt with worse. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, whimpering at your legs that keep him locked in place and urging him to release his creamy essence as deep inside you as possible.

His trembles are powerful, but even better were the cracked whines vibrating against your neck as he emptied himself into your womb. You never get tired of watching his wings lifelessly drop whenever he wears himself out. You cradle his spent body—it’s all so similar to the first time he took you, except this time he moves just a little to the side to relieve you of some of his weight. He doesn’t move you for another round, he just relaxes into your cuddles.

“Thanks,” he says softly, already close to dozing off.

You’re not sure what exactly he’s thanking you for, but it makes you smile anyway. “You’re welcome.”

A wing stretches over you as a blanket, the warm soft feathers doing well to pull you into dreamland as well. Hawks’s heavy breaths tell you that he was already out.

You close your eyes. It looks like you both managed to survive the worst rut of Hawks’s life. This sure as hell wasn’t what you signed up for, but looking back, it wasn’t that bad. Except for the crutch. The crutch never happened.

As sleep claimed you, you wondered what the future had in store for you and the winged hero.

—————

Monday

“I just got fired.”

Hawks flinched at the news, scratching at his back awkwardly. “Aww man, that’s…oof, what a shocker.”

For some reason, his surprise didn’t sound very real. But you were way too upset at the moment to question it further. “Well, I guess it’s more like a demotion. They’re still allowing me into a position I have more experience in. It’s probably back to desk work for me,” You sighed, pacing back and forth across the office in a desperate attempt to expel some of your anger. “But I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that he basically kept me around to be your fucking fleshlight, and then threw me away after you were satisfied!”

Hawks shrugged with an apologetic look. “It really sucks, babe. You can’t forget: the real studs are the Commission. No one fucks more people than them. A lot of us are a one-time use to those guys. I’m just lucky enough to have a longer expiration date than most. Or unlucky. I dunno.”

You didn’t either, honestly. Hawks deserved better. “They’re such assholes, yet here I am ready to keep working for them. I so badly want to say ‘fuck you’ and leave, but…” You trailed off.

Hawks finished your sentence with a smirk. “They pay too well?”

Your head lowers in shame. “Yeah.”

A wing pats you on the back as he laughs. “I’m not judging, angel. That’s probably what keeps most of the guys around.” He steps closer to you, gently taking your chin to tilt your head back up. “I’m gonna miss you though. Whoever they send to watch my ass next isn’t going to be half as fun as you.”

The comment warms you. You take his hand and pull it further up to your face, letting him cup your cheek. “Thanks, but I was pretty bad at the job. They would have kicked me down sooner or later.”

He came in closer. “True, you sucked. But you’re the first handler I got to know so well. Inside and outside.” His chuckle is hot against you before he locks his lips to yours. The kiss becomes more heated than expected—he’s tugging at your lip and thrusting his tongue in and out of your mouth in a way that makes your thighs press together. You tear yourself away from his face, breathless.

“Hawks…?”

His tongue slowly runs over his upper lip. Goddamn. “Sorry, little hen. I was just hoping you’d like a nice goodbye gift. I can give you more, if you want.”

You’re so pissed off at yourself for throbbing in response to his offer.

He pulls you back in and takes hold of the waistband of your pants. “How about it? Wanna get to know my new desk a little better?”

The sounds resonating from the office that morning scarred Springer.

#bnha #smut #hawks #keigo takami #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader

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mxvladdy · 4 years

Text

Sleep HCs

It’s a sleepy day for me and by doggo so here are some sleep head cannons of the brothers bc why not.

Lucifer

Is a stomach or side sleeper. Not because he likes it but out of necessity. His back still irritates him, so when he actually schedules some shut eye he preps meticulously.

He bathes before hand, usually soaking in a mix of muscle relaxers to help release some of the tension from the work day and to help with his nerve damage. His favorite scents are lavender and a blend of spearmint. They make him a little drowsy and soften his perpetual headache.

His bed is very nest-like. Pillows and blankets meticulously placed to help him stay in one place while he rests. Too much tossing and turning irritates him. He likes feeling cocooned and tight. It is a self soothing mechanism he developed over his first few years in the devildom.

But this is all when he actually has time to sleep for more than a few hours.

Most of his sleeping is little naps thrown in over the work week. On average he gets about 14-18 hours a week. It’s enough (so he says but he is a cantankerous bastard regardless so it’s hard to tell for sure)

He sleeps like the dead, hands down corpse like. But don’t let that fool you, he doesn’t sleep like the dead. He is up and moving the moment he hears something that sounds like trouble.

Runs cold. Has fancy silk pajama sets. A gift from Diavolo.

His mattress is extra firm.

Mammon

Back and side sleeper. He has a bed- but he uses it mostly as an extension to his wardrobe. Let's be real. He’s a messy guy. He normally crashes on his couch after a wild weekend bender.

He moves a lot in his sleep, kicking, tossing and turning. An absolute tangle of limbs and clothes. Like Lucifer he has a few scars and old injuries that twinge and hurt when he lays on them. Not that it stops him.

He sleeps like the dead, tossing and turning and all. Short of someone dragging him off his couch or touching goldie he doesn’t wake up.

Snores and drools-will not admit it but when he stumbles out of his room looking like a hot mess, crusty eyes and bedraggled hair you know he had a great sleep.

He doesn’t have a set sleeping schedule. He goes until he crashes- like the energizer bunny.

Sleeps with one body pillow. Likes the feel of having something draping or touching him in his sleep. Reminds him of when he would fall asleep with his brothers after a long day of training and studying in the celestial realm.

Runs hot so he likes to sleep in his boxers and a tank top.

His mattress is medium firm

Leviathan

Does he sleep? The world may never know.

Between the energy drinks he practically IV drips into his veins and he determination to power though another level he doesn’t remember when he sleeps.

He just blacks out. A blink turns into a twelve hour coma.

His tub is comfy as hell and everybody knows it. It cradles him when he sleeps, blankets and pillows are now molded to his shape.

He washes his tub lining often. He really likes the smell of citrus and musk. Whenever the smell begins to dissipate he’ll toss it all in the wash. Minus his novelty pillows. Those get dry cleaned or spot cleaned.

He’s a side sleeper. Once he’s settled he ain’t moving.

Though since he doesn’t plan to sleep 80% of the time he passes out at his desk. But can you blame him? I bet he has a super cozy gaming chair and pillow.

Runs cold. Cocoons himself in mounds of blankets. Snake burrito.

He doesn’t have a mattress but the mound of pillows and blankets is the equivalent of a medium soft mattress

Satan

Probably has the most normal sleep schedule. He has a set wind down time and lights out time too.

Does he keep to it? I mean- it’s the thought that counts. If he is wrapped up in a good book or research time just gets the better of him.

He has his bed nestled up against the one window of his room that isn’t covered in books or shelves

Uses the eternal moonlight to read. Drifts off most evenings with a book slipping down his chest.

Sleeps propped up on a poof or reading pillow. Doesn’t like things covering him. He runs hot so his pajamas are enough for him.

Needs the least amount of sleep out of all the brothers. He loves that. Means he can read and do more without it hampering his mood.

Very light sleeper any shift he does in his sleep wakes him up. But he normally falls right back to sleep.

His mattress is firm

Asmodeus

Scheduled down to the minute. If he doesn’t get his nine hours of sleep be prepared for a scene.

Starts getting ready for bed about two hours before he actually falls asleep. Hot bath, oils, new face mask to try, the works. School can be stressful you know? And six brothers? It’s a miracle he doesn’t have wrinkles yet.

He keeps his bedroom tidy and always smelling good. Needless clutter messes with him and makes it hard for him to fall asleep.

Has a noise machine and an oil diffuser on when he sleeps. Even if he's in bed he knows his brothers aren't so it helps mute them so he can sleep.

Sleeps in the nude. He doesn't run hot or cold but he likes to sleep in a cooler room. Helps shrink the pores or something like that.

His bed is large but sparse. He really only needs his silk sheets and a thin cover. He has a few bolster pillows and poofs on the bed but really he doesn't sleep with pillows.

Is a back sleeper and- no one will tell him this on fear of death but he is an ugly sleeper.

Mouth open, limbs akimbo, soft little snores and snorts. It’s cute, whether or not he thinks so.

His mattress is soft

Beelzebub

Tries to have a good sleep schedule. It’s imperative to keeping up a healthy body after all.

But he gets so hungry. He gorges himself when he starts to feel tired in hopes that he can sleep a few hours before getting up for a midnight (or anytime snack)

He drinks a lot of tea actually right before bed. It makes him sleepy and fills up his stomach.

He sleeps on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his pillow. Another one that sleeps in the buff too. He is a night sweater too.

He only started covering himself for bed when you started living with them. It’s only polite.

Gets about 2 to 3 hours at a time with a snack break in between.

He doesn’t have a lot of pillows mostly because he has eaten them while dreaming. Constantly buying new pillows adds up ya know?

He doesn’t toss and turn but he does roll over once or twice in the night.

Dead silent when he sleeps. He just emits a deep rumble when he snoozes. From his chest or his stomach. It’s a 50/50 split.

His mattress is medium firm

Belphegor

Ha.

The king of sleep. The lord of stealth sleeping. It’s become a sport to him now. How many sleeping nooks can he find around R.A.D so Lucifer’s blood pressure spikes looking for him. His highest score is 37.

If he could sleep with his eyes open he would. But he can’t and he hates it.

He likes to sleep during the school day. It’s a mix of protesting this dumb idea and so that he can stay up at night when everything is nice and quiet.

It doesn’t matter to him where or how he sleeps. As long as he can curl up around something soft he is happy.

Likes it dark and very snug when he’s sleeping. A very still sleeper. Once he’s comfy he locks in place.

Murmurs in his sleep. Little disjointed things. You can have a full fledged conversation with him. He’ll give you little grunts and sighs in response.

If he does get to his room before falling asleep he buries himself in blankets to the point where you can't figure out if he is in there or not. (Kinda like those lizards that bury themselves in sand, same motion and everything.)

Again doesn’t care where he sleeps but his mattress is soft.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Written for Jurdan Week 2020, hosted by @jurdannet | Day 4- Song Crossover (Adore You by Harry Styles requested by @mysweetvilllain )

Chapter Rating: M

CW: mature themes, explicit descriptions, vulgar language, eventual explicit content.

Summary: Two vindictive assholes. One shitty apartment. And a vow to get under each other’s skin. Stuck in hate together twenty-four-seven, this can only end in a crime of passion.

Next Chapter | Fine Line Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 1- Adore You (Verse 1)

[Cardan POV]

The minute I walk into the kitchen, I know I’m fucked.

She’s sitting there on one of my bar stools, at my island counter, eating my strawberries straight out of the plastic container. I say “my” because I’m still in denial that I have to share this shit-hole with anyone. Especially her.

When I put the ad up online, I was skint and desperate. I would’ve taken anyone short of a serial killer, really, but I was hoping for normal. Or at the very least, boring. It’s just my luck that the only person who responded to the ad was someone so insufferable.

We were civil with each other for all of a day. Three weeks had me almost driven to moving out. Me. Moving out of my own damn apartment because even that is easier than living with Jude Duarte.

That’s when corona hit, so I guess I’m stuck.

It’s been a fortnight of isolation. Putting up with her unmitigated bullshit. Her ceaseless presence and mulish disposition. Our constant butting heads.

On a good day, I give myself over to the ashen taste of resignation. On the bad ones, I want to throw myself down the stairs just so I can spend the night in hospital.

Anyways, I’m fucked because my wretched flatmate is sitting there in her baggy black sweatpants and oversized hoodie. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, giving me a plain view of those stupid rainbow socks she’s always wearing. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Everything about her sets off a tick in my jaw.

Except the way she eats strawberries.

Her full pink lips wrap around one now and—fucking hell. I swear my cock twitches. When she sinks her teeth in, those lips come away red-stained and glistening. A line of juice dribbles down her chin as she chews. Then, she pops the stem into her mouth and eats that, too.

I find myself imagining her on her knees, strawberry lips wrapped around something else of mine. The way the back of her throat would feel as I ram into her mouth—

I blink. My lip curls. I need coffee, and maybe a cold shower.

The former is closest, so I stop standing in the doorway like the twat that I am, and walk into the kitchen. Thankfully, she’s got earphones in and is so immersed in whatever the fuck she does on her laptop all day that she hasn’t noticed my blatant ogling.

If she notices me at all, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Good. It’s better this way. The less we talk the less we end up screaming at each other. It’s only happened twice. The neighbors came round both times.

I pull a mug and the instant coffee down from a shelf.

It irks me. Just last night, I was standing in this very spot, doing everything in my power not to lose my shit after finding a pile of her dirty dishes in the sink. For the third time this week. She always says “they’re soaking”, and I always end up doing them later anyway, because I can’t stand the mess.

She does things like that a lot. Dishes and crumbs and wrappers. Stealing my food. A week ago I found a pizza crust jammed in between the cushions of the sofa. She denies all accountability, of course.

Not to mention, she sets her alarms for the ass crack of dawn. She’s such a heavy sleeper that I’m invariably wide awake well before she is, listening to the incessant shrill of her phone through the walls as she hits snooze, over and over.

I’m certainly not without my faults, of course. I know she hates me just as much as I hate her. She’s told me as much. Which is why I’m miffed that suddenly, without any warning, I want to fuck her into the kitchen counter.

There’s a spoon in the drying rack and I use it to stir my coffee.

Nicasia hated me, I think to myself. She loved me once, but she hated me for a while before she did anything about it. Then, I stop. Because I don’t want to uncork that bottle today. Point is, maybe it’s not completely out of left field. To want someone right when they’re giving you the very least of their attention.

I tap the spoon against the lip of my mug. Usually, I’d retreat back to my bedroom at this point. Instead, I throw the spoon in the sink and turn around to lean against the counter.

She’s still sitting at the island, honed in on her computer. I can hear the thin, metallic wail of a guitar coming from her earphones. She bobs her head slightly to the beat.

It’s not as if she isn’t attractive. In her own, unique way.

She’s strong. If I didn’t hear her pummeling that blasted punching bag she’s got hanging in her room every night, I’d have known she boxed just by the way she looks. She’s got a fighter’s build about her. It lives in her shoulders, in the barrel of her chest. As if every line of her was made bold and unyielding. With intention.

Again, I have to stop my own wandering thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my dead end job that has me editing bad romance novels for a living is starting to go to my head.

It pays the bills until it doesn’t. And then it rots my brain. Maybe I should quit.

Still, I tell myself it’s the quarantine talking. That if I wasn’t trapped in here with her, I wouldn’t find anything about her attractive. That I’d probably be willing to whore myself out for one cigarette right about now. And I don’t even smoke.

But then she looks up at me, mid-bite. Those honey-brown eyes are wild. They threaten to cut straight through me. She squints, accusatory. Chews her bite, slow. Swallows.

My mouth goes dry as the fucking Sahara.

“What are you staring at?” she demands, glare blazing.

Apparently, I’m in the mood to walk that fire, because I take a sip of my coffee and say, smug as I can, “You.”

Sometimes, it’s better to be completely honest with Jude. The truth always seems to appall her far more than any lie ever could. As if she expects everyone to be deceiving. Or maybe it’s just that my truths are so outrageous to her that she doesn’t believe them.

I wouldn’t blame her there. I can hardly admit to this truth, myself. Whether she believes me or not, though, it gets under her skin.

“Right,” she scoffs. “Is it because I’m pretty? Is it because you like me so much?” She bats her lashes at me, mocking. I am stunned by the fact that, for a moment, I wish it was real. That I’d gladly lose myself in that look if it came from her eyes in earnest.

Then I shake my head. I sound like the biggest shit-for-brains. It’ll take more than a few eyelash flutters to make me surrender.

“Oh, no,” I say, trying to match her taunting tone, “I don’t like you. I adore you.”

That makes Jude roll her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You’re probably plotting ways to stick me in my sleep or something. Fucking psychopath.”

It’s that last part that makes me take a step toward the island, lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter so I’m nearly in her space. She doesn’t draw back. Just gives me a scathing look from over the top of her screen.

“If I’m ever depraved enough to stick you,” I tell her, smirking, “I guarantee you won’t be sleeping, love.” Which may come off as anything from perverted to downright murderous, but I don’t care. The face she makes is worth it.

It’s all jaw dropped, vicious gaze, blush creeping into her cheeks like red smoke. I’ve never challenged her before. It makes her look at me like she despises me. Like the only thing she’ll ever do is despise me. I don’t know why that eggs me on, but it does.

“Would you look at that,” I hum, “You’ve got the face about right, too.”

Her nostrils flare. Jaw sets. There’s a lovely shade of puce coming up on her already heated cheeks. She’s absolutely livid, and I can taste it in the air between us. It’s like static on my tongue.

That’s when something cold and slimy hits me dead between the eyes. Jude’s half-eaten strawberry plops to the counter. I’m so surprised I almost laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says with as much derision as I feel coursing through me.

Part of me wants to give into that anger. Sling a string of curses at her. Throw the strawberry right back in her face. Those things won’t annoy her half as much as what I actually do.

Keeping an unbothered expression, I pluck the strawberry off the countertop and pop it right into my mouth. Stem and all. I lick my fingers for good measure. All while keeping direct eye contact with the little menace sitting across from me. Her gaze flits to my lips. So I swipe my tongue over them. She blinks.

“Delicious,” I say.

She looks just the right amount of scandalised for me to straighten, take my coffee back up in one hand, and saunter out of the kitchen. I don’t say anything about the strawberries. Or how stealing isn’t a very good exercise in courtesy.

We’ve never been courteous with one another, anyway.

When I’m back in my room I lean against the closed door and scrub a hand over my face. My heartbeat is raging since I did not.

Sometimes, I think the irritating things she does are all on purpose. Just to get under my skin. I rarely give her the satisfaction of knowing it works, but I don’t like letting her trample all over me, either. It gives me an oily feeling. Like I’m back to being under someone else’s thumb, and I hate it.

But that—whatever that was—felt more like fighting back than I ever thought I’d have the balls to do. I feel more alive now than I’ve felt in months.

Maybe that makes me a bastard. C’est la fucking vie.

I start shucking off my clothes, throwing them into the hamper in the corner, one by one. My bedroom is mercifully en suite. If I wanted to, I could live in here for days at a time without leaving.

I don’t know why I ever bother.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I stand there under the cold stream, I think about how dangerous it is, this game I’ve entered. Flirting with Jude to get a rise out of her is one thing. That’s clear cut. A direct retaliation.

It’s another thing entirely if part of why I’m doing it is to take the edge off of my own perversions. I mean, what kind of sick fuck has sex fantasies about someone they hate? Someone they’re stuck in isolation with, twenty-four-seven, for the foreseeable future? Someone who hates their guts, too, and could probably easily take them out if it came to physical blows?

I guess that sick fuck would be me.

It’s a fine line to walk but there’s no turning back. I’ve already begun.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So I guess I’m hopping on the quarantine fic bandwagon 😅 this is definitely not what I expected to come out of this song crossover prompt, but I kind of like it? It’s (very loosely) based off of Adore You by Harry Styles- the threads are there if you look for them 😉

I’m planning on making this a 12 part series (one chapter for each song on Fine Line) so if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this, or to my Jurdan Forever tag list, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you!

-Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Fine Line (album) by Harry Styles, Adore You (song) by Harry Styles

Tag List: @velarhysismine @knifewifejude @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @clockworkgraystairs @thesirenwashere @judexcardanxgreenbriar @nite0wl29 @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @whocares-idont @babycardan @mysweetvilllain @aesthetics-11 @storiesandschemes @jurdanhell @poeticbrownmermaid @thechainofiron @random-llama-socks @villanellevi @lady-thea-of-narnia @b00kworm @flowersinvegas @vanessa172003 @cardanstrickytail @queen-of-glass @doingmyrainbow

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Fine Line Masterlist

Masterlist

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sleekervae · 4 years

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The Neighbour [0.1]

Masterlist

Everything had played out like the rising action in a horror movie. And before the whole world's eyes, life on Earth had slowed to a snail-like crawl. Covid 19 was ravaging through cities and countries faster than a salmonella outbreak at a restaurant even Gordon Ramsay couldn't attempt to save. It was terrifying to watch, and even more terrifying to see work and interaction dry up so quickly. Especially for those who relied on social interaction to stay sane.

Luckily for Remington, he happened to be stuck with his brother when quarantine measures went into full effect.

It was no big deal living with Emerson, if anything, it was relatively more calm with two out of the three of them sharing a space. Sebastian and Larissa were staying well and safe in their own house, popping by now and again at the gate to check in on his little brothers. No doubt, it sucked. The album was pushed back, the tour called off, the only thing keeping the hype for 'The Bastards' release was social media.

At least Remington had comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have to endure this quarantine alone. Living in his own house all by himself, he'd probably drive himself up the wall and find himself hanging off the rafters (literally).

Tuesday morning was bright and warm, as they tended to be in LA. Emerson was sat comfortably at the kitchen table, drinking his usual cup of tea and reading the depressing headlines coming out of the news. Pepper was curled up at his feet, snoring softly and her little marshmallow body rising steadily. The neighbourhood was quiet, it always was, but it was especially tranquil these spring days in April. He simpered sardonically when he read the latest quote from the president, promising that the pandemic would pass come July.

His attention was gripped suddenly when he heard the low squeal of car tires. The youngest brother glanced outside the window, his dark eyes falling over the little blue Waivecar that had pulled up at the opposing apartment complex. Those cars had been coming back and forth for the last four days, with the same girl coming and going. And at night, the apartment facing the house would keep the lights on until two or three in the morning, but she wasn't partying. The most noise this girl made was the hum of her radio drifting out of an open window.

Clearly, whoever she was, she was still in the weeds of moving. Perhaps when she was settled, Emerson would go by and introduce himself, make her feel welcome. Considering how warm the climate was, this particular neighbourhood had a tendency to be quiet cold and private towards neighbours. No doubt many of them weren't a fan of the band and their at home antics.

Emerson was startled when his brother came bounding in, dressed in the same moppy grey sweats he had been practically living in for weeks. Thank goodness he wasn't wearing his heelys this time around; the other day he had crashed into the couch and flipped over onto the cushions, nearly smashing his head on the coffee table.

"The guys will be by in about half an hour," he said. Emerson narrowed his eyes at his older brother.

"He says as we're under strict orders from the state health officials to not see anybody," he murmured.

Remington pouted, running a hand through his evidently growing blonde hair. He pulled up a seat next to his brother, "Hey, you were the one who said it's getting too quiet around here. And besides, it's not like we're coming from opposite counties. Seb lives like four blocks down from us,"

"I'm just getting a little nervous, is all," Emerson shrugged, showing him the article on his tablet, "The numbers are still going up,"

"And they'll keep going up until they find a cure. And while they're doing that, we're going to be in the backyard playing soccer and eating pizza," Remington smiled.

"Who said we're having pizza?"

"I did. I just decided,"

"Maybe I want Mexican? Did you think about that?"

Across the street in the fresh red brick and black-trimmed apartment, three floors up from the ground and in direct line of the sun sat Eva. The twenty-four-year-old literary bachelor sat comfortably at her newly furnished desk, typing away at her laptop that was due for a battery change -- Eva just hadn't found the time to physically take it into the store. On her right she had a lukewarm cup of coffee, on the left her speaker which was softly blasting Tove Lo's new album. All the while, her bony fingers flew over the keyboard, her big stormy blue eyes skimming the words that sprinted across her document.

Eva got by as a writer, not a novelist or a poet, but as a ghost writer. She was hired to write materials for would-be authors and journalists, all of whom either didn't have the drive or commitment to write to the extent Eva did. Surprisingly, she made some pretty good money just off that. And while that work tended to be dry and bleak, Eva had spent her free time writing various fanfictions -- mostly for Hannibal and Criminal Minds. She happened to be quite prolific on Tumblr because of her literary fantasies.

And while her work was often isolating, Eva didn't live alone by any means. She had her pale tabby, Pluto, to keep her company. He was snoozing on the couch, despite how often Eva had trained him not to do that when he was a kitten.

She had just returned from an early morning run from the grocery store -- having learned the hard way that despite the pandemic, people will continue to flock to the stores in droves and it's almost impossible to social distance within them. As if moving out of her old apartment wasn't hard enough, now she had to deal with hastily late movers, jumbled lease agreements, and a pandemic.

In the throws of bittersweet silence, Eva's concentration was broke when a shrill alarm had her nearly jumping out of her seat. It was only her phone, the screen lighting up with a 'Blocked' ID. Eva smiled wickedly and declined the call.

The young writer pushed her rolley chair away from the desk and did a stretch, her head turning towards the house across the street. She figured a couple of frat boys shared the place, they had a few of their friends over from time to time but they were relatively quiet. The most she would hear out of them is some smack talk coming from the backyard.

Pluto's head popped up from the couch, then he leapt onto the floor and trotted over to the window sill, hopping up to spy on the unfamiliar car that was pulling up to the house. Eva could hardly care less. There was a statewide order to see only a small group of people as little as possible, and as long as the neighbours wouldn't bother her, she wouldn't bother them.

It was a shame, as if having to meet new people wasn't difficult enough for her...

A few hours passed and soon the silence in the Los Angeles neighbourhood was broken by the grunts and thwacks of a backyard game of pool basketball. The boys and a few of their friends were all the more engaged in their game while their girls sat aside on deck chairs under the beating sun. Under the shade of the pergola, their friend Andrew was grilling some sausages -- beef and tofu -- on the barbecue.

Remington was taking the piss out of Sebastian for being all over his girl, but who the hell could blame the kid? There was a new rush of life in the guitarist's face whenever the topic of Larissa came up. The same could be said for Emerson and Shy. Remington wouldn't dare admit he was a little jealous of his brothers' happiness, so he'd settle for loving his brothers but torturing them at every opportunity.

Breaking out from the cold water, Emerson gripped tightly to the rubber red ball in his hand. Just as Sebastian came to take a running dive into the pool, he reared the ball back and hucked it at his older brother, nailing him square in the chest. Instead of a graceful dive, Sebastian flailed sideways and crashed into the water. The ball ricocheted onto the deck and bounced away towards the front yard.

"Oh my God!"

"Emerson!" Shy scolded, a little horrified and yet not surprised at her boyfriend's actions. Sebastian broke out of the water and shook his hair out of his eyes. It was more his pride and the laughter of his friends that hurt than the fading sting of rubber against skin.

Emerson meanwhile just giggled happily as he high-fived Remington.

"You guys fucking suck!" Sebastian glowered at the younger boys.

At the same time, Eva had given up on work for the day. As random as it was, she decided she'd try to make bread: the apparent trend that was surging during this quarantine. She bought all the things she would need this morning.

Stepped a few feet into the kitchen, she pushed open the window a brisk breeze flooding in and freshening up the air. Her attention was skewed to the house across the street, hearing some mild echoes of conversation and the thrum of a radio in the air.

She went to gather her ingredients and tools, however, as she turned to fetch an apron she realized something was missing: the patter of feet behind her. Pluto was usually Eva's shadow whenever he was in the kitchen, always the opportunistic cat he was. However, he wasn't on the couch. He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't snooping around in her closet or hiding under the desk.

"Where'd the ball go?" Daniel called, clinging to the ledge of the pool.

"I'll get it" Remington swam to the ladder and pulled himself out of the water. He shook out his sopping blonde hair, unintentionally shaking his ass in his colorful swim trunks. Their friend, Michael, whistled from the pool. Remington only smirked on him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, hunny," he sassed, waving his hand and ducked off to fetch the ball.

Puzzled, Eva grabbed Pluto's favorite bag of cat treats and shook it, the sound was always able to bring him out -- when he was within ten feet of the treats. The fact that he didn't appear told Eva that he must've gone out the window once again to wreak havoc.

With an irritated huff, she switched out her house slippers for her sandals and hightailed it out with the bag of treats.

The red rubber pool ball had rolled across the grass and lodged itself into a bush at the fence. Remington was awash in frigid goosebumps, not even the California heat could will away the pool's chill quick enough. Nevertheless, he crawled down and retrieved the ball from the brambles, swatting off what little dirt he could. However, his fixation swerved to the complex across the street when he heard a heavy slam.

"Pluto!" a young girl came charging out of the apartment complex, dressed in a slightly wrinkled white t-shirt and her jaw-length hair swivelled smoothly around her face as she frantically looked up and down the street, "Pluto!" she was shaking a little yellow bag.

Remington looked up and down the quiet street, almost expecting to see Pluto the Dog standing at the corner like Cartoon Cat. He glanced down quizzically at the ball, then back at the young woman.

Eva rubbed the stress lines on her forehead out of pure frustration. This wasn't the first time Pluto ran off, he always came back. However, the damn cat would always find ways to stir up trouble; rowling up dogs, plucking fish from little ponds, scratching at hanging laundry.

"Pluto!!" she shook the bag of treats.

"Hey!" Remington called, waving his hand to the stranger, "You alright?"

Eva glanced at the owner of that soft, yet scratchy voice. She hadn't even noticed the bleach blonde kid standing in the glint of the sun. Eva crossed the street and stood a few feet from the gate, keeping more than two meters distance.

"I'm sorry. Have you happen to see a cat running around? He's a pale tabby, couple black stripes, likes to chew shoes," she shrugged.

Remington only shook his head, "Sorry. I'm afraid not," he smiled sheepishly, "Did -- did you say he was a cat?"

"Yeah,"

"And you named your cat 'Pluto'? Like -- the dog?"

Eva smirked, but shook her head, unable to help but glance at the tattoos that crossed over this boy's torso, "He's named after The Black Cat," she said, "You ever read Edgar Allan Poe?"

Remington smiled sheepishly, "Oh right, right! I haven't read that in a while, actually. He named the cat after the Roman God for death,"

Eva smiled pleasantly, not having pegged this boy to know so much about EAP, "That's right. I wanted a black cat to fit with the theme but the damn tabby stole my heart,"

"He knew what he was doing, obviously," Remington grinned, "I'll keep an eye for him though, if I happen to --" he was cut short however when he heard Pepper start yapping from the backyard. The yapping was followed by the clanging of metal and a screeching yrowl.

"What the fuck?" Andrew suddenly shouted, “Where’d this cat come from!?”

Panic flooded over Eva's face and Remington didn't think twice to open the gate and let her in. Social distancing aside, they two of them rushed into the backyard to find a tray of sausages had crashed onto the floor, the meat had rolled everywhere. Shy clung to Pepper as the little pomeranien yapped and growled incessantly at the scruffy tabby on the patio table, back arched and hissing at the dog while he guarded his captured sausage.

Eva was understandably horrified.

"What the hell happened here?" Remington asked, just as in shock over the mess.

"Cat came out of nowhere and dive bombed our lunch!" Daniel replied, having just crawled out of the pool.

"Pluto!" Eva ran to the table and scooped up the snarling cat, Pepper was still yapping away, "What is the matter with you?" she scolded at Pluto before turning to Remington and Andrew, who still wielded the metal tongs in his hand, "I am so frickin' sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay," Andrew shook his head, glancing at the lost sausages longingly, "I was kind of craving sushi, anyways,"

"It's no big deal, honestly," Remington assured her, "Five second rule applies, I'm sure,"

"It's been about thirty-seven seconds," Sebastian spoke flatly.

"Since when were you counting?"

Larissa was the only one who didn't seem annoyed or surprised at the feline intruder. She smiled warmly at the young girl, "Is this your cat?"

"Unfortunately," Eva grinned sheepishly, "I should know better. He's in a new area and he tends to get into trouble. Also, if anyone happens to lose a shoe, he did it, and I'm apologizing in advance," she pointed a finger at the now calmed tabby.

Shy smiled, "Well, Pepper's no better. She tends to think she's a way bigger dog," she held up and coddled the fluffy pomeranian. Eva smiled awkwardly, only now noting that she forgot to grab a face mask. And here she was: in a backyard full of strangers in a pandemic.

"Wait, I recognize you," Emerson said, "You just moved across the street, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Eva," she nodded, "Great first impression, right?"

"You couldn't do any worse than Curcio over here," Sebastian grinned, "Remember the split pants?"

"You're going to hang that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?" Daniel glowered.

"Maybe," Emerson turned back to Eva, "I'm Emerson, that's Sebastian, Daniel, Larissa, Michael, Shy, Andrew... and you've already met Remington, I see,"

"The best looking one," Remington grinned.

Eva nodded, "Well, it was very nice meeting you all, I should get going, though. And again, I'm so sorry about the cat,"

Remington shrugged, "It's just sausages. We can get more," he assured her, "Here, I'll walk you out,"

"Thanks," Eva smiled, keeping Pluto close to her chest as she passed Shy and Pepper. Pepper gave one last fleeting bark as the cat passed by. Pluto simply licked his lips.

Michael couldn't help but lean over as he caught one last glance at the new neighbour, then turning to Emerson, "How come you get the pretty neighbour?"

The drummer shrugged, reaching over to grab the rubber ball that Remington dropped at the end of the pool, "Dumb luck?"

#palaye royale #Palaye Royale imagine #Palaye Royale fic #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #boy bands #band imagines #band imagine blog #original story #original female character

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antihero-writings · 4 years

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Blood and Mercury

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Symptoms of mercury poisoning may include: irritability, excitability, delirium, insomnia, vivid dreams, depression, and suicidal tendency.

There must have been a lot of mercury in Break's past for him to show so many symptoms.

|| A modern AU about Break's past struggle with drug abuse and suicidal thoughts, and his current struggle with the Mad Hatter's illness, and how much of that struggle he should tell Sharon about.

Character Focus: Break

Notes: 1. Warning! This fic deals with topics of suicide and drug abuse. Everything is described very subtly and poetically, and it's not explicit, but it is about that. However, although it's heavy for the first part, there's some definite comic relief at the end if you can get that far!!

2. This is a modern AU. Not the reincarnation AU, an actual modern AU, where the plot of the series happens in modern time. (I mean, I guess it could be a reincarnation AU if actual events repeat themselves...but I don't think they do). So, in case it's not clear, Break's sick from his second contract with the Mad Hatter, just like in the series. Although I do like the idea that it's actually mercury poisoning.... a) I didn't even think about that until I'd already written it, b) coughing up blood and stuff isn't a symptom of it, and c) that's a really cool idea that I'd rather focus on and do justice in another fic. (Let me know if you'd be interested in reading that!!) The time frame for this is meant to be towards the end of the series--around the time Break was teaching Oz sword fighting.

3. I've always headcanoned Break (or more Kevin) as being suicidal because of the "So...you wanna die?" line. I don't know if the line was actually supposed to mean he was directly suicidal, or if it just meant he was depressed and not doing well, and/or just didn't care about his life, but that's how I've viewed it. And even if he was suicidal, I don't know that he ever attempted it. It could just be that he was suicidal inside but never did anything with those thoughts. Regardless, I do think he wanted to die in some fashion, and to me it makes his story more impactful (especially when he ends up wanting to live at the end), and relatable if he was actually suicidal. So I really wanted to play with that idea in at least one fic (though I'd enjoy playing with it in the context of the actual series too).(You don't have to read this part if you don't want to XD I just wanted to put it up front)

This fic was inspired by the song "Colors" by Halsey!

If you enjoy this fic, I'd really really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! Even the shortest comments can truly make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Chapter 1: The Candy Shop

Collapsing. Blackness. Scratches in his lungs. And the taste of blood.

He never complained but his blood tasted like ash, and regret, and the blackness that overtook his sight was far from empty; an abyss, the memory of one, engulfed his world before he even felt the ground.

The last thing he had heard was Sharon shouting his name, and at Oz to get the medicine—and do so quickly. She didn’t say why, but they all knew it was because every second they wasted was a second he no longer had to spend.

Sharon’s voice, doused with pain. All that hurt and care, and thinly veiled tears, crammed into a few words. He’d never tell her, but he could care less about the wasted seconds, if only she would promise never to cry like that again.

He had collapsed this time. That wasn’t exactly abnormal, still, little by little, line by line, every little sign, he was getting worse.

“Don’t push yourself, Xerx.”

Reim would scold him for not listening.

And maybe Break would laugh, say some quip about how he worried too much, how he needed to let loose. Or maybe he’d say nothing at all. But they both knew—words or no—at some point, this would be all that was left; a few laughs, a drink or two, and the words Xerxes, don’t throw your life away.

What a fool he was.

With Sharon it was different. Different because she was young, and she didn’t understand, not fully, not enough. Or because she understood too much, and everyone pretended she didn’t. He didn’t like to entertain the thought, but maybe that included herself; maybe when she told them to get the medicine, she was telling herself it would work.

Which was the scarier thought; that she didn’t understand? Or that she understood completely, and pretended not to?

What about before? When she was a child laced in light. Was it worse then, or better?

She was younger—so, so young…had they really known each other so long? Was he really so old?…little girls shouldn’t be forced to deal with the broken shards of someone like him.

They might get cut on the pieces.

She didn’t know. She didn’t need to pretend. Still, they tried to hide his pain from her young impressionable brain. And this was not easy, nor fun, but neither were the tears and the questions.

That all but went out the window when the little girl found him, collapsed on the bathroom floor, along with the desperate spill bottle of pills, meant to override the circuits in his brain. Salt thrown over his shoulder.

For good luck on the other side.

Shelly’s face. No anger. No disappointment. That kindness was in Sharon’s smile too, now—and did this kindness mean more if she knew the truth? If he’d known the capacity of their smiles, would he not have tried it?

Sharon had led her mother to him—her voice was desperate, shouting, crying, back then too…some things never change—laying there on the floor, on a date with death and a bottle whiskey and cyanide. As if toasting to the thought We are born drinking from bottles, why not die that way too? Instead of throwing them away he had tried to throw away his life instead.

Bottle up his life, slap a label on it, set it on the shelf. You can take it down on special occasions. Sell it, throw it away, it doesn’t matter. Throw away his life with the very thing that was meant to heal it. Not many murder weapons were once medicine. An overdose on ineffective salvation.

Hadn’t wrote a note either. Hadn’t given them a reason, hadn’t detailed his pain, or plan for revenge.

Just tried to leave without a trace, and left too many.

And when he woke up and, to his chagrin, was still alive—no heaven or hell, just here on an earth that was both—she hadn’t scolded him…well, not at first. She hadn’t demanded to know what he was thinking, or tried to ingrain within him him how much they cared, and how terrible it would all be if this plan of his had worked. She had just smiled, and spoke softly. And later, when she cleaned him up, she had said…

It was always the same. The same now. Black and white and red all over. Sharon’s cries, instead of choking down all the pain, forcing herself not to feel, like he did, she took that pain on her tongue and let it spill out into the open air.

Maybe that was all she could do. Shout his name, and pray her words would pull him from the beyond the veil, and try to discern if there was such a thing as medicine after all. Maybe she wanted to feel useful, because just sitting here, waiting for the end to come and grab him with teeth and claws, was more than she could bear. And in some way he was grateful, because he’d rather she pretend she could save him, than see the real pity, the hopelessness in her eyes when she realized she couldn’t. When she realized the Red Queen and the Black King had her Mad Hatter after all, and she couldn’t break him out of their dungeon.

One day, he was sure, it would all become too similar to a snowy night long ago—a night dressed in black; black cloak, black coffins, black sky, and black around those red eyes, which his own became indistinguishable from too quickly. Maybe Sharon would even say those words too: Break, please don’t leave me, because he’d never had the guts to tell her what his past was made of. And then…he would do just that.

He’d rather have her believe the lie he might live than say to her face I’m going to die and nothing can stop it.

He wasn’t afraid to die. We all die at some point. Some sooner than others. Why should he get more time when he wasted so much of it? Save your breaths. Save your tears. Save your lives, not mine. We all lose the fight eventually. He had spent his whole life fighting, maybe just once he could go quietly into that goodnight; meet death as a friend. He didn’t deserve more time than anyone else.

He just…wanted a few more minutes awake. A snooze button on life. Five more minutes. Ten. Twenty. A year or two? There were a few more things he needed to do. He wasn’t going to let death take him down easy.

All that talk, and not-talk, of medicine and death led him here, today, with a prescription container in his hand, and an ache in his head.

He swung open the lid to the cabinet, a mirror hanging limply out, glinting in the cold fluorescent light.

Why do they put mirrors on medicine cabinets? Like you need a second look to tell you—Yep, I’m crazy— before you pop the little capsules in your mouth, which promise This will make things better. And you tell yourself plastic and paperwork, lab coats whitewashed as their promises wouldn’t lie.

He lifted the container to put it back in its proper place in the cabinet, but paused, letting it rest on the tip his fingers, sliding into place in his palm. His arm dropped back down, eyes scanning over the label, darting to the rest of the contents of the cabinet, as if staring down an old foe.

White ones, and blue ones, red ones, yellow ones…like some candy store for the sick, the insane, and the empty. It wasn’t just pills either; powders, and needles, and glass that breathes fumes into your lungs and brain; a delusion’s kiss, that makes everything just a little bit better, just a little bit funnier. Needles that, needless to say, could take you a real wonderland if you shoved them in far enough.

He’d tried them all at some point in his life. And when they didn’t work, the stash sat dormant in his closet, his drawers, cabinets like this one, while new-fangled solutions took their place. He didn’t throw them away—you never know when one day you might need to fly—like he was keeping illegal souvenirs of a worse world.

There are worse things than bottled happiness. And ‘happiness’ can do more damage than a decent amount of sorrow sometimes.

They smelled like walls that someone puked on at one point, but they painted over rather than clean up, and you could still tell by the smell something was wrong, closer to the woodwork. But they were too easy to keep contained; to not smell, to not taste, too easy not to realize what they were really made of.

He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a few hundred, maybe thousand or more, dollars* here staring back at him in hollow color. The amount of money they cost only comparable to their unending ingredient lists—full of the names of chemicals he couldn’t pronounce, and titles that he could, but wouldn’t waste breath on. He didn’t care about the money, or what they were made of, or the warnings of how much more damage they would cause—asking you to decide between your brain and your liver. All promising happiness, and not-perfect-just-better, and a decent night’s sleep.

He tried not to care about much.

None of them worked. Not for him at least.

And, no, that wasn’t an exaggeration. Wasn’t just an excuse to get more, or him not trying hard enough. There came a point when his body just wouldn’t respond to their signals.

There came a point when too much of him was already too dead to respond to anything but mad scientists, calling upon lightning storms in old abandoned castles. Besides, the Mad Hatter’s malady wasn’t exactly something an ordinary doctor could fix, or even name.

In truth, he could handle the physical aspects of it; the blood in his lungs, the passing out, and the loss of vision—which would be more than a temporary side effect before long. But there was something else—what do they call it? The soul? The heart? Something like that. He’d forgotten long ago. Those parts, that pain, was harder to take, to tolerate, and rotted the longer he stuffed it down. Like he was barricading the door to the monster’s lair with the bodies of those monsters that had gone before, and he knew full well none of them were quite dead.

There was an old picture on the countertop. A woman with hazelnut hair and a sunflower smile, a man in turquoise with a begonia eye, tragedy woven into the petals. And a little girl who thought flowers were bandages.

He picked it up, brushing the dust off their faces, trying to smile, though it was stained as his eye back then.

People need hope. They need this thing to tell them to keep going, it’s not over yet, not to give up. It’s like the glue to the gingerbread house that is you. When you don’t have it, your life kind of…falls flat. Like soda that’s been left out; no longer bubbly, no longer worth drinking. When someone doesn’t have it, it doesn’t mean they can’t live anymore, that life is undrinkable, it just means this thing we called living, once, doesn’t have the same carbonation.

But hope is a funny thing, elusive, reclusive, and volatile. Picky about the things it can eat. Difficult to keep alive.

That’s why this candy store was so full, what its stockers promised to fix, to feed; that beast, hope. That’s what the dealers promised they could provide; something they all knew couldn’t be borrowed, or bartered, or manufactured.

Hope’s not something that can be bottled. We’re all like children, unaware fireflies, those pretty blinking lights, will die without air.

He set the picture back down, turning his gaze to the container still in his other hand.

The only reason he kept using them was for them. For Sharon, Sheryl, and Reim. For Oz and Gilbert, and the rest. As long as it didn’t hurt, or make it worse, if it gave them hope—(a hope he could never have)—for him to take the medicine, he’d do it.

Sheryl had been the one to suggest the medicinal path in the first place. It made sense; she had dealt with this sort of thing before. Shelly had been sickly all her life, and medicine helped—(Helped. Didn’t save her life. And Shelly would have argued she didn’t need it either, and had often refused them herself). But this wasn’t the same. This was deeper than skin or bone. Still, she was kind, and he respected her—or he came to…not to mention he didn’t want to cross her.

Reim had agreed; regiments and tangible, scientific solutions appealed to his personality. He liked when things were concrete, it was more promising to him than whimsy, and words.

They had yet to learn of the concrete things that were tea and sugar, which work a lot better at lifting the spirit than things you aren’t supposed to taste.

Life is about tasting. About watching, and listening, and really feeling. Life is about living. Not swallowing and trying not to taste. Not existing and trying not to live.

It was Shelley who had told him that. She had let them try out their methods, but she told him if he didn’t want them to work, that they wouldn’t. That he could try them, but they were useless without resolve to go with them. She told him that the ones the doctors give are from a factory, made of greed, and half-baked promises that rubbed too close to lies. Not belief, and real promises, and laughter—(which is, of course, the best medicine). And even the ones they don’t give you are too strong to grant you something you can call life. That maybe he oughtta just throw them away after all.

She told him a smile and a day in the sun was all he really needed. That they can’t bottle and sell hope and sunshine. That you can’t pull life out of death, and hope needs to come from something alive—from something free of charge, flickering in the air, that can’t be put in a jar, or tamed. She pointed to his chest and said that hope hails from there. The last thing in the box is always hope, you just have to really empty out the rest of the crap in the box first.

Shelly wasn’t someone you could hide these sorts of things from. She had this sixth sense; she could speak with the already-dead. One way or another, she’d find out—(even if she had to wring it out of you). But instead of sending you to the doctor, telling you that something was wrong with you, that you were crazy, she would smile. Like all you needed were a few kind words, and she’d send you back into the world, heart humming. She could be unbearably compassionate. When she talked about happiness, it was like she was speaking of an old friend of hers. She’d say that it doesn’t come in shots or smoke, it was more elusive, and can be found in a kind gesture, at amusement parks, and in sunsets, in a really good cup of tea, or a homemade cookie.

And when she’d cleaned him up, after finding him on the bathroom floor, she’d said:

“So, you want to die?”

Did he? Did he really want to die? Or was it something else? Something darker? something brighter?

He wanted to sleep. To rest. He knew that much. His sleep was always interrupted and irregular, and he had forgotten what real rest entailed.

Knives and blades rested comfortably in his hands, but he had broken the skin too often, of too many others, for it to provide any semblance of relief when used on himself. Besides, he didn’t want to die naked in a bathtub painted red. He didn’t want to lay in a coffin with stitches on his neck and flowers growing out of his wrists. He didn’t want the world to find him hanging from the ceiling like a criminal in town square. He didn’t want scars to tell his secrets, or his death to show him weak. Very little about his life had been elegant or dignified. So he wanted to die, at least, softly, with some measure of dignity. Make some music out of the cacophony. Without a scratch, or a word, or a second to spare. Something subtler would be his weapon of choice: the prick of needle, the taste of poison, the promise of happiness in a bottle—just enough happy to kill you.

Because that’s how it was, then—during that time when they had found him on the bathroom floor. That desire wasn’t flashy and boisterous. It wasn’t the rich smell of steel and iron, it was more insidious; the smallest pinprick of the soul, or something he may have swallowed at one time or another, that withered his insides slowly. It wasn’t something to parade around, or cry out to the town, and it wasn’t something he needed them to rescue him from. It was just there, nagging at the back of his heart, like a sore soul.

He didn’t cut, and he wouldn’t bruise or burn, and he wouldn’t ask for their help, or tell them a thing either.

His cries were veiled, veiled behind those times he shouted at them, or insulted them, even now still veiled behind his jokes. It wasn’t obvious. The pain was a shadow behind his words and actions, a demon behind him at all hours.

Back then, there had been days when he wouldn’t move from that windowsill, unless Shelly shoved him off.

Sometimes he felt like a shadow himself when he was around the living—like he wasn’t really there. Already dead, an imprint, a faded image of some past, some distant version of a self who may or may not have existed. He couldn’t share their happiness, or even their grief, because he wasn’t a real thing, here, now. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here, with a new young mistress, a doll with his old mistress’s name, and a heart full of regrets. I mean, really, shouldn’t. Time had bent for him, and he feared the bends were becoming breaks.

“You wish to die…so you do not suffer anymore. You simply want to save yourself.”

Was that true? Was this not about death, or even rest, but about…salvation?

He wanted to live. And that’s why he tried so hard to die.

Sharon, Reim, Sheryl, Shelly, and…Oz.

He ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the thought of Oz seeing all this. Sharon had assigned him the task of medicine-caddy after all. He imagined the boy saying to himself What does Break need all these for? Then backtracking in his mind Oh, right, which would either be followed by, Oh, right, he’s crazy or Oh, right, he said he wouldn’t last the year and take an extra few moments to find the right ones before running back.

Usually Reim was the one to do this. Reim knew about the whole not-working thing. He had told him to stop taking them, to tell Sharon that they didn’t work. To stop pretending they did, that he’d never know what more damage they were doing to his body by taking them. But he also didn’t force him to tell the truth. Perhaps protecting Sharon was for the best. They were like her older brothers—a little too protective at times. Neither of them wanted to see her cry.

He didn’t usually let anyone besides Reim look in this cabinet—best not let the world in on his little secret candy shop—but he hadn’t had his medicine on him at the moment he fell, and Reim had been busy running errands for the bird-brained duke at the time.

He tossed the still-full container into the trash, where it gave a satisfying swish and clang as it tumbled into bottom.

Such a simple action. Why had it taken him so long?

He should have listened to her earlier.

He rested his hands on the sink, closed his eyes again, blowing out a breath.

The yellow pills don’t contain happiness, in as much as the red ones don’t contain anger, or the blue ones sadness. The red pill and the blue pill don’t sit in the hands of the god of dreams, asking you if you want to wake up. We may be made out of dust, but some dust in a capsule can’t patch the rips in our souls.

Can’t fix the hole where his eye is meant to be. Can’t undo the brand on his chest.

Doctors can sew back the skin, but they don’t know how to stitch together a ripped mind. They try, they think they can plug the hole up. But you can’t come to them with the broken shards of your heart and say Hey doc, can I get a new one?. You can’t walk in with a messed-up mind and say Clean it for me, will ya?

There was nothing they could do about his eye, except give him one made of glass, and he had enough broken shards in his brain, and enough falsity in his smile. And they couldn’t rewind the clock burned on his chest. His time had already reached zero, so it made sense he was dying.

He could handle being broken, being Break. In fact, a little penance could do some good. He’d could handle pain.

It was the memories he wanted to tear to shreds and return to sender. But he was not granted the grace of amnesia, unlike little girls named Alice. Just bad dreams, and reminders on his broken body telling him he was less than worthless.

He didn’t want to go to the doctor, especially not a psychiatrist. And Shelly wouldn’t have made him go, until faced with Sharon’s eyes, blurred with tears, asking when he was going to get better.

He didn’t need a shrink to know he was crazy. What would he talk about anyway?

Well, let’s see here, I’ve killed a hundred and sixteen people, so that might be weighing on my conscience a bit.

Why? Because a demon told me I could change the past. To tell you the truth, I could, and I did, but you know what demons don’t tell you? You can change the past, but that change may mean the difference from bad to worse. I made it worse. And in my version of events; the changed past I sought so desperately, that one little girl who survived ended up feeding her family to another demon to save her sister, in the same way I wanted to save them.

I wasn’t there to stop her. And I know she failed. I am what success looks like.

And it’s my fault she’s dead. I killed her. I killed her. I killed that little girl—

Yeah, no diagnosis necessary.

Sometimes he wished he could be diagnosed with something normal. That they could say he had a disease, or a parasite that was slowly eating at his mind. But this wasn’t something that could be found in text books. It was closer to magic—things from the Abyss are not for doctors to diagnose. The blood he coughed up wasn’t from a disease, or pent up abuse or torture, it was something more mysterious; contracts, and scars, and mirrors. It’s not quite the same as an illness, not something they can just cure. They couldn’t explain the whole some of us-don’t-age-anymore thing, why would they be able to explain the blood, and the coughs and the dying just because it was more serious? There weren’t exactly Chain doctors. There are just doctors and either it’s in the books or it isn’t. And even if there were, it wasn’t exactly common for an illegal contractor to survive their trip the Abyss.

Besides, he didn’t ask for help, not even from those close to him, so why would he ask a doctor?

It was easier that way. It was easier to say it didn’t matter, easier to disappear, than to admit that he cared.

So the one time he did go to the whitewashed walls he told them something, some story that was only half based on a movie he’d seen, and they sent him away with a note to the one who bottled the happiness.

And that’s just the explanation for the prescribed ones.

The rest fit under the motto ‘Well, if you can’t beat the crazy, might as well join it.’ And those were the kind Shelly especially wanted him to throw away.

Crazy. Mad. Mad Hatter.

They say hatters used to go mad because their glue contained mercury, and the fumes polluted their brains. A mad hatter, with stitched up hands, ash-white skin, smoky eyes and a mercury turned brain…yeah, that sounded just about right.

If hope is life’s glue, then his contained mercury.

He looked up into the mirror, tilting his head to the side, and smiling wryly to himself at the thought;

There must have been a lot of mercury in his past for him to go this mad.

One day, they all stopped working. Like when he found out he couldn’t get drunk anymore. Two kinds of poisons, no longer effective, because he was already dying. No matter prescribed or uninscribed. Maybe that’s how it was with mercury poisoning; one day cures just stop curing, time stops ticking, hearts stop yearning.

Too crazy. Not crazy enough. And nothing works either way anymore. Maybe she was right, and he just throw them all away.

“Hey!”

Break started, turning to see Oz standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” Oz leaned into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the contents of the cabinet.

“That depends on if you’re sitting on the floor or the ceiling!” Emily sang.

Oz was used to his absurdity by now, and ignored it; “I was going to ask,”—he bounced on his tiptoes like a curious three-year-old—“what’s that green turd?”

Break tried not to laugh at his naiveté, and folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the cabinet, shutting it with his body.

“Sorry, Oz-kun,”—he smirked—“but there isn’t any children’s medicine in here, you’ll have to check elsewhere.”

Oz glared at him. He was known for being a pain in the ass…but Oz was known for being one too.

“Is it pot?” Oz continued his line of questioning, smiling like the cheeky brat he was…according to Break at least.

Break’s own smirk faltered, not realizing he was asking out of understanding rather than ignorance.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” Oz mused out loud.

“Is that so?” The smirk was back on stage.

“Yeah!” He bounced on his toes again. “Seems like fun!”

“You know Gilbert-kun just might just kill you if he found out.” He said it like that would be a good show for a Saturday afternoon.

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?” Oz pouted, his eyes narrowing.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Oz grunted.

“Maybe you and I could come to an agreement.” He inclined his head towards the cabinet.

“What’s there for me to tell? Are you upset I saw inside there?” He pointed with his thumb to the medicine cabinet. “It might be a little weird, but it’s not my place to judge…Honestly if you’re taking all that, it explains a lot.”

Break snickered. “You think too highly of yourself, Oz-kun; if I were upset, that would imply I care what you think.”

“Whatever.” Oz smiled; he had enough insanity of his own. “I know you love me.”

“Oh sure, the way a farmer loves the cute little rabbits eating his crops.”

Oz made to leave, but before he exited he spun in an attempt to get at the cabinet. In a flash, Break grabbed the broom from the corner, and tripped him with the end, sending him to the floor.

“Ow,” Oz rubbed at his head, which he had knocked against the doorframe.

Break didn’t apologize.

“You’ve been skimping on our lessons.” Break leaned on the broom.

“Why do I have to learn sword-fighting anyway? …It’s like you’re from another century”

“My, my.” He twirled it around so the end was at his pupil’s throat. “Just last week you were saying how excited you were to learn.”

“That was before I realized ‘go easy on him’ doesn’t register in your brain.”

“How else are you supposed to learn~?” Oz sat up, pushing the makeshift sword away from him.

He paused a moment before asking,

“They don’t work, do they?”

Break’s eye widened for a split second. He followed Oz’s emerald gaze to the medicine cabinet.

He gritted his teeth. “Cheeky little brat.”

Oz put on a sad but proud smile. “I knew it.”

“You really aren’t cute at all,” Break muttered under his breath.

“Does Sharon-chan know?”

Break looked away, pretending like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Why don’t you just tell her?”

Break laughed. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I made my lady worry?”

“Come on, seriously. I mean, what good does letting her believe they work do?”

“There’s good to be found in even the strangest of situations.” Emily twittered.

“I’ll watch the twelve o’clock special later, thanks.”

“He doesn’t want to make her cry,” another voice broke in.

They looked up to see Reim in the doorway.

“Oh, Reim-san~! And we were just getting used to your absence!” Break joked.

Reim’s hand clenched into a fist.

“Spare me the pleasantries.”

Reim walked in to help Oz up, giving Break a reproachful look before saying, “I hope he isn’t causing you too much trouble.”

“Always. But I can handle myself. He’s just mad a saw inside his medicine cabinet.”

“Ah, yes, his little ‘candy shop.’ I have been telling him to just tell Sharon, and throw them out, for years.”

“Years? Break, you should really throw those out! Why don’t we help you?”

Break looked away. “Tch. You really think I need help from the likes of you?”

Oz got a mischievous look. “What if I tell her myself?”

“Then I’ll tell Gilbert-kun you want to take up smoking weed~?”

“Oz-sama!” Reim’s grabbed Oz by the shoulders. “You want to start smoking drugs?!” He shook him, before spinning him to Break as if presenting him. “Xerxes this is exactly the reason I tell you to throw them out! You’re polluting the young lord’s mind!” He shook Oz more.

“Eh.” Oz shrugged. “My mind was plenty polluted already.”

Before Reim could react to that, Break spoke,

“See?” Break put his hands behind his back and stepped up to Oz, leaning down so he was eye level. “That’s the mild version of the lecture Gilbert-kun would give you.”

Oz sighed managing to break free of Reim.

“Come on,” he spoke to Break, returning to the previous subject. “Do you really need to keep taking them if they don’t do anything? Seems like a waste of time and money if you ask me.”

“That’s what I keep telling him!”

“You should just tell Sharon-chan. She’s stronger than you think. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Well, boys,” Break patted them on the shoulders as he walked by, “not that this isn’t fun, but I have some serious work to catch up on.”

“You’re going to play video games again aren’t you?” Reim crossed his arms.

“Break!” Oz called.

Break sighed, eyes lidding, before turning to Oz.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“He’s not alone!” Emily chittered, “he has me!”

Oz rolled his eyes, and Reim facepalmed.

******

Notes Cont.:

*I know this probably wouldn't be "dollars", but a) I don't remember them mentioning the name of their currency in the series, b) a more generic word like "money" didn't fit the sentence, and, c) as an American, something like "euros" (which, while probably closer to the correct term) didn't sound as natural to me.

I don't know if anyone will believe me, but I actually wrote this a VERY long time ago. I started it sometime around July 2018, before/right when I started posting my writing online. It was one of my very first PH fics, and has even informed some fics I've posted--(I got the name "Black and White and Red All Over" for my halloween fic last year from this fic. Well, I got it from the joke/expression, but this fic is what tied that phrase to Break in my mind). I would periodically work on it over the years, and I really enjoy the language, so it was fun to continually return to it.

The first part has been postable for a long time, the problem has always been the end. Lately I've been going through my old fics and making myself post them even if they're not perfect. Usually the way to do that is just to break them up earlier than I wanted to. I really wanted to add a heartfelt ending to this fic (still do!) but for some reason I had the toughest time transitioning to more of an actual scene at the end and actually writing it, so it ended up just getting stuck on my computer. The other issue is that I have zero experience with drug abuse, so I think I just felt like I was describing things wrong and got cold feet about posting it. If I got anything wrong, please kindly let me know!

Do you think I should write out the memory of Break’s suicide attempt in ch2? I kind of wanted to actually write it out but I wasn’t sure if it’d be too heavy...

Oz and Break's relationship is actually one of my favorites in the series, and I absolutely adore writing for it...but it seems I have trouble doing so. I have one more Break and Oz fic that I absolutely adore that's been stuck on my computer for about the same amount as time as this one, that I also got stuck on the middle/end. (I actually might have written it before this one, as I recognize some similarities XD) Hopefully I can break it up and post it soon too!

Thanks for reading!! Once again, if you could leave a comment, it would mean more to me than you know!!

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cannibalisticapple · 5 years

Text

So around a week or two ago I sent an anonymous ask to @corndog-patrol suggesting Villain Mic finding a Cat!Shouta. When I saw it on my phone in the car, I had to stop myself from reading until I could get home and look at it in full on my computer. It has been so much better than I could have ever imagined.

Seeing all the doodles and artwork so far has been a HUGE inspiration for me, and I ended up writing this over the past week. Because I am physically incapable of writing anything short, it kinda ballooned to almost 8k words, partially because I ended up adding to it as more art was posted. The majority of it was written before the bowtie pic though, including the opening scene. (Fun fact: I originally called Shouta “Pepper”.)

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, well, anything to Tumblr, so apologies for any weird formatting issues! And thanks again to @corndog-patrol for making such a great Villain Mic AU! Anyways, enjoy!

The Adventures of Puddles

Given his known fondness for cats, most of Shouta’s friends and colleagues often teased him about how getting hit by a Quirk that turned him into a cat would be a dream come true for him.

They were wrong.

The hero-turned-feline felt thoroughly irritated as he loped down the street, the heavy downpour soaking him thoroughly and weighing down his thick black fur with water. He’d been turned into a cat while heading to UA just that evening, and since then he’d been rather unhappy. Nemuri had laughed her head off when she found him halfway to her apartment with his goggles around his neck and his capture weapon dragging along the ground behind him, which really hadn’t helped much.

Considering he’d been found by Nemuri relatively fast, he should be safe and dry right now, but then Nemuri had taken him to UA. Logically it made sense of course, Shouta would be safe there and he’d have easy access to a support network to find a way to reverse the transformation. Unfortunately, he hadn’t accounted for how the kids would react. One of them had sighted Nemuri carrying him inside, and Nemuri had no hesitation dumping him on the student with a sadistic grin while she went to meet with the other staff.

After spending an hour being assaulted by his students cooing over him and ruffling him from twenty different directions at once (literally), he’d desperately craved some space and alone time. The sight of Snipe and Cementoss sneaking around with cameras and phones ready, clearly intending to take photos of his ordeal, had been the last push he needed to jump the wall and get away from UA for a bit. He knew the area well enough, he should be safe to walk around a couple hours even as a cat. Key word: should.

It was just his luck he’d get chased by someone’s dog for what must have been half a mile, ending with him lost in an only vaguely familiar part of town. His attempts to find his way back had only succeeded in making him more lost over the ensuing hours, the vaguely familiar scenery giving way to buildings he absolutely did not recognize. And of course, it also had to start raining shortly after that.

Right now, he just wanted to get out of the heavy rain. He was wet, cold, tired, and felt sore in ways he didn’t even know possible until being turned into a cat. Turns out having your body undergo a radical physical transformation tended to put some stress on muscles and preexisting injuries. Go figure. At least his dry eye hadn’t seemed to transfer over, but that didn’t make him any less stressed.

The feeling only amplified when he stepped in a puddle and proceeded to plummet into it with a startled yowl, water splashing everywhere. Of course this sidewalk would have a giant hole in it that flooded with water and turned into a miniature, cat-sized bath. The hole was deep enough his head barely stuck above the water, the chilly temperature making him shudder. He scrabbled at the edges with an annoyed growl, trying to pull himself out.

“Hey, you okay little buddy?” The voice behind him made him freeze, the fur on his back standing on end. Shit. He knew that voice. His head whipped around to see a man crouching behind him, and while he wasn’t wearing his costume, Shouta couldn’t think of anyone else with a loud voice who also sported a stupid mustache like that. This had to be Present Mic.

Great, just great, he thought sarcastically. For some odd reason the idiot wasn’t wearing a raincoat in this weather, his long blond hair partially pulled into a bun with the loose strands plastered to his face and shoulders by the rain. How the guy could even see with all those water droplets on his glasses was beyond Shouta. “Oh man, I always said someone was gonna fall into this stupid thing. Come on, let’s get you out.”

Shouta silently glowered at the villain as he reached out to him but made no effort to push him away. Trying to get a good grip on the pavement was tricky with the rain making everything so slippery. Maybe if he could figure out how to get his claws to pop out, but he’d yet to figure out a lot of his new form’s functions. Frankly, the fact he could walk at all was a miracle considering he’d never used a four-legged body before.

So the sulking cat allowed the blond villain to carefully slip his hands around Shouta’s... armpits? Well, his hands went between around the edges of his front legs and shoulders, so, close enough—and pull him out of the hole. Rather than put him down like he expected though, Mic shifted his hold to carry the grumpy feline, turning to walk to a nearby apartment building. “Come on, let’s get you inside so we can dry you off. My place is just over there!”

...And now Mic was taking him to his apartment. Crap. Shouta naturally began to struggle, wanting to get the hell back to UA instead, but Mic had a surprisingly strong grip. In the end he gave up and just sulked in the villain’s arms with a grumpy scowl as the blond draped a towel over him, resigned to his fate. At least he was out of the rain.

“Oh man, you’re lucky I found you!” Mic commented, looking down at him with a concerned frown. “A lil’ fella like yourself could drown in all that rain!” He switched on the light switch by the door, illuminating one of the most rundown and shabby apartments Shouta had ever seen. And considering his meager salary as an underground hero, he’d seen a lot of crummy places while apartment hunting. “You’ll be safe here, just make yourself at home you little cutie!”

Shouta just silently scowled at his current predicament. He just wanted to get warm and dry and take a nice, long nap until this stupid Quirk wore off. (It better wear off.)

The Quirk did not wear off.

Morning found Shouta still very much a feline, much to his ire. He woke up well before Mic, the blond snoozing away in his bedroom (Shouta had chosen to sleep on the couch, which had literal patches sewn on it, he’d never seen that outside cartoons), and Shouta felt no small amount of irritation at the fact he still had this stupid feline body. At least he was warm and dry now. That didn’t make him any happier about the situation though.

A glance at the bathroom mirror had revealed himself to be particularly mangy and stocky rather than sleek and agile-looking like most cats. His long hair had turned into thick, shaggy fur, the black coloration adding an air of dirtiness as opposed to the soft and fluffy feeling exuded by Mic’s actual cat. Sprinkles, if the name written on the food bowl was accurate.

Speaking of the food bowl, Mic was now beaming down at Shouta as he sat next to the now-full bowl. “Come on, it’s safe to eat!” Mic goaded—nay, practically pleaded with him, his mouth pulled into a pout as he looked down at Shouta. “You have to be hungry, little guy!”

Shouta just glowered at him, ignoring the bowl. Nope. Not gonna eat that. He might be a cat for now (seriously this stupid thing better wear off on its own), but he was NOT going to eat cat food.

Mic sighed, seeming to accept the fact as he turned to begin rifling through the cabinet. Good, looks like he got the picture and was looking for something else to feed him. “It’s the bowl, right?” he muttered. Wait, what? Mic turned around holding a cracked plastic soup bowl, dumping another scoop of kitty kibble into it before setting it next to Shouta. “There! This bowl doesn’t smell like Sprinkles, so it should be good, right?”

He beamed down at Shouta, clearly proud of his understanding of cats. Shouta just stared at him blandly, making no move to touch it, and Mic soon deflated. “Eh, you’ll get hungry try it eventually,” he muttered, turning away with a sigh and trudging off to his bedroom. Shouta watched him leave with a blank face, still pointedly ignoring the bowl of cat food.

As he sat there Sprinkles sauntered over and plopped down on the floor next to him, blinking her large eyes at him as she studied him curiously. Normally, Shouta would be happy to be in the presence of a cat, especially one who seemed as sweet and friendly as Sprinkles. Seeing as he himself was currently a cat, however, he found his joy slightly diminished. He couldn’t exactly pet her with paws, which sucked since her fluffy white fur looked particularly soft and silky.

For now, he settled for patting her leg with his paw to try to satiate the urge. Sadly, it did not have the same effect as running his fingers through her fur. He sulked up until he heard a gasp, and turned to see Mic staring at him with sparkly eyes from the door to his bedroom. He bounced over with a giant grin and bent down next to them. “So adorable!” he gushed, rubbing Shouta’s head affectionately.

At this point, Shouta’s broody mood outweighed the urge to claw off his hand.

“So, I already have Sprinkles,” Mic mused aloud, “So what do you think of the name... Pickles?”

Scratch that. Shouta proceeded to do so literally, highly satisfied by the startled and pained yelp from the blond.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, not Pickles! Ouch, that really hurts!”

Day two of being a cat. Shouta was now covered in clothes while Mic loudly rooted through his dresser.

“Where is that shirt?” Mic grumbled to himself, tossing a pair of jeans over his shoulder. Why he apparently stored pants and shirts in the same drawers, Shouta had no idea. Why did a person need this many clothes? Granted, he barely bothered with more than the minimal amount needed himself. But still.

Also, what was that guy even aiming at? Shouta was sitting in the doorway, not even fully in the room!

Mic made a sound of triumph as he held up a shirt in an eye-searing chartreuse, on the more yellow end of the spectrum. A fact Shouta knew only because he’d spent an hour arguing with one of his students over demanding to use the color in their costume two years ago. Why. Why did anyone have clothing in that shade.

Mic turned around with a grin, but his smile quickly faded to a look of confusion. “Puddles? Puddles, where are you?” Shouta’s eye twitched, still displeased with the name (seriously, what was with this guy’s preoccupation with English words?), but it beat literally every other suggestion the villain had. Even if he didn’t like the whole reminder of being pulled out of a puddle.

He gave a displeased mrow and Mic blinked and bent down next to the discarded pile of clothes, lifting up a pants leg to see Shouta’s eyes glowering up at him. “Oh, there you are, you silly baby!” Shouta glared at him, willing all his disdain to show through his eyes. Mic was unfazed. “Aw, geez, now I need to wash the hair off this stuff!” Mic playfully scolded as he started picking up the clothes.

You literally threw it on me, Shouta thought silently. You have no one to blame but yourself for this. He waited patiently for Mic to lift the clothes off him, depositing them on his bed to be washed later. Shouta took silent pleasure in the glimpse of black hairs stuck to them.

Mic pulled on the eye-searing shirt while Shouta continued to sit and brood, chattering all the while. “Man, I am so stoked to see this band tonight! I feel kinda bad leaving you alone here all day when you’re still getting used to the place, but you’ll have Sprinkles to keep you company so you shouldn’t be too lonely!” He grabbed what Shouta presumed to be his work uniform and folded the shirt over his arm, giving Shouta a final pet as he strode past him. Shouta remained in place, pointedly ignoring him as he continued to sulk and brood.

Approximately ten seconds later Mic returned, looking notably dejected. “Your bowl is still full,” he said glumly. “Are you seriously on some sort of hunger strike?” Shouta made a rumbling noise halfway between a meow and a grumble, and Mic groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “C’mon, Puddles, I’m on a limited budget here! Do I need to steal expensive food for you?”

Shouta responded with a pointed glare. He would NOT condone Mic stealing cat food for him. As a hero, he couldn’t allow even the most trivial of crimes, even if they had good intentions behind them. Plus, he had a feeling the blond would try feeding him a wet canned food next, and the thought of the slimy-looking can-shaped meat chunk just made him want to shudder.

(He pointedly ignored the fact he stole one of the pieces of chicken from Mic’s dinner last night when the blond wasn’t looking. He was a cat right now, cats did not need to obey any laws, and snagging food from someone’s plate wasn’t exactly illegal anyway.)

“I still have that concert tonight so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Mic sighed, and then nodded to himself with a look of renewed resolve. “I can’t let you starve though! We’ll have to improvise for now!” He marched off to the kitchen, and Shouta followed silently, letting himself feel a glimmer of hope. That hope was soon rewarded when he found Mic rooting through the fridge, pulling out a can of sardines.

Not my first choice but I’ll take it. Shouta trotted over as Mic put it on a paper plate, hopping onto the counter to begin chowing down before he could even pick up the plate. Relief visibly flooded Mic’s face as he ate, his shoulders slumping and a breath of air escaping him. “Oh thank goodness, I was getting worried there! Kinda picky for a stray though, aren’tcha?” Shouta just rumbled in the back of his throat, too busy eating to respond otherwise.

“Welp, I gotta run if I want to get to work on time,” Mic said, glancing at the clock. “See you later, cool cats! Sprinkles, make sure Puddles doesn’t get into trouble while I’m gone!” The white cat meowed in response, and with a jaunty wave Mic departed, the click of the door shutting and locking ringing particularly heavily in the ensuing silence. Shouta’s head snapped up, eyes locking on the door.

Okay, he’s finally gone. Time to see if I can find an escape route. Shouta had no intention of staying here absolutely longer than necessary; the sooner he found someone he knew, the better. Finishing off the sardines, he leaped off the counter and made his way to the door, determined to get out.

Ten minutes of trying to open it later, he found his resolve faltering though. Cat paws just weren’t good for turning round doorknobs, even with the advantage of knowing how they worked. And that didn’t even account for trying to just reach it. There were no convenient surfaces near the handle to stand on, so he spent most of those ten minutes just hopping up and down trying to reach it.

As he found himself clinging to the knob with all four limbs trying desperately not to slide off, he finally conceded this probably wouldn’t work.

Letting himself fall to the ground, he proceeded to sullenly slink to the rest of the apartment to search for an alternate route. He’d neglected to explore the apartment the previous day beyond the bathroom and the main living space, as he’d rather not look around a villain’s place too much. Beyond the whole “don’t intend to stay more than a day” thing, he didn’t really feel keen on the “invasion of privacy” thing. The man might be technically a villain, but honestly, Shouta viewed him as more of a nuisance than dangerous.

After checking the window in the living room and confirming it would be even more of a hassle to open than the front door, he reluctantly turned his attention to the bedroom. The door was half-closed, and he felt apprehensive as he crept towards it because, again, invasion of privacy. He’d only sat outside the door that morning because Mic was being noisy and he was curious. He hadn’t been able to see a window then, but there could be one on the wall outside his view, and if he got lucky it would be open. So he nudged open the door, looking around, and—

............

That was a lot of Eraserhead merchandise.

Shouta just stared at the collection of posters and other objects in the corner where two dressers met, as if staring would make it disappear or somehow become... something else. Anything else. But nope, it all stayed in place, from the folded shirt to the homemade banner with ‘ERASERHEAD’ written in large English letters.

I don’t even HAVE merchandise. What the actual hell. Those looked like replicas of his capture weapon and goggles, though the color was slightly off, and... Was that a plushie of him? Hopping onto one of the dressers and prodding at the small doll curiously, he confirmed it was, indeed, a hand-made plushie of him.

Mic returned several hours later to Sprinkles pawing at Shouta as he hid under the couch. Mic, naturally, just assumed Shouta was spooked and proceeded to spend about half an hour trying to coax him out. Shouta pointedly ignored his cooing and just remained curled up in the safe embrace of the darkness, wishing desperately he could unsee what he had seen.

Day three of being a cat. Shouta had finally emerged from his spot under the couch to dine on more sardines, having resumed his usual cool demeanor after the initial shock and embarrassment at seeing the shrine. What shrine? Shouta saw absolutely no hand-made plushies or other merchandise of himself, Mic’s room was absolutely normal. Well, as normal as a bedroom belonging to Present Mic could be.

More important than nonexistent merchandise, he was starting to wonder if the Quirk had a time limit. Was he doomed to be forever a cat? No, no, he’d give it a week before he started to panic. A lot of long-lasting Quirks had a week-long time limit, there was no reason to assume it didn’t have a limit. No need to freak out just yet—

What was that spot?

Shouta froze, transfixed by a yellowish dot moving on the floor next to him. Gaze following it intently, he tentatively slapped his paw over it, only for it to appear on top of it. He blinked in mild surprise, and when he withdrew his paw the spot didn’t move with it instead, remaining in the exact place on the floor.

Had he been human he would have frowned at it, so for now he settled for squinting. What is this thing? After a few seconds the weird spot moved away and bounced in a small circle along the tile floor. Eyes narrowing, he slowly crept towards it and pounced again, only for it to once more appear atop his paw.

Another confused blink, and he quickly retreated, circling it warily. He slowly reached out to tap it, watching the spot overlap with his dark fur before quickly withdrawing his paw. Nearby he heard Mic give a soft giggle, which he chose to ignore as he inspected the spot more thoroughly. Obviously it wasn’t a bug, or even anything physical.

Is it a light? he thought. It was the most reasonable explanation. But what kind of yellow light is that small and able to move like that? The only light he could think of were—wait.

Shouta abruptly froze as the spot zoomed away, just staring into space as gears clicked into place in his mind.

Did I seriously fall for a laser pointer? he thought in disbelief. Another soft giggle from Mic drew his attention to the blond, and he confirmed his suspicion instantly upon seeing him pointing a pen-like device towards the wall. His left hand pressed against his mouth as he watched the two cats from a distance, an amused smile peeking through his fingers.

I fell for a laser pointer, Shouta mentally reiterated in mild shock.

In his defense, his new eyes had a more limited range of color so he couldn’t exactly tell the light was red. Had he been able to see its color, he would’ve made the connection right away. Somehow, his newfound red-green colorblindness had slipped his mind with everything else going on. Come to think of it, that hideous shirt Mic wore yesterday might not actually be that hideous. Huh.

As Shouta stared at him Mic’s smile faded, his hand lowering from his mouth as he frowned. He looked kind of... disappointed? Shouta blinked, briefly confused by the change in expression, until he saw the laser zoom past his paws again. Oh. Mic was still trying to play with him. Yeah, Shouta got pretty dejected too when his own cat lost interest.

As he watched Mic’s shoulders slump he felt a twinge of guilt, and decided to take pity on the man. He abruptly spun and pounced onto the light, the laser bouncing wildly as Mic startled. As the laser swerved away and Shouta chased after it, he snuck a glance at Mic to find him grinning brilliantly, his eyes sparkling. That looked much better than the sad look he’d been sporting.

Shouta was only doing this because he was bored. Cats had very limited options for mental stimulation, it was only logical to take advantage of a distraction when he had the chance. The fact it made Mic happy had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

Day four of being a cat.

Shouta was learning more about Mic than he ever wanted to, and not just because he was forced to inhabit the same space as the man. No, Mic had apparently decided that cats made perfect receptacles for venting.

Shouta felt ready for a villain to burst through the wall and end his misery now as Mic laid on his bed, venting to him in a manner eerily reminiscent a teenage girl. The comparison was more apt than Shouta expected actually, given the man’s obsession with appearances and melodramatic tendencies in his villain persona. He kind of reminded him of an unholy fusion of Ashido and Jirou.

So far he’d heard everything. Rants about the awful music selection played at the convenience store on the way to his job. The atrocious battery life of his cell phone and the hassle of carrying a charger everywhere. The apartment manager who always drew out and loudly over-enunciated her words after she first noticed his hearing aids, making it even harder to understand her (actually a valid grievance, Shouta admitted).

And Shouta just sat there with a grumpy look, trying to convey his utter lack of interest through his sour glare. Part of him contemplated just leaving, but he had actually been quite comfortable sitting on this pillow before Mic came in and flopped onto the bed with an exasperated, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had!” Aside from the noise, this pillow was still quite comfortable, much moreso than the couch, which was worn enough he could feel the springs creak under his weight. So he just tried to ignore the venting.

It was not as easy as he hoped.

“—And then there’s my shitty job—god I hate that place!” the blond muttered, poking Shouta’s ear. His ear twitched away from the touch, just squinting at him with disdain. You seem to hate a lot of places, he thought sarcastically. “They treat me like shit!” Most “villains” would try destroy a place if they really hated it that much.

“It’s all just so horrible!” the blond finished with a dramatic groan, while Shouta watched on with absolutely no sympathy. Screw this, the couch is lumpy but at least it’s quiet there. He was about to get up and leap away when the blond perked up, a bright smile lighting up his face. “But y’know what makes everything better?”

No, what? Shouta thought sarcastically, knowing he’d find out either way.

“Eraserhead!” Wait what? Shouta tensed at the mention of his name, staring wide-eyed and starting to feel rising panic as Mic began gushing about him. “Seeing him always makes me so much happier!” Okay, he really should have seen this coming, since the villain was pretty overt about his romantic intentions towards Shouta in... literally every encounter they had. “He’s my boyfriend y’know? Sooo cute!” Wait, wait, what—no, back up!! We’re not dating— “He kicks my ass a lot but only ’cuz that’s his job!”

Don’t say it like! That makes it sound like an abusive relationship!! A distressed hiss nearly escaped Shouta, but it was silenced by the all-consuming panic and embarrassment that had gripped him. Mic had a dreamy-looking smile on his face, his eyes almost glittering as he loudly proclaimed, “I love him a lot!”

Oh my god. He really IS a teenage girl. Shouta felt like he was watching a disaster movie play out in real time, and in a way he was. The disaster that was Mic’s delusional take of their relationship. Did this idiot even understand how healthy relationships worked!? Why do you even love me so much!?

Maybe his feline features were more expressive than he thought, or maybe Mic was just in a mood to gush over him, because the blond gave a dreamy sigh and proceeded to elaborate.

“Man, you should see him in action. He’s so graceful and agile, like a cat.” More literally than you know right now, Shouta thought sullenly. “And he totally doesn’t back down even if the other guy’s, like, ten times his size!” That would be a sixty-foot-tall person, Mic. That would be unrealistic and just makes me sound reckless. “And he manages to take them down with nothing but his skills and his awesome scarf!” I wish I could take down a sixty-foot-tall giant with just that.

“And plus, he totally punched a reporter in the face this one time!” Mic continued, and that one admittedly caught Shouta’s attention. Usually people highlighted that incident as a bad one, not a good quality. “It’s just, there’s so many heroes out there who only seem to care about the press, y’know?

“Don’t get me wrong, I love big and flashy stunts as much as the next guy—I mean, as long as I’m not, you know, actually facing All Might myself, haha, oh thank god he’s retired now and that won’t ever happen—but some of them just feel... hollow.” Mic waved his hand with a vague frown. muttering. “Like, they do it more for the cameras than a feeling of doing good, I guess?

“But Eraserhead,” he breathed with a small smile, rolling onto his side to gaze at the totally nonexistent shrine as he rambled, “He doesn’t care about that stuff. He’s willing to put his life on the line to save everyone! Hell, that poster of him over there” which does not exist “doesn’t show it, but he has this big scar under his eye. Like this, see?”

He twisted his torso to face Shouta again and traced a crescent-shaped line under his right eye, mirroring the one currently visible on Shouta’s face at that very moment, seriously how dense could a guy be!? “And you know how he got it?” Mic asked, and yes, he did. It was hard to forget having his face slammed into the pavement and ground against it by a Noumu while his students were watching nearby—

“He got it protecting his students, barely even a full week after meeting them.”

The sheer reverence in Mic’s voice silenced any snarky internal commentary, Shouta just blinking slowly. Any lingering traces of the dopey smile had faded by this point, replaced by a more serious look he rarely saw on the blond. “Eraserhead almost died then. I heard he was lucky to even still be able to see. I sent him a card of course, and took over his patrol route for him until he got better,” wait, was THAT why there wasn’t a massive spike in crime while he was gone, “but man, it was such a close call...”

He sighed, letting his head flop back onto the mattress as he stared into space. “It’s just... He went to work expecting a normal day, and instead he ended up facing a giant ambush of, like, two dozen guys or more. And he just went in anyway, knowing he’d probably die. And that—that takes a lot of guts. Guts, and heart.”

Shouta remained silent, just... staring at him. Slowly he slumped atop the pillow and rolled onto his side, staring into space. He had a lot to think about now.

Night four of being a cat. Shouta was currently in Mic’s bed. Repeat: Shouta was currently in Mic’s bed.

Don’t move, he silently commanded himself, staring wide-eyed into the darkness as he remained perfectly still. At some point after listening to Mic confess his undying love he’d fallen asleep, and apparently Mic had taken it as invitation to use him as a teddy bear. The sleeping blond had one arm tossed over Shouta essentially trapping him in place, the hero-turned-feline pressed close to his front. By “close”, he meant he could feel Mic’s breaths tickle the fur on his ears, feel his steady heartbeat against his back.

Had he been human Shouta would probably be blushing right now. Actually, he might still be doing so underneath the thick fur judging by how warm his face felt. This was the most intimately close he’d gotten to another person in... well, ever. Aizawa Shouta was not a tactile person by any means. ...But even with his limited experience he’d never been this physically close to someone.

They were sharing a pillow, for crying out loud!

Part of him wanted to worm his way out and abscond to the couch, pretending this never happened, but... at the same time, he didn’t really want to move. Mic’s body felt so warm. The arm draped over Shouta didn’t feel heavy, but instead oddly comforting. The rhythm of Mic’s heartbeat and the steady rising and falling of his chest gently pushed against his back, providing a silent lullaby that put him strangely at ease.

This was so illogical. Mic was a villain—well, more of a public nuisance, but still—Shouta shouldn’t feel so safe around him. But something about being pressed so close to the blond, half-covered by the blankets and with his head laying against the surprisingly soft pillow, just filled him with an odd sense of contentment.

He could feel Mic shift in his sleep, unconsciously pulling Shouta just a little bit closer. “Soft,” he mumbled, the word slurred and quiet, barely recognizable, yet still full of a deep fondness that tugged at Shouta’s heart. He exhaled slowly before closing his eyes, willing the tension to fade from his body as he curled a little closer to Mic.

Just one night won’t be too bad. I just need to make sure he never finds out I’m the cat.

Day five of being a cat. Shouta took back anything nice he ever said about Mic.

“How do you like your new bowtie Puddles?” Mic asked enthusiastically, hugging a very unenthusiastic Shouta with a giant grin.

“Mow,” he replied dejectedly. This is the worst thing I’ve had to endure in my entire life.

“I agree!” Mic proclaimed cheerfully.

“Mow.” No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t be doing this to me.

Now that he was aware of his current colorblindness, Shouta had no idea what the bow tie actually looked like, but he didn’t think any color scheme could make it look less tacky. It had polka dots. Nemuri might claim Shouta had a horrific fashion sense (not that he cared enough to agree or disagree), but even he acknowledged that a polka dot bowtie was the epitome of stupid looking.

Sprinkles mewed loudly as she pawed at Mic’s leg, blinking up at them with those large green eyes of hers. Similar to Shouta, she also wore a bowtie, this one a sparkly sequined thing that might be either green or pink. Unlike him, Mic positioned it so the bow was on the back of her neck, which Shouta found to be a perfectly practical and overall lovely choice for a female cat. Clearly she was used to being dressed up, as she made no fuss over it.

“What’s that, Sprinkles?” Mic asked, bending down and finally releasing Shouta from his hold. Shouta promptly began tugging at the bowtie with his paw, silently cursing his lack of opposable thumbs to aid in removing it. His tiny toes couldn’t get a good enough grip to do anything but pat it, much to his dismay.

While he sulked over that Mic held out his arms, Sprinkles jumping into his hold without further prompting. As she did her poofy tail coincidentally whacked Shouta in the face, making him jolt and sneeze. He shot her a sour look, while Mic just laughed as he swept her up and hugged her to his chest. “Hey, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he accused playfully. The white feline meowed and bumped her head against his chin, eyes sliding shut as she purred.

The accusation made Shouta’s eyes narrow, his glare growing harsher. Mic snickered at his expression before turning his attention back to Sprinkles, his grin softening to something more gentle and fond. “I get what you’re doing. You’re just jealous of all the attention I’m giving Puddles, aren’t you?” He adjusted his grip to scratch her chin and Sprinkles seemed to melt in his arms at the attention, a look of pure bliss on her face. “But you don’t need to be jealous. You’re still my adorable sweetheart.”

As he watched the pair Shouta felt his ire melt away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. The love and adoration in Mic’s face as he gazed down upon Sprinkles was nothing but genuine, the relaxed slump to her body an indication of total trust and happiness.

A guy who cares about cats that much can’t be that bad, he thought to himself quietly.

Half an hour later, he rescinded that thought when Mic posed with him and Sprinkles, all three wearing matching hats and bowties as he tried to angle his phone for a good selfie. He silently vowed to get his paws on that phone and dump it in the toilet as soon as he had the chance.

Day six of being a cat.

Mic had returned from his job a few minutes prior, which was just as well since Shouta had unfortunately confirmed that operating a laser pointer without thumbs was hard. He had a feeling Sprinkles had been more frustrated by the erratic movement and blinking of the dot than usual during his attempts to play with her. At some point she’d clocked onto Shouta as being the source of her frustration, because she had decided to ignore the laser in favor of jumping at him.

“Wow, you two did a lot of roughhousing today, huh?” Mic asked as he sat on the floor with Sprinkles in his lap, running a brush through her fur. Strands of black had gotten mixed into her otherwise pristine white coat, the usually fluffy and silky texture more ruffled and messy from their small wrestling match. Shouta himself looked no better; he could see white furs spot his paws, almost seeming to glow against his own pitch black coat.

He had taken refuge atop a cabinet in the far corner to get away from Sprinkles, and now took advantage of his vantage point to just... observe them. Mic clearly brushed Sprinkles often judging by her reaction. She purred contently as he gently dragged the brush along her head, her ears briefly flattening beneath the bristles before popping back into their usual perky position. She leaned into the strokes, arching her back slightly while her cheek rubbed against his chest.

The sheer love in Mic’s expression was visible to anyone, his smile so much softer than Shouta ever thought the loud and hyper man to be capable of. Plucking a few lingering strands of black fur, he set the brush down and lightly nudged her off his lap. Sprinkles hopped off his lap and strutted away, the blond watching with obvious fondness.

Those warm green eyes turned to Shouta, making him stiffen. “Okay, your turn,” he said, patting his lap invitingly. When Shouta didn’t move he got up and walked over, stopping next to the cabinet. “Come on, time to get down.”

“...Mrow,” Shouta responded in a surprisingly meek way. I would, but I’m kinda stuck, he thought sheepishly. Climbing the cabinet had been one thing, but now that he was on top of it... well, the drop to the floor looked much higher than he thought.

This is so illogical, he thought sulkily. As a human he’d made plenty of larger jumps (with the support of his capture weapon of course), but as a cat the drop seemed a lot bigger. He also lacked the fine-tuned reflexes and familiarity with his body he’d developed from years of training with it, so he felt considerably less confident about his ability to safely jump from such a height without hurting himself in some way.

Mic seemed to pick up on his unease, a small frown settling on his face. “Hey, Puddles, are you nervous?” he asked. “Here, come on, just hop on down. I’ll catch you, okay?” He held out his arms, and Shouta blinked, slow and catlike. Seriously? He was asking a cat to jump into his arms? The rational part of him scoffed, since he knew a normal cat wouldn’t be able to understand such a thing.

But... the less rational, cat-loving part of him, understood. How many times had he tried to coax a cat to jump down from a branch, to leap right into his open arms, logic be damned? Seeing that earnest look on the blond’s face, the encouraging little smile silently asking him to trust him... It made something feel content in Shouta’s chest.

And so, he jumped.

His jump was clumsy and awkward, his mobility just as hindered by his lack of familiarity with this body as he suspected. One of his hind paws ended up catching on the edge of the cabinet, turning a would-be graceful leap into a fumbling tumble. Mic shot forward and caught him, the drop to his arms nowhere near as long as it would be to the floor.

Shouta blinked dumbly as he stared up at the blond, cradled almost like an infant. He had a perfect view of the blond’s smile, relief clear in his face. “Oof! Almost slipped there! Don’t worry though, I got ya buddy.” He carried Shouta over to where he’d left the brush and sat on the floor, rolling Shouta onto his stomach with the feline settled in his lap. He picked up the brush and pulled off the fur already caught in the bristles before he began running it through Shouta’s fur, the strokes light and gentle.

Shouta tensed, memories of painful attempts to brush his own hair flashing through his mind. Tugging his brush through particularly bad knots sometimes felt just as painful as getting slammed into the wall by a villain, and he didn’t look forward to feeling it all over his body. To his surprise the strokes were light and gentle though, each one strangely soothing, and—dare he say it... nice.

He practically melted in Mic’s lap as the bristles stroked through his thick fur, Mic using his free hand to pluck individual white furs that the brush couldn’t capture. “I bet you’ve never been brushed before, have you?” he mused aloud. “You look like you’ve lived your whole life on the streets, you poor thing. Don’t worry though, those days are over.”

Shouta gave a throaty hum, his eyelids sliding shut. It was exactly the kind of thing he had told his own cat when he’d first brought her home, some distant part of his mind noted. He didn’t know how much time passed with Mic brushing him, his mind slipping into a content haze.

It felt like all too soon Mic finished, setting the brush down. He didn’t nudge Shouta off just yet like he did with Sprinkles though, instead pulling Shouta into a small hug. The mellow haze which had consumed his senses lifted slightly at that, a single golden eye peeking open as he felt the blond scratch his ear.

“Hard to believe it’s been a little under a week since I found you.” Mic had a gentle smile as he stared down at Shouta, his eyes soft and lidded. “It already feels like you’ve been part of the family a lot longer.” His hand fell away from Shouta’s head, joining his other arm to wrap around him in a slightly tighter hug. “It might be silly, but I’m glad you’re here—it gets quite lonely at times. Pathetic, I know.”

The blond gave a self-deprecating chuckle while Shouta just sat in his arms, staring forward blankly. Right now, he could feel nothing but pure love radiating from Mic, his genuine and powerful fondness for what he believed to be a normal cat quite evident despite only knowing “Puddles” for less than a week. And hearing him call himself pathetic so easily didn’t sit right with Shouta.

Before he knew it he’d twisted in Mic’s hold and bumped his head against the man’s chest, purring lowly as he rubbed his head against him. He could feel the blond perk up, sitting a little straighter. “Oh! You’re a cuddly kitty!”

Shouta just kept purring, eyes sliding shut as he felt the blond gently scratch his back.

This, he thought distantly, was contentment. This was happiness. Just being in the arms of someone who cared about you, and showing you cared about them back, even if just a little.

Maybe being stuck as a cat wasn’t so bad after all.

Morning seven found Shouta rousing to consciousness slowly, his eyes feeling crusted shut and refusing to open. His muscles felt notably more sore than they had the past week, making him groan lowly and curl up a little tighter. Ugh, stupid cat body... He forced his eyes to blink open, and for a moment he was confused.

Doesn’t the room seem a bit... brighter? He frowned, squinting blearily at the shrine (not a shrine, what shrine, those were just random posters of a random guy who happened to resemble him) which seemed a bit more colorful than he remembered. The sand crusting his eyes made it hard to focus, and he reached a hand to rub it away before pausing. Wait a minute, is my hand human?

Behind him Hizashi slowly stirred to consciousness as the mattress shifted, a distant part of his mind registering it dip heavily to the side. A sleepy little moan slipped past his lips, barely audible to even the keenest ears, his eyes drowsily fluttering open to see something dark and furry in front of his face.

Puddles? he thought hazily, but as his vision came into focus his still-drowsy mind quickly registered that it was not his feline. No, it was the back of a human head, a man sitting up on the other side of his bed. A flash of peach near the blankets drew his eyes to an arm with a starburst-shaped scar on the elbow, the blanket falling slightly as the man lifted his torso and wait his back was totally bare, holy shit this guy’s totally naked and he’s in my bed. Any lingering drowsiness vanished instantly as he bolted upright.

“What the fuck!?” Hizashi screamed as he bolted upright, Quirk unconsciously activating in his shock.

Shouta flinched and sat straight up, his hair whipping around his face in the voice-fueled blast of wind as he gripped the blanket against his chest. Well, the Quirk finally wore off at least. Okay, he doesn’t have his glasses yet. Hopefully he won’t be able to recognize you and you can just run before he gets them—

“Wait, wha—ERASERHEAD!?”

So much for that. As Mic’s voice devolved into a high-pitched squeak of horror Shouta rubbed at his eyes with a quiet groan, doing his best to ignore the sudden silence that fell over the room. After a few seconds past he turned his head slightly to look at the blond, finding him staring at him with an ashen look of shock and disbelief, mouth open but for once producing absolutely no noise. Only took waking up next to me in bed to finally get him to shut up.

“So,” Shouta said awkwardly. “Got any pants I could borrow?”

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #aizawa x hizashi #yamada hizashi #mha #fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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briefololtragedy · 4 years

Text

Something to Stay Part 4

Sakura X Itachi

Prequel to Say anything

Itachi doesn’t like being called Uchiha-san.

Rating G

Call me by my name

It was 4:55 when Sakura rushed into the locker room to change into her scrubs for the day. She was always at least 15 minutes early, but this morning it was hard to get up. Sasuke had so many questions and worry for his brother, by the time she go to answering all of then it after 11pm and she wanted to crash into bed, which she did the moment she got home. Shower be damned!

Her alarm woke her from sleep at 430, apparently she snoozed it at 4am. Next thing she knew she bolted out of the bed, almost tripped on her bedding that was now on the floor of her bedroom. When she says almost tripped, she means full on face plant to the floor. A quick shower to wash of the hospital grim just for it to be replaced by a new layer. There was no time to dry her hair, which she put into a quick messy bun. Looking in the mirror after throwing on a simple pair of skinny jeans and oversized T-shirt with a bowl of ramen on it, she noticed the bumps on her face and the slight break out she has gotten due wearing surgical mask so long yesterday and only eating cookies. Looking at her watch, it was 445, the time she normally got to work. She grabbed her Toms and ran out the door.

Sakura made it to handoff just as the clock hanged to 5. Kabuto looked smug. “You look like a walking disaster this morning. Try to put yourself together before seeing patients. We don’t want you giving them a heart attack with how dreadful you look.”

Sakura found herself having to count to 10. She could not punch Kabuto, in the face multiple times, it would be unprofessional. She was sure he was upset with her getting to assist yesterday. They had 20 patients to cover. Kabuto took 4 and split the rest between her and the other intern. Anticipation and worry came to her briefly, knowing that she would have to take care of Itachi. She hoped Sasuke and his parents got what ever peaceful rest they could obtain. She heard the nurses complaining how Fugaku demanded them be able to stay past visiting hours to see that Itachi’s needs were being meet. She planned to pre-round on him last, so she could make a quick escape to meet before the formal rounds with Dr. Senju.

She finished going through the charts of her other patients in record time and able to quickly examine them with no problems. She had a couple appendectomies, cholecystectomies, and hernia repairs. She had one hernia repair who tried to get a little to handsy when she was examining his abdomen. Sakura made a mental note to have a nurse with her the next time she had to be in the room with him.

She had 20 minutes before she had to meet with her team. She planned on taking 5-10 minutes to quickly check on Itachi and then get coffee. She already downed her first cup when she was sitting in front of her computer. Sakura also didn’t care to fix her appearance, aside from her dark circles, she looked presentable. She wasn’t here to appeal to the male sex, she wanted to learn and follow in the footsteps of Dr. Senju.

Hana quickly gave her a report on how Itachi was doing. He had woken up in the middle of the night and went back to sleep after some pain medication was given. His family had left before he fell asleep, which came to be a relief for the nurses working. He was still resting this morning.

Sakura took a deep breath, gently knocked on his door. Hearing no response, which she expected, she entered.

Many years have gone by since she last saw the oldest son of Mikoto and Fugaku. From what she remembers when she was 11, he was a tall, dark, intimidating force. He once snuck her some dango that Sasuke didn’t want following her punching him in the face. His parents weren’t happy with her. She had ran off into their gardens after the incident.

This man laying on the bed sleeping was not the picture that she carried with her all these years. He looked paler than normal, his lines under his eyes were more pronounced, IVs in both his arms, and the IV poll on his right side. His heart tracing looked steady, no arrhythmias. Oxygen saturation was perfect. His breathing pattern and heart rate on the lower side confirmed he was in a deep sleep.

“Uchiha-san, its Dr. Haruno. I will be taking a quick listen to you and then will want to look at your surgical incision.” She had placed on her hand on his left arm, gently trying to get him to stir. She then went about assessing him this morning.

It was now time to look at his incision and knew she would have to be more forceful when trying to get him awake. He started to stir.

“Uchiha-san, its Dr. Haruno. I am just going to check your abdomen quickly to make sure everything is ok. How is your pain?” Those words brought Itachi out of his dream world and as he opened his eyes he was met with the most color he has ever seen, bright pink and emerald. He was once again reminded of a cherry blossom field.

As his eyes started to focus more he was met with Sakura. Gone was the scrawny little thing, and now before him stood a grown women. She still had delicate features, gone was the baby fat of her face. Her hair was on the top of her head in a bun. No makeup on her face, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the other women he has come across over the years.

“I will need to bring your covers down to get access to your bandages, is that ok?” Her eyes were warm and welcoming. She had a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t answer her right away, but went to slowly push his blankets down. The slight crunch he did caused pain to shoot through his abdomen.

“Uchiha-san you should let me do that for you. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that you have an intense surgery. I will let nurse Hana now that you will need one of your as needed pain medications.” Her voice was smooth like honey.

He didn’t even notice as she removed the bandages on his abdomen and inspected the site. She worked quickly and professionally. After she was done looking she redid his bandages with fresh gaze and tape.

“Do you need anything else Uchiha-san?” He didn’t know why she was acting so formal with him, but he could understand it. They hadn’t seen each other in years, she wasn’t even a teenager the last time they met. He couldn’t remember ever holding an actual conversation with her.

“No Dr. Haruno. Have you heard from Sasuke any?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I haven’t heard from him since last night. Hopefully he is getting some rest along with your parents, all of you have been through a lot. I almost thought you wouldn’t remember I'm friends with Sasuke.” She had a slight smile on her face. She was staring at him and it was then that he realized it was because he hadn’t said anything in reply. Itachi got caught up staring at her eyes, those dazzling emeralds.

“Sasuke talks about you and Naruto, well as much as someone like him can… Would it be possible to get something to drink? My throat feels raw.” He had to kick himself for asking her about the drink, he was an absolute idiot.

“Of course. I’ll see if one of the nursing students can bring you something. They are pretty good at checking in on patients and helping out. Dr. Senju and the team will be around later, get some rest Uchiha-san.” Sakura had brought his covers up to his chest and walked out the door. For some reason her saying Uchiha-san didn’t sit well with him.

A few minutes later he was brought multiple cups of water and students more then welling to help him. it was when his nurse came in with some pain medication that they were shooed away.

Itachi didn’t know what to do with himself now. When was the last time he was idle for so long.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sakura made it just in time to get a new cup of coffee before starting rounds with Dr. Senju. It was hard keeping an indifferent face when talking with Itachi. She couldn’t help as she acknowledged how attractive he was, but she wasn’t an airhead preteen anymore. She was able to separate work and her personal life. While Itachi muddied the water some, she would be professional with him and his family when they came into the hospital.

A proud smirk made its way onto her lips as she brought up her coffee cup to her mouth. She had beat Kabuto and the other intern to the meeting spot. She only had to make it though 3 more days until she had a day off. Sunday would be a glorious day!

Jin was the second to arrive, he was one in her first year class. He stood a head and half taller then her, he had an average build, his coloring was brown hair and brown eyes. Unlike her, he had a tan to his skin. He was doing a trauma rotation, but belonged to the orthopedic surgery program.

“ Wonder where Yakushi is? I heard you got to scrub into that surgery yesterday with Dr. Senju, man is she scary! “ She couldn’t help but be irritated by his voice, it wasn’t his fault that she was having the start of a migraine.

“He should be here soon, maybe he heard about a new case for the day.” It was unlike Kabuto to not have arrived by now. At times Wednesday could be a slow day compared to the other days of the week. Starting Friday - Monday you would get the reckless injuries that were brought about by too much drinking and wanting to have a good time. A couple of weeks ago it was a party boat that capsized when too many people were on it.

“Where is Yakushi? I’m ready to round, it was a long ass day yesterday. “ Dr. Senju came up, tea in hand. She was not Kabuto’s biggest fan to start and him not being here was not a way to get off her bad side.

“Dr. Senju, sorry to interrupt but Dr. Yakushi was pulled into a surgery with Dr. Orochimaru.” It looked like the nurses had sacrificed one of the nursing student’s to deliver the message. Sakura didn’t know the name of the poor girl, but could see her shaking.

A grumble came form Dr. Senju, her lips pressed together. “ Let get started. I take it you two are carrying the majority of the patients anyway. We will round on them and then you two can finish charting. You two will be up for first assist on the next surgery. Decide among the two of you who will take it when it comes.” She then started walking down the halls.

Rounds were lightening fast. It was decided that Jin would take the first surgery of the day since Sakura got the one yesterday. Jin vanished to do his work, while Sakura took to sitting at one of the empty computers at the nursing station. The gossip from the nurses would put Ino to shame. ‘notes and then lunch.’

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Shisui leave Sasuke alone. “ How many times did Itachi have to stop those two. Sasuke had gotten back at Shisui for giving his cell number to some of the nurses. Sasuke’s phone wouldn’t stop going off. In retribution apparently Shisui’s Instagram was hacked and was announced that he was undergoing treatment for multiple STDs, his prior conquests were not to happy about the announcement.

Shisui had come with food from Mikoto. Sadly he was unable to eat it due to being on clear liquids. The aroma itself was making Itachi’s mouth water. Itachi refused to let either Sasuke or Shisui eat his food and made them put it in the mini fridge in his room.

“I heard you have little Sakura-chan overseeing you. Aren’t you a lucky dog. Sasuke I don’t know how the two of you never got together even for a night.” Sasuke looked ready to attack. Itachi wasn’t aware that his cousin knew Sakura. Shisui initially worked for the family law firm, but then branched off with itachi to do pro-bono work. He typically got in later then Itachi and stayed to close up the office, where Itachi opened it. Shisui had guilt from not being to the office sooner he may have been able to prevent itachi getting shot.

“Uchiha-san I have come to check on you quickly. Sasuke-kun said that you may be in pain.” Sakura was at the door, her presence stopping the inevitable match between Sasuke and Shisui.

Sasuke looked annoyed and Shisui straightened up. Itachi could already tell Shisui was putting his best flirting face on. “Sakura-chan I have to ask if it hurt?” Sakura looked at Shisui annoyance spreading on her face.

“Shisui we have had this conversation before and I’m not currently in the mood to put up with your ridiculous pick up lines.” Sasuke was annoyed he knew his cousin was doing this to get on his nerves. He and Naruto made it their mission to make sure the guys wanting to date Sakura where fully screened, much to the annoyance of Sakura. She had to keep most of her relationships a secret, unless they were creeps. The creeps she held no remorse for when the two idiots chased them away. Just because they watched out for her didn't protect her from having her heart broken a few times, before she decided to focus solely on her training.

“Come on lets go find something to eat since Weasel here wont share his food.” It was then that Sasuke’s stomach started to grumble, he was in agreement to finding food and some tomato juice.

After dumb and dumber left Sakura was able to speak to Itachi. “Uchiha-san I know you have been having increased pain and wanted to make sure you were doing ok. Is there anything that you need? “

“Why do you call be Uchiha-san? “ Itachi blamed it on his pain medications for having no filter.

“What am I supposed to call you? I think Shisui has dibs on Weasel. “ she looked playful, mischievous look behind her eyes. It reminded itachi of the little girl he remembered from another time it seemed.

“I would like it for you to call me by my name Dr. Haruno. I feel like my father should be in the room when you say Uchiha-san. “ Sakura couldn’t imagine anyone calling Fugaku by anything other than Uchiha-sama. His face would probably get as red of the tomatoes that Sasuke adores so much in anger.

“Itachi-san considering you are older than me doesn’t that make you an old man?” Before Itachi could reply Sakura’s stomach decided to interrupt their conversation.

‘I forgot to eat lunch again! Two appendectomies came in that Jin and her split, which was around lunch time.’ Sakura couldn’t help but be embarrassed.

“Excuse me Itachi-san, but I will leave you to get some more rest.” Itachi didn’t want her to leave. She was a breath of spring in the shade of beige room.

“My mother made me a bento and my doctor has decided to only let me have liquids. I don’t think she would mind me giving it to you.”

Sakura was speechless. Mikoto’s food was a precious commodity, one that Sasuke refused to let anyone have. “I can get some food in the cafeteria, that was made for you and I’m sure you would like to have it once you are cleared for a regular diet.”

“I’m sure my mother would make me a new one when the time comes. This one hasn’t been in the fridge long and will still be fresh. I insist that you take it. Although I do ask that you enjoy it here as a way to repay me. I could use company that doesn’t want to punch the other person in the face.”

“Well that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” This meal would be the first of many, neither of them knowing that at the time.

#itasaku #itachi uchiha #LawyerItachi #Sakura Haruno #SurgeonSakura #naruto #fanfic #prequel #part four

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forever-forgotten-angel · 5 years

Text

Comfort

Summary: A little Thvi as I heart Thomas and Virgil and it's my Birthday so I am treating myself. Can be read as platonic.

Hey, just a little one shot mostly for my own enjoyment but I hope you all enjoy too! Sorry for the sucky title, I am ready to collapse and sleep any second so..... Also sorry for not putting this under a cut. I am on my phone, don't know how and am too tired to figure it out. Sorry. Hope you like this!

The first time it happens is only a couple of weeks after Virgil had been accepted and told them his his name.

Thomas had stayed up far too late watching a horror movie on TV. When he finally fell asleep he, shockingly, had a nightmare. He thrashed stressfully in the bed until finally his eyes shot open and he sat up, glancing fearfully around.

His room was exactly as it had been when he’d fallen asleep, from the dim light of his bedside lamp he’d turned on in an effort to keep the monsters away to the pile of dirty laundry he’d left on the floor.

Despite the seeming normality, he still felt uneasy. It was silly he knew, it had only been a movie. But even so…

He wished he had some company. Someone to assure him there was nothing supernatural haunting his bedroom.

It was too late to call Joan or Talyn. While either one of them would likely forgive him for waking them and be understanding and help him out, his friends were just that amazing, he knew he’d feel guilty for at least a week for doing it. He thought about his sides too but Roman and Logan would surely be asleep, and Patton had been trying to get to bed earlier and not stay up quite as late with his TV marathons so he was also likely snoozing. Much like with his friends, they would likely forgive him after a bit of ribbing, but he’d still feel bad.

He started to lay back down, resigning himself to dealing until it was light out if he couldn’t get back to sleep when a thought occurred to him. There was someone who was likely to be up at a time like this who he could call. He wouldn’t have even considered it a month ago but now…

He hesitates for a moment until he hears and odd noise outside that makes up his mind. “Anx-” He lightly bites his tongue as he cuts himself off. “Virgil?” He corrects and sure enough the side appears instantly looking like he had neither been asleep nor was he planning to be for a while. No wonder he was so down for 2 pm naps.

“Sup?” The anxious side was playing on his phone as he talked as if not really caring about why Thomas called him at this time, but Thomas could see him glancing over to him, checking him over as if looking for injury.

“I had a nightmare. I know it sounds silly but do you see anything….abnormal in here?” He accepted to be scoffed at and made fun of. Instead Virgil dutifully checked the closet, under his bed, and behind his dresser for any hidden threats and made sure the windows were securely locked.

“Nothing I can see. You should be safe in here.” The side commented after he finished his thorough search. Thomas gave him a smile. “Thanks.” Virgil responded with his signature salute and started and made to sink back out.

“Wait.” Virgil obediently paused. Thomas almost blushed as he asked the question he wanted to. “Will you stay for a while?” He asked, scooting over on his bes to make Virgil a spot to lay in.

Virgil stared at him for a full minute before shrugging. “Sure.” The side climbed into bed with him and slid under his covers. “Thanks Virgil. Again.”

“No problem.” He heard from beside him as Virgil settled in before returning to whatever was on his phone. Despite being Thomas’ anxiety, his presence was rather relaxing at that moment and Thomas once more felt safe and secure and read to sleep again with Virgil only a foot away.

They must have moved in their sleep as that foot is gone and they are cuddling each other close when Thomas awakens the next day.

And so it becomes routine.

Any time Thomas has a nightmare, he calls up Virgil who scans for threats before snuggling with the host for safety. Thomas feels safer just knowing that Virgil is there if he needs him.

Surprisingly, even with that security he don’t used to have and him only growing more comfortable with Virgil, his nightmares seemed to gain more frequency as he called for Virgil increasingly often as time went on.

Which led to tonight. Over a year after that first nightmare that started this trend of theirs. It's the third night Thomas has called for Virgil’s nightmare assistance in this week alone.

Thomas is laying beside Virgil with a conflicted expression on his face. Virgil is playing on his phone as per usual and seemingly unaware of the hosts deep thinking at his side.

After a while Thomas reaches a conclusion and takes a deep breath before acting on it. “Virgil.” The anxious side lowers his phone and looks over at his host, a raised eyebrow indicating Thomas could continue. “I have a confession to make.”

Thomas takes another deep breath before blurting out. “I haven’t really been having so many nightmares lately. Sometimes I still have them but a lot of the times I’ve called you up were just because….because I like spending time with you. So I faked having had nightmares so you would come up with me for the night.

He expects anger at the trick. Or teasing. Or annoyance. Or irritation. Or disgust. Or betrayal. Or something. But he gets nothing. Virgil’s face shows no reaction. Thomas wonders if he even heard at all but he confirms he did when he speaks.

“I know.”

That was not what Thomas was expecting at all.

“You know?” he questioned receiving a nod and a sharp laugh in return. “Of course. You forget I am your anxiety Thomas. I know when you are really scared and when you aren’t.”

Thomas feels sheepish as he really hadn’t thought of that even once. He should have known the anxious trait would be aware he wasn’t feeling well...anxious. The way he would feel if he really had a nightmare. Of course Virgil knew….wait. Virgil knew.

He furrows his brow in confusion as this occurs to him. He tilts his head and meets Virgil’s eyes. “Then why did you go along with it every time? If you knew I was faking?”

Virgil does not reply, instead opting to simply put his phone down on the nightstand by his side of the bed, fully lay down and settle, and pull Thomas down to him, holding him close as per usual for them lately. He lets out a contented sigh and Thomas can see a smile on his lips when he tilts his head upwards on Virgil’s chest. Thomas feels a matching smile grow on his face.

The answer to his question may not have been a verbal one, but it still came through loud and clear.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #thvi #fic #my bday #yay

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rantingfangirl · 5 years

Text

I’m Tickled Pink

Summary: An attempt to bring some spice into Alfred F. Jones's life leads to a prank war of epic proportions.

Pairing: UsUk

You can also find this on AO3 and Fanfiction. I’ll reblog with the links :)

Arthur Kirkland was boring.

Alfred had walked into their arrangement knowing this, but he hadn’t thought that it would be such an issue. Having moved into the shared apartment three months before, he figured that he would’ve pulled Arthur out of his dull, monotonous tendencies and into the light. That, by now, Arthur would be tagging along to the club three blocks away from their university or maybe a bar, at the very least.

Except, it hadn’t happened.

He sat on their couch, a joint investment after Arthur’s had taken its final challenge—that is, Alfred’s ass—and collapsed two weeks after Alfred had moved in. Arthur sat in a wingback chair on the other side of their living room, cradling a book and a cup of tea— or at least that’s what he figured it was— a cat snoozing in his lap. Alfred stared, not as subtle as he should’ve been, softly tapping his thumb against his phone’s screen.

Arthur spoke as he flipped the page, “Yes, Alfred?” There was a hint of smugness in his voice, the same tone he got when he was about to roast Alfred into oblivion. Fuck him.

Alfred glanced down at his phone, clicking it open. He would keep him waiting, he decided, opening various social media apps and checking his timeline. It wasn’t until around five minutes later that he actually answered. “Nothing.”

He expected— hoped— for Arthur to get mad. To curse at him or tell him off. Anything that would give him something to do, to open up the possibility, no matter how small, for Alfred to have a little fun in his life.

Arthur did nothing, instead turning another page of his book. The pages were at this point yellow from use, Alfred only knowing that from a previous snooping session. How many times he had read it, Alfred had no clue, but the number had to be high. And how he managed, after all this time, to have never—

He had an idea.

Alfred had to wait for several hours for Arthur to go to bed. The latter always went early, waking up at the crack of dawn to do who-knows-what. It was then, after the rattling had gone silent, that his plan went into full motion.

If Arthur didn’t give him some mode of attention after this, then he supposed that he would call it quits. Alfred made sure to leave everything in the exact spot that it had been, not an inch out of place. He ended up going through about a quarter of the roll of paper towels, but Arthur wouldn’t notice. Probably.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he would be able to see the results.

Alfred woke up earlier than usual, sliding on a random t-shirt before walking out into the living room. Arthur sat in his usual chair, a book— a different one from the night before, strangely enough—in hand.

He sent Alfred a look, pure hate in his eyes. Alfred grinned, pushing his fingers through his hair, suddenly realizing that he forgot his glasses. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Rogers.”

Arthur reached for his tea and Alfred found his smile widening. Finally. Finally.

Arthur’s knuckles had gone white from clenching the mug, and though his face was calm, there was burning rage in his eyes. Oh, this would be fun. “Try this.”

Before Alfred had a chance to answer, the mug was all but shoved into his hands. It sloshed against the rim, missing his shirt only to spill onto his fingers. Alfred winced before looking up, suppressing the grin that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t drink hot tea.”

Arthur scoffed. “Well, you’re going to fucking drink it, whether you like it or not.” His eyebrows shot up when Alfred didn’t move to drink from the mug. Arthur’s hand lifted, waving him on. “Go on, take a sip.”

Alfred didn’t bother to keep in his cringe. On one hand, he knew what it was going to taste like, and by God, it would be bad. But on the other…

He sighed. Even though Arthur knew he did it, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a confession.

Fuck it.

In a split-second decision, Alfred knocked back half of the mug, an immediate gag coming up his throat. His eyes watered. Fuck.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much sugar Arthur normally put in his tea because god damn. It was ten times worse with salt.

Alfred handed the mug back to Arthur, not bothering to keep back the cringe wrinkling his nose. “Jesus Christ, man, no wonder you always look like you’re about to explode.” He scrubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, anything to get the taste out his mouth. “What the hell did you put that?” The glare Arthur sent his way was one of pure hate. As his roommate’s upper lip curled into a sneer, Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what this would pull him into.

Arthur would find someway to absolutely ruin him, he was sure of it. A man with that little friends, one who read that much, he had to have some tricks up his sleeve. Sure, Alfred had never seen any evidence that he could pull the stick out of his ass and have some fun, but he could dream.

Excitement welled within him, pushing and pulling at his insides. This would be good. It had to be. Maybe he would curse at him, roast him to his very core. Arthur, according to Gilbert, was a savage in middle school. He could pull it off.

The sneer on Arthur’s lips faded, replaced by a cool, trained frown. As his face deadpanned, Alfred could’ve sworn that there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I suppose I can live with it.” A beat later, Arthur picked up the mug, taking a long sip from it. No cringe. Nothing to indicate that there was anything in there other than normal tea.

Fuck. This guy had guts.

The feeling of failure followed him into the next morning, climaxing as Alfred made his first cup of coffee for the day. Arthur had already gone, leaving for his eight AM class without saying a single word. As if he’d forgotten the events of the day before.

Alfred leaned in towards the coffee maker, wafting in the scent as his cup slowly filled. He would have to try harder, at the very least do something different.

He glanced towards Arthur’s bookshelf before shaking his head. Arthur would kill him if he even dog-eared a book and made that clear his first day. If he did anything to them—Alfred shook the thought away before it could fully develop.

Grabbing his now-full cup of coffee, Alfred made his way to the pantry, taking a sip before setting it on the counter. He fished out a box of off-brand Oreos, pulling back the plastic film covering them.

Alfred reveled in the neat rows, exactly as he left them the day before. Taking a couple into his hand, Alfred dipped them one by one in his coffee. No matter what Arthur said, the result was addicting.

He took a bite out of the first one, ready to savor the pleasant mixture—

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Whereas he expected a light mixture chocolate and mocha, a surge of mint took over his senses. It overpowered everything in his mouth, tasting worse than the salted tea, worse than the sauerkraut his grandmother shoved down his throat as a child.

Toothpaste. Someone replaced the icing with toothpaste.

Alfred spat out the concoction into the sink, throwing out the other ones he had dipped but had not yet eaten. Even with it no longer in his mouth, the hellish taste remained. They hadn't been like that yesterday, so it must’ve—

A thought popped into his head.

Slowly, Alfred took a step towards the package of not-Oreos. And then another. His lower eyelid started twitching, an irritating habit from when he was a kid.

Alfred once again peeled back the plastic cover, choosing a random cookie from each row and taking a small bite. Every single one of them. Filled with toothpaste.

He huffed, sliding the entire package in the trash. At the very bottom, several piles of slightly off-white and broken discs lay in their final resting place.

Alfred stared at the piles, flexing his fingers before digging them into the meat of his palm. The bastard didn't even have the heart to save the icing.

He scoffed.

The taste still having remained, Alfred made his way to the bathroom. Perhaps this whole thing made them even—no. No use in thinking like that. Arthur fucked with his Oreos, packages of those costing much more than a cup of tea.

Alfred flicked the light switch, the inner cogs of his mind already turning with ideas for revenge. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste off the counter, only to find the tube empty.

And from there, a prank war started. Grass seeds in Arthur’s keyboard, an air horn duct taped to the bedroom door, a couple hundred sticky notes stuck to his car.

No matter what he did, Arthur would retaliate, whether it was the next morning or a week later. A box of glazed donuts from Alfred’s favorite bakery, but instead of the usual grape filling, mayonnaise. Paper cut out into the shape of a bug and taped to the underside of the lampshade. Mentos frozen in ice cubes, just waiting for Alfred to pour a can of coke over the top.

Now, after a good six months of going back and forth, Alfred knew he was ready. He was going to touch the books.

He wouldn’t mark or cut them up, of course. Hell no, he wouldn’t. Alfred decided then and there that he liked living, especially with all his limbs attached and organs in the right place. No, Alfred would just use them for a few moments.

Arthur was at the store, had just left, so Alfred had time until he would notice the start.

The entire setup took around three hours to organize, Alfred’s backpack filled to the brim with delicately used hardcovers. He placed the first one on the kitchen counter, propped up against a teapot to catch Arthur’s eye, before ratting around and scribbling a quick message on a post-it note and attaching it on the cover.

He placed the next one on Arthur’s favorite chair, another sticky note on the cover. The next, on his dresser. Another one on Arthur’s pillow. One by one, a book and a post-it note, some in the most obvious places in the world, others in nooks and crannies that only Arthur knew about.

Some in gallon backs to keep away the elements, others set on the dining room tables and couches of Arthur’s friends and family.

Which led them both to here.

Arthur sat across from him at the coffee shop they frequented, arms crossed, an irritated gleam in his eye. Alfred took a quick sip from his coffee cup, the memory of the those terribly minty Oreos tapping its way into his head. He pushed it back down.

Arthur huffed, his frown deepening, arms crossed, an irritated gleam in his eyes. Tapping his fingers quietly against the honeycomb wood, the look he gave Alfred sent spiders crawling down his spine.

“Alright, what did you have me running all over town for?” Just hearing his voice set his head spinning.

Alfred sat forward, bopping his knee up and down, up and down. He grinned. “Did you find all of them?”

Arthur’s glare had slowly lost its bite these past short months, filled with something unrecognizable. Undiscovered.

It was a look that drove him crazy, that left him reeling to find an answer. To find the key to tell him what the hell it was, what the hell it meant. But so far, nothing.

“I suppose that I did.” Arthur took a sip from his tea, the koozie slipping down the side of the cup. Alfred watched as a tongue darted out from Arthur's lips, cutting short a small drop of tea.

Fuck. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“Except for one.”

Alfred grinned. “Oh?” The bastard never let anything go.

A deadpan. “You know which one I’m talking about.”

And indeed he did. There was no denying the that in his laptop bag sat the gem- the jewel, the prize?— of Arthur’s collection. No, he would see right through it if Alfred lied.

With a sigh, Alfred set the book on the table. Immediately, Arthur grabbed it, turning it and observing the front cover. Around thirty seconds later, he cracked open the first few pages, the final sticky note falling from the inner cover.

The sticky note that would either damn him or…

Alfred tightened his grip on his coffee cup as Arthur picked up the post-it, spiders crawling up and down his back. This was it.

“Page 231? You won’t be sending me to the next town over this time?” The joke was dry as hell, but Alfred couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nah, man.” He took a sip of his coffee. The bitter bite calmed his nerves, slowed the spiders down. But barely. He swallowed, pointing a finger towards the book. “I even dog-eared it for ya. So you didn’t have to look to hard.”

The way Arthur glared at him—oh, that made him mad. He had taken the bait. Good.

The glare morphed into a scowl as Arthur pulled at the dog-ear, one small enough that it could be easily smoothed out. He would’ve killed him if Alfred had done anything more, and he certainly didn’t have a death wish.

The scowl fell when Arthur stopped at the page. “Alfred—”

“Don’t.” The word left Alfred’s mouth before he could stop it. He quickly backtracked, holding his hands up in slight surrender before Arthur could bite back. “I mean—I didn’t do anything to it. Just read it. The fifth paragraph from the top. Aloud.”

Arthur blinked, glancing down down at the page. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how—

“Ardently I admire and love you.” Alfred joined in at the final line, the small speech he had been rehearsing the entire of the thirty minutes before Arthur arrived.

The latter had frozen, that unknown expression creeping up on his face. It hurt, in a way, to not know what he was thinking.

“Alfred?” Emotionless, as if he was distancing himself.

He swallowed, itching for his coffee, for something to hold. “Yes?”

“Is this what I think it is?”

He could say no, say that it was all a prank. That was their dynamic now, it wouldn’t be unexpected. Wouldn’t be a surprise.

But there was something about the look in Arthur’s eyes that made him hopeful. That gave him the inkling that maybe—maybe—this would work.

Alfred sighed, looking Arthur dead in the eyes.

For the man who could knock down three shots before Alfred could do one.

For the man whose eyes froze with rage when his boss called him on his day off, or when a professor cancelled class when he had already left.

For the man who could down a mug of tea mixed with salt without a trace of a cringe.

For the man who laughed at the dirtiest and darkest of Alfred’s jokes, no matter how far he went.

Fuck, Alfred was in deep.

He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. It is.”

Silence.

Alfred raised his head from his coffee, Arthur staring at him with that damn look.

And when he smiled, Alfred knew that Arthur Kirkland was never boring. He was.

#aph usuk #aph america #aph england #the fanfiction life of rantingfangirl

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babyleclerc · 7 years

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Something’s Gotta Give

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Style: One-Shot

Warnings: Angst, language, smut!!!!! (NSFW, 18+!)

Word Count: 3K

Summary: You’ve been filming Infinity War over the past 8+ months and for whatever reason, you cannot stand the sight of Christopher Robert Evans. But on a cold winter’s night, stuck in a cabin for “mandatory bonding”, you and Chris work out your issues...physically. Includes cameos of our favorite super-dorks Seb, Tom, Scar & Mackie!

A/N: OK, so Chris is a bit of an ass here. But there’s always been this small little part of me that thinks he has a dark side... he can’t be fluffy and loving all the time, right? ;) I also haven’t written smut in like YEARS so please don’t come @ me just enjoy, OK? Also, dedicated to the love of my life @dolangram because she inspires me daily to be a better writer and also just a better person. ILY forever <3 Enjoy! (Gif not mine)

You couldn’t stand him. Literally, every single thing he did put you on edge. Every time he breathed. Every time he spoke. Every time he laughed so fucking hard he clutched his chest and threw his beautiful blonde head back, unable to breathe. And now, here you were. Stuck with him for a full 24 hours in a snowed-in cabin. What. The. Hell.

“Oh this is going to be such fun.” You hear Tom say from the corner of the room, rubbing his hands together after setting his bags down on the floor.

“Whose idea was it to do this again?” You mumbled, more to yourself than to anyone in particular.

“Cheer up, doll, it’s the last time we’ll all be together like this for a while. It’s supposed to be fun.” Your best friend grinned at you, slinging his bulky arm across your shoulders and ruffling your hair.

“Seb!” You grunt at the weight of him, shoving him off you. “Knock it off.”

“I think this one’s incapable of having fun.” Scarlett’s voice rang through the lodge, smirking at you.

You rolled your eyes at her. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s someone else you have to worry about.”

“What’re you whining about now? Lodge not nice enough for ya?” You heard Chris say, a smirk on his face as he plopped down on the couch. It was late already, and the exhaustion of the long drive to the cabin mixed with a few too many beers in Seb’s car made you clench your jaw, glaring at him.

“The lodge is fine.” You say through gritted teeth, “You, on the other hand-“

“Alright, Alright. Knock it off, you two. We heard enough of the bickering on set for months and months, give it a rest.” Mackie chimes in, joining Chris on the couch. Behind Mackie’s back, Chris sticks his tongue out at you and you return the gesture by flashing him your middle finger. He laughs softly, shaking his head.

“This problem would have been solved months ago if you two had just taken my advice.” Seb commented, shoving a handful of pretzels in his mouth as he, too, plopped onto the couch across from Mackie and Chris.

“We’re not sleeping together.” You and Chris say at the same time in a bored, unamused tone.

Seb shrugged in response. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Oh look, finally you two agree on something.” Scarlett commented, settling in on the floor in front of Chris. She leaned back against the sofa, cracking open a beer as she did so.

“It’s a miracle!” Mackie half-shouted, also cracking open what must have been his sixth beer of the night. “Let’s play a game.” Or was it number seven?

The collective unit (Tom, you, Seb, Chris & Scarlett) groaned.

“Not this again.” You say, gently shoving Seb on the couch so you can sit next to him. Leaning against the arm of the couch, you sprawl your legs out over his lap. He shifts slightly, but comfortably accepts you and lets his arm rest across your shins once you’re settled. You smile at the warm gesture.

“Yeah, remember what happened last time we played a game?” Seb said, lazily playing with a loose string on one of your wool socks.

“Dude, no one needs to remember that.” Chris responded, running a hand through his blonde hair.

And you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol running through your veins, inhibiting you from making a sound decision, or if it was out of pure spite for the man comfortably relaxing across from you that you loathed so much, but you wanted to disagree with him so badly, that your mouth spoke before your brain caught up.

“I’m in, Mack.”

“Yes!” Mackie shouted, giving an air pump as the rest of the group groaned again. Chris shot you a glare and you just grinned, feeling on top of the world.

It wasn’t until after four exhausting rounds of “Never have I ever” and “charades” did Mackie finally feel at peace, and had dozed off on the couch. Tom and Scarlett had already retired for the night, which left you alone with two other snoozing boys - Chris and Seb.

You glanced up at the clock - three a.m. - and gently wriggled out from under Seb, who was snoring softly against your hip.

“Jesus, you’re heavy.” You mumble, pulling yourself out from under him quickly, trying not to wake him. You surveyed the room; Mackie passed out with a beer in his hand; Chris’ arms folded across his chest, head resting on the back of the sofa; and Seb sprawled out on his stomach, arm hanging off the side. You smiled to yourself; even though one-third of the trio on the couch was a shitbag, the other two made your heart happy. Safe. Calm. You had finally found people who you would be friends with forever - Tom and Scar included - and that was irreplaceable.

Not feeling tired, you grab a blanket off the floor and slipped on your UGGS, opening the door slowly so as for minimal creaks, and shut it softly behind you. The cold air licked all around your face and fingers, and you shivered as it engulfed you, wrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders. It was beautiful outside, snow blanketed every crevice of the property you were staying at, and the mountain could be seen just in the distance. You walked to the side of the porch, which had a closed hot tub, and stepped up onto it, sitting down and leaning against a wooden beam, admiring the view.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, and you might have stayed for much longer if a voice hadn’t made you jump.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

Chris.

You peered back at him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his mere existence. He had a grey, fitted under armor sweatshirt on and black sweats, his hair ruffled from falling asleep on the couch. Dare you say it, he looked almost cute; with his hair no longer perfect and his voice all gritty and deep from just waking up.

“It’s fine.” You say, turning your head back to the view, clutching your blanket tighter to your frame.

“Well, er, mind if I join ya?” You shrug in response, and Chris chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Before you could say anything, Chris climbed on top of the hot tub, sitting a few feet away from you, legs crossed, staring out at the snow. Neither of you spoke for several minutes, not wanting to break the unspoken peace that rested comfortably between you.

“It’s just so peaceful out here, you know? It’s like I could hear a mouse tip toeing through the snow.”

“That would be impossible.” Chris retorted, and you threw him a look. “But I get where you’re comin’ from.” He said quickly, not wanting to irritate you.

“Why do you always have to undermine me?” You ask - although there’s no malice in your voice, just general curiosity.

“Why do you always have to be a pain in the ass?” He asked back, locking eyes with you.

You paused, allowing your eyes to truly meet his for the first time in weeks. They were a beautiful blue; even in your hateful tirade you couldn’t deny that. Against his grey sweatshirt and the white of the snow, they seemed so much warmer than usual. Your hand twitched slightly in your lap, which you ignored.

“It’s just my nature.” You respond quietly, not breaking his gaze.

“Just tell me what you find so repulsive about me.” He says in a low voice, blinking slowly. Is it just you or was he getting closer? You swear you could smell his cologne even though he was still at least a good foot away from you.

“Where do I start?” You joke, though Chris only smiles at you. A beautiful sight now that his face is adorned with that Infinity War beard that he loved to sport so much. You secretly preferred him with a beard, but he never needed to know that.

You take his silence as permission to continue, “Well, let’s see, you’re arrogant, loud, rude, selfish, and cocky.” You tick on your fingers, exaggerating slightly.

“All of those words could be easily spun into something positive, you know.” He responds, leaning slightly towards you. “See what I hear is: confident, charismatic, and self-focused.”

“Oh look at that, cocky again.” You snort, rolling your eyes. Whatever trance you felt before between his beard and ice cold eyes snapped, and you felt your body relax again. Finally, back to normal. You broke eye contact with him and let your head rest on the post, looking out onto the snow.

To your surprise, Chris just laughs again. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me like that, they’re gonna get stuck there.”

You resisted the urge to roll them again, “It’d be a much better view than your face.” You didn’t really mean it, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Shit, that was meaner than I intended. I’m sorry.” You say quickly, glancing over at him. Chris’ demeanor has changed; his body is no longer relaxed, playful. He’s much more charged, and has a dark look in his eye.

“You know, you never asked me what I find so repulsive about you.” He began, and your heart picked up its pace, a blush creeping up your neck as you waited for what felt like an eternity. “You’re a fucking bitch, Y/N.” He finally spat.

Your blood grew cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature outside. Everything went still. It was as if time had stopped. You blinked a few times, processing the malice that dripped through his words. He had meant it. Chris never said anything he didn’t mean. Ever.

“And you’re a fucking dick, Chris.” You responded, so softly that Chris almost had to strain to hear it. You stood, climbing down onto the porch and hurriedly making your way towards the door.

“Shit.” Chris mumbled, scrambling to his feet, “Y/N, wait, I’m -“

“Don’t bother saying it, Chris.” You said loudly, spinning on your heels to face him. He was closer than you had anticipated - much closer - and you found your face inches from his. You sucked in a breath, scooting back to get away from him but your butt hit the side of the house. There was no where for you to go unless you could magically walk through walls like Vision.

Chris sighed, running his hand across his face before resting it against the wall of the cabin, just to the left of your head. You tried to make yourself as small as possible to distance yourself from him but it was to no avail. He was much bigger and stronger than you, and though you would have been able to maneuver yourself away if you wanted to, there was a part of you that wanted to see how this would play out.

“I don’t think you’re a bitch.” He finally said, his face hovering just above yours.

“You literally just -“

“You’re infuriating. Insufferable. Loud. Obnoxious. A know-it-all-“

“Wow, Chris, I’m so flattered.” You interrupt him, placing your hand on his bicep to shove him off you. He instead brings his hand to your waist, shoving you gently against the wall, pinning you there. Though the blanket is still in between the both of you, you can feel the heat from Chris’ large hand burning through it, piercing your skin.

“I wasn’t finished.” He growled, his eyes locking with yours once again- searching for something, anything that would give him a clue as to what was going on in that beautiful head of yours. “You’re also gorgeous. And smart. And kind, and incredibly thoughtful, with a sense of snarky humor that is obnoxiously charming.”

Your head was spinning, “Wait, what?” You asked breathlessly, taken aback. Every scent of his was consuming you - soap, a hint of alcohol from the many beers consumed just hours ago, mint, and vanilla. He smelled... warm, almost. Comforting. Like fresh sheets.

“You heard me.” He said, and he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours, his mouth parted slightly. You glanced from his eyes to his lips, something buzzing in you that was different than the annoyance you felt before - was it... attraction?

“Chris, I..” You trailed off, unable to find your words as you found yourself swimming in his deep blues.

“Just be quiet for five seconds in your life.” He commanded softly.

“That’s impossible, I-“

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Chris interrupted you by planting his mouth firmly on yours, closing the distance between you two. Your brain stopped for a moment - what the hell was happening?

Your body felt differently, however, and without thinking, you found yourself kissing him back, your arm snaking its way behind his neck, gripping onto him for dear life. He pressed his body into yours, leaning against the cabin, ignoring the freezing cold and focusing on you as all the negative energy from the past eight months oozed out of both of you. All the name calling, eye rolling, and insults finally exploding as you allowed him to kiss you like his life depended on it- causing your blood to buzz and abdomen to grow warm.

He slipped his left hand beneath the blanket you still had around your shoulders, moving it to the side to grip your hip tightly. You moaned softly against his mouth, deepening the kiss and allowing your lips to part slightly to make room for his tongue. He tasted surprisingly sweet; his smell mixing with the cold outdoors and sending a shiver down your spine.

Chris felt it and broke the kiss, “Are you cold?” He asked huskily, catching his breath.

You blushed slightly, “I don’t think it has anything to do with the temperature.” You whisper, causing him to grin. He doesn’t say anything as he gently tugs your head to the right with his hand, granting him access to your neck. He begins sucking and kissing, leaving light hickeys as he works his way from your jaw to your collarbone, his erection growing with every moan coming from your lips.

His hands were making quick work of your breasts, squeezing and tugging at them with both hands as his tongue drew circles on your shoulders. His beard tickled your skin, causing you to arch your back in response, resisting the urge to buck your pelvis against his and cause friction. As if reading your mind, Chris’s right hand traveled from your breast down to your pajama bottoms, which were held up so neatly with a bow. He pauses, fingers on the string, ready to pull - silently asking for permission.

“Just do it already.” You groan, actually bucking your hips this time. Chris wasted no time at all pulling the string and loosening your bottoms. Careful not to let them fall all the way, he slides his hand in between the fabric of your pajama pants and your panties, moaning as his fingers slid along your entrance.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He growled in your ear, pressing against your clit gently. You whimpered in response, pushing against his hand - needing him more than you thought possible. After a few long, torturous few seconds, Chris shoved your panties down, causing you to gasp first at the cold air, and then again when his middle finger brushed against your clit softly.

“Chris, fuck.” You moan, allowing your head to fall onto his shoulder, eyes closed tight. His left arm supported you, and you could feel his muscles tightening just slightly underneath your weight.

Shit that was hot.

You tugged at the elastic of his sweats, attempting to shove them down. If you were going to have Chris Evans, then you would have the whole experience - cold weather be damned. Chris pulled his lips away from the soft flesh above your breast, where he was nipping and placing gentle kisses.

“I don’t have a condom.” He breathed, two fingers now rubbing against your clit slowly, causing it to throb inside you. You squirmed again, leaning into him.

“Don’t care,” You mumble, “I’m on the pill.”

That was all the green light he needed. Chris pulled down his boxers and sweats, just enough so his cock was free from its confines. His mouth found your breast again, shoving your tank and bra down and out of his way, exposing your breast to the elements. A small shiver again; but this time from the way his teeth were tugging at your nipple; cold from the weather but hardening from his warm mouth.

You let out another soft moan as Chris swiped his thumb one last time against your clit, before aligning himself and entering you completely with his girth, sliding in smoothly. You gasped at the feeling, your body adjusting to his length as his right arm hooked below your left leg, lifting it up for better access into you.

Your hands clutched at his sweatshirt, forming into fists as Chris repeatedly slammed into you with his hips, wasting no time at all in developing a fast rhythm as you moaned into his shoulder. He rolled his tongue in circles on your shoulder, his hand cupping your breast, causing you to lift your hips into him, trying to get him deeper inside you. He groaned your name, losing himself in the feeling of being in you.

“Fuck... Chris...” you moan, feeling the familiar tightness in your stomach as you inched closer to that wonderful feeling of ecstasy Chris was making you crave so bad.

“Come on, babe,” he encouraged, his voice just barely above a whisper, gripping your leg tighter as he thrust into you harder. “Let go.”

His words, combined with your nipple pinched between his two fingers, were enough to send you toppling over the edge as you felt your orgasm rip through your body; a tingling sensation felt all the way through your toes. You buried your face into his neck in an attempt to muffle your screams, bringing Chris to his climax as he thrust once more, cursing as he finally released himself into you blissfully.

Panting, you both stayed there for a minute, your head in his neck, him buried deep inside you, riding out the remaining highs you were both feeling. Once your breathing had steadied, Chris slowly pulled himself out of you, pulling up his sweats and helping you hoist your pajama bottoms and panties. He rested his hands on your waist once you were situated, admiring your flush cheeks and bruises across your neck and breast. He pulled the blanket back over you, enveloping you in both it’s warmth and his, aware of the goosebumps on your arms.

Grinning, he finally broke the silence. “I guess Sebastian was right, huh?”

Fin.

Tag List: @markusstraya, @punkin-pie-mofo, @hazohazahazbro, @irishprincess9, @jedionironthrone, @aclutteredheadspace, @proud-of-being-me, @disneymarina, @dolangram, @nightcrawler0213.

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 6 years

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have 8 million things to do very soon and I can tell that I'm riiiiiight on the edge of a depression spiral (which is itself at least partly caused by being overwhelmed, dealing with it poorly and becoming more overwhelmed, and hating myself for dealing with it poorly) which is SUPER GREAT TIMING. so obviously I'm making a list, because sometimes that helps.

things I absolutely must do this weekend:

finish the hair repaint on my current Etsy order so I can mail it Monday or earlier

do anything I might need to do for the other outstanding order that the customer also wants in time for Christmas somehow, so that when the parts arrive on MONDAY I can put the thing together and mail it almost immediately (damn well better show up on Monday, which is itself irritating because the site said free 2-day shipping but nobody really means that when they ship to Alaska)

wrap and prepare any gifts I want to mail out because I should also send those no later than Monday, and in fact earlier would have been better, but for some reason every year I'm like "eh, it's fine, there's time" right up until there suddenly isn't

do...whatever I still need to do with Tumblr. import to Wordpress, back up the whole thing to my computer with one of several methods I've reblogged, try to find specific posts I want to save (original posts and anything tagged "fic ideas" will be tedious but at least easy to find; no idea about other stuff)

semi-related: add something to my Dreamwidth profile so it's not...blank

haul some more stuff to Value Village and other donation sites, because I’m about to pick up a bunch of shit that will take up too much space in my car (somewhat related: books, music, movies, and toys are 40% off today and tomorrow, which is unusual for them)

set up the damn tree, like even if we don't put ornaments on it I'd at least like to have the tree up (requires digging it out of the garage, which is a disaster and very much not my disaster)

do something with my dad and sister for my birthday (but first, figure out what and when, and like...I don’t have the mental energy for that)

try to get more birthday donations for SPLC (I went with Trevor Project last year and got several donations without doing much to promote it, so I don't know if this one's getting a lot less because it seems more political, or algorithms are hiding this and a lot of my other posts, or a lot of people have deliberately snoozed me because of my political posts, or...something else, idk)

transfer stuff into my new planner, because my current one is close enough to the end that it's not very useful anymore

other things that don't necessarily have to happen this weekend but should happen in the really near future, both because they need to get done and because they're contributing to my overall mental load that means everything is overwhelming:

figure out how to send in the claim for my car accident last year to my life-insurance-and-a-few-other-things company, because it's worth $50 (should probably also see if I can get something similar for the earthquake, because I think it did fuck up my neck a little more, and $50 is $50 when I'm paying them that much each month)

list other things on Etsy...now that it's too late to take advantage of holiday sales 😖

also, bug the rescue group again about recent vet info to figure out whether she has any pre-existing conditions and when she needs a checkup (maybe soon, because she seems to scratch herself a LOT and sometimes she gets kind of wheezy)

also also, try to figure out ways to work on her separation anxiety and general hyperness, which I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO because it's all a gradual process that I don't really have time for, and I have yet to find a smart/puzzle toy or a good chew toy that really seems to occupy her attention so I guess I still need to try more, and apparently mental stimulation through training can be good for anxiety and hyperactivity both so I should really be working on extremely basic commands on my own probably??

shit that's right I also need to figure out if I want to get her on VCA Care Club and do research for pet insurance that might be better than the one we had for Scully

get myself back into a better Planet Fitness habit, because I didn't go at all this week and I've definitely dropped off in the last few weeks, which is partly because I've been busy with other things INCLUDING THE GIANT EARTHQUAKE but partly because the main reason I was good about it before was that I literally tricked myself into wanting to work out so I could listen to The Adventure Zone, and once I caught up on that, nothing else I've tried (MBMBAM, occasional TAZ updates, Night Vale) has quite filled the gap of "hilarious goofs + suspenseful long-form narrative" that makes me actually want to work out, so...either I need to figure out how make myself go without that motivation (mixed success so far or I wouldn't be talking about it or feeling guilty about it) or find another podcast I want to binge. and try to figure out if there's any point to asking them to stop playing so many news channels (especially Fox two or three times and fucking OAN once) at the TV bank for the cardio machines, because that is...honestly another thing that makes me not want to go

related: somehow find a way to make myself do my core exercises regularly, because slacking on those and slacking on Planet Fitness is probably part of the reason my headaches and neck and general constant exhaustion have maybe been worse lately, AND ALSO start regularly doing the exercises that are supposed to help with my newish hand/wrist pain, all of which sucks because a big ol' theme here is me having a hard time forming un-fun new long-term habits (exercise, going to bed earlier) that are crucial for improving basically every part of my life and not worsening the health problems i already have

TYPE UP MY DAMN NOTEBOOKS and organize everything so I actually know how much I have in my current WIPs; now that my computer is back there's no excuse for not doing this

also like...write. in general. now that I have a Christmas-related idea I'd kinda like to do and I also want to do a Yuletide treat, and maybe Avengers: Endgame isn't really a deadline for lots of other fics but also it kind of is

actually organize my backups so they're not a disaster and it's not a crisis next time I have computer problems (plus like, I'm going to need everything backed up when I upgrade)

research and buy a CPU, motherboard, SSD, and maybe new PSU, ideally without spending a horrendous amount of money

make more progress in SWTOR because there's no guarantee how long it's going to be around and tbh it's ridiculous I haven't finished all the class storylines despite having been a subscriber for like. SEVEN YEARS

unfuck my iTunes library YET AGAIN

find a therapist, because I've probably been needing one for a while but a huge theme in all of this is being overwhelmed because I have too much to do and don't know how to deal with it, and then getting into guilt and self-loathing because I dealt with it badly and it got worse, and I'm increasingly sure it's my not-really-diagnosed-or-treated ADHD starting this old, old cycle to begin with and that means it's even more important to find a therapist who will actually. do stuff. with the ADHD. instead of just kinda...dropping it.

slight problem though, adding yet another regular appointment means less time for...everything else and that doesn't exactly help with being overwhelmed, so it's like...a disincentive to pursue it

the only thing I really want to do:

sleep for about a year

#bad adult #brains behaving badly #for future reference

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feckyeswriting · 6 years

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Simplify - an Eris Fic

For @nimadge

Thank you for being amazing and even more so thanks for giving me a bright spot during all the hectic busy-ness of moving <3

I loved getting to cover this prompt. I hope you enjoy how it all came together. I know you just had all your exams, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just 100% studying anxiety all over again ^^

How about Eric and Tris, relationship OR good working relationship with the possibility of more at least; she sees HIM studying something for once (for qualification exam or smth) and can help? How would that go?

Made me think abt how Eric would take help/how harsh he is on himself, that sort of thing. We never see him learning anything, after all

Simplify

“Do you need anything?”

Such a simple question. I looked up from my piles of notes and the guide book I was currently attempting to force into perfect recall. Seeing Tris there, a small smile tucked behind her lips, tempered the irritation that had been building all afternoon. There was a lot there bubbling under the surface.

“I know you work best alone, but if you need anything - a drink, something from the caf - just let me know,” she said.

I did my best to wrangle my expression into a smile. Her offer made it easy. It was well past the end of her shift. Tris didn’t need to be hanging around Leadership on her off hours. It meant all the more to me that she had.

“Thanks,” I replied simply.

Tris kissed her fingertips, pressing the two of them to my nameplate on the door. “I’m down the hall with Kyle,” she said before departing.

I felt my face fall as she turned and walked away. There was nothing I’d like more than to have gotten up and followed her. Instead, I sighed and flipped to the next blank page to take more notes. Committing to memory the new SOPs for calls had been easier than this drivel.

Qualifications - or quals - were the bane of my existence. And as Leader I was expected to stay ahead of as many of them as I could. At least we got to spread them out between Leaders. Between us, we had to understand what the Faction was capable of.

Sharp shooting and marksmanship quals were a favorite of mine and many of my fellows. They were straightforward; a combination of muscle memory and specific math formulas let you pass with flying colors usually. I’d been happy with the other quals I’d passed over the past two years.

Then the dust-up in Leadership had changed things. Not to speak ill of the very necessary changes that took place, it was a total pain in the ass to have to cover for the things that Max and the others had learned over the years. I’d fought tooth and nail to remain in place, accepting as earnestly as possible my culpability for letting… everything happen without question. That meant not complaining about covering two quals at once.

So, here I was in my office trying to convince my tired brain that learning every in and out of neurochemistry was a reasonable use of my time and efforts. I’d avoided the quals for fear testing initially because dammit I’d left Erudite to get away from reading academic texts.

Fate has a funny way of ignoring what we want in life.

I ran my hands through my hair and flipped to the next chapter. There were still a few more hours until I had time to sleep.

Every time that I blinked now I could swear I saw the diagrams from my notes on the insides of my eyelids. Fuck, that would have made things a lot easier if they were there. Instead I stared at the practice test question in front of me and fumed.

Describe the basic concepts behind the signals used to target the amygdala.

My pen tapped a staccato rhythm on my knee. I wanted to snap it in half. This was the first long form answer I was expected to answer. I had known it was going to come up.

The amygdala was only part of the brain triggered by the fear serum. There was also the thalamus and… and… Well, there were more. More that didn’t matter for this question. But all I could think about now was the damn sensory thalamus. Emotional stimulus - that was the first part of the series of triggers in the process - leading to further systemic triggers.

“That’s what it’s fucking asking, you idiot,” I growled to myself. “What are those triggers in the fuckin’ amygdala.” Still, no matter how long I stared at my measly four word reply, the less I could recall about the process. It didn’t matter how the synaptic sequence depended on a particular balance of ion channels, either, but that was what my mind decided to offer up next.

The process begins with

The process begins with- with what?

I flipped back to the earlier questions. I had more ‘return to answer’ arrows on each page than I’d remembered making. On the question asking to order the sequence of signals used by the serum I’d only marked off the first and last steps. Blank spaces stared at me unhelpfully, offering no insight into whether or not it was a neurotransmitter dump or an artificial channel blocker that could have been used in the amygdala.

My pen went across the room. This was absolutely ridiculous.

Next to me, Tris finally stirred. She screwed up her eyes against the light from my side lamp, but she sat up. “You’re still taking that thing?” she murmured. “What time is it?”

“Late,” I said. I ignored her first question; I’d blown way past my initial expectation of how long this stupid practice test was going to take.

She rubbed at her eyes and leaned heavily on the headboard. “You need to take a break,” Tris said simply.

I looked down at all the little black arrows on the pages and those stupid, stupid four words with nothing after them. “I can’t. I’m not done yet,” I replied.

“It’s- that can’t be right. It’s four am?” she said. She’d caught a glimpse of the alarm clock down by the foot of the bed. It was there so we couldn’t just slam the snooze button without moving. I’d been selectively ignoring it all evening. Well, morning now.

I sighed. Tris shifted again next to me, returning to rest her head on the pillow. She still faced me now. One hand emerged from the blanket again so she could run the side of her finger down my arm. She could only reach so far before starting back down again.

“You’re going to be exhausted,” Tris murmured. “Can you ask Lauren for her answers from this one? To study from?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Lauren had passed this qual the winter after her Initiation. She’d only had a few weeks to study for it. Had only needed a few weeks to. I’d been working on this every god damn night and weekend for the past three months.

And I still couldn’t answer a fucking obvious, critical question.

“Hey, hey,” Tris said. I looked down at my hands. I’d crumpled the pages in front of me between white knuckled fists. Tris’ hand wrapped around my wrist. It was the best she could manage from her angle. “It’s going to be alright,” she insisted.

“It will be when this is over,” I hissed. “If I pass.” Good fucking god, there were only three days left. Two nights of studying, really. I’d only have a few hours on the morning of to try and force any more info into recall.

I laughed bitterly. “I might not pass,” I repeated. “Wouldn’t that be rich? Paid so much attention to the fear sims, and I can’t explain them worth a damn for these stupid quals. Fear is what gets you kicked out of Dauntless. Never thought that’d be me, but here we are.”

Tris threw the blanket off. It took most of my papers with it, crumpled pages spilling everywhere at the foot of the bed. She sat up fully. Forced me to look at her instead.

“Eric,” she said, “what would you tell me if I was doing this?”

It wouldn’t work. I crossed my arms over my chest and scoffed. “Usually your problem is that you’re overreacting. And I’m not,” I insisted.

“Bullshit,” Tris retorted. I scoffed again. She wasn’t the one unable to answer a goddamn multiple choice question on what should have been a mid-level biology question.

She mirrored my crossed arms. “Bull. Shit. You’re overreacting and stressing about not knowing shit. So you’re just getting more and more stressed as you get more and more stuff not quite right,” she said.

“Not quite right is wrong. And wrong means failing quals,” I spat.

I don’t know if she heard the nerves in my voice then or if she just had to think another minute for a new plan of attack, but after a moment she said, “You have two more full days.”

Two days. My stomach flipped and I snapped my eyes shut. “Don’t remind me.”

She didn’t quit. “You have two more full days,” Tris insisted. “That’s plenty of time. You’ve got the core information down; you have to by now after all this cramming and all these weekends buried in that book. It’s just perfecting recall.”

I made a noise. I felt her prodding at my knees until I relented and stretched my legs back out on the mattress. Tris dropped onto my lap with all the grace of a newborn foal - all legs and flailing hooves, sorry, palms. I opened one eye as she wrapped her arms loosely around my neck.

“I’m not moving these,” I muttered, wiggling one arm.

“Sure you’re not,” she replied. Resting her forehead on mine, she forced me to look at her.

Her voice got soft. “I know you’re stressed. And you’ve every right to be worried about the test. They’re fucking hard,” she said. I almost laughed. Almost.

Tris continued on. One of her thumbs stroked along the skin of my neck. “But I’m here to tell you: you’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be fine. Two days is plenty of time. I know it will be,” she said quietly.

I closed my eyes again. Nodding my head, I hummed in acknowledgement. “Mkay,” I said. I pressed a kiss to her lips. Saying thank you seemed like not enough. I did it anyways.

“You don’t need to thank me. Like I said, if you need anything you just have to ask me,” she murmured. We shifted together and she moved to lay on top of me. I had to kick to get the blanket back up to us. That sleepy smile returned to her face when I pulled it over her shoulders again.

I looked one last time at the pages still down by my feet. Tris poked my side, reading my mind. “Turn off the light,” she grunted. “Sleep now. Study later.”

Kissing the top of her head, I clicked the lamp off. She snuggled tighter to my chest.

It’s the simple things.

#ko-fi thank you #nimadge #Eris #Divergent #Eric Coulter #Tris Prior #OTP: Who let you out #My Writing #Unposted Fic

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betsydobsons · 7 years

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A slytherin girls day at hogwarts

hey nana! This last secret santa present is for you! The @slytheringirlsgang secret santa is complete for @adrianpucey ! I hope you enjoy, I tried to do it as well as I could. I made this so anyone can imagine themselves in your shoes :))

——-

You wake in the slytherin dorms, earlier than the other girls who snooze through the crisp sunrise that you enjoy to rise to. The sunrise was a reminder that you had 30 minutes to wash and eat before the first quidditch practice of the day. This morning you would be flying, unlike tonight, when it was body practice, for stamina and flexibility.

You peel your curtains back around your bed to hide the messy sheets, too tired to care about making the bed right now. Creeping around the room to the sink, you are careful not to disturb your friends. You remember clearly what happened last time you disturbed them too early (and so does your hair). Silently turning the taps, refreshingly cold water trickles into the bowl. You splash your face, now feeling more awake and alert than before. A quick change of clothes into your quidditch kit, and then you race out of the room, wanting to head into the great hall quickly to grab an apple before heading to the pitches.

You see a few of the usual suspects heading towards the library for an early tutoring session with an older student and you smile as you pass them, apple in hand. Adrian is already there, throwing the quaffle to himself around the pitch, Miles watching like he was entranced (everyone knew miles had a thing for Adrian, but who wanted to get into the middle of that mess?). Marcus and graham are in a heated discussion, most likely about which girl in your house had the nicest arse. Cassius and Peregrine weren’t around yet, and Draco was probably drooling at himself in the mirror or at a picture of Potter.

Either way, he could go to hell. He took the seeker position, the one you thought was yours. Instead you were a now beater. You had learned to like it and now you were pretty good,since no ball had ever hit you, except for the one time in practice when malfoy had tripped over the ball bag, letting the balls out. That had led to a broken arm, but you got free chocolate for weeks from draco and his gang. It has been the expensive stuff as well, probably to keep you from blabbing to your parents.

After a weary practice given by Flint, you hit the showers. Being the only girl in the team had perks, and one of those was that there was always hot water for you. You left the changing room in your own clothes, not bothering with the huff of the uniform gowns. Classes didn’t start until 9 anyway, so you always had time to go back to the dorm for a quick snooze.

Your first class was charms, which was always exciting. You made your way there while still doing your green tie. Since you had first joined hogwarts, you had always found charms incredibly easy, the graceful motions in your wrist perfected while finding the best techniques for hitting a bludger. You sat next to a girl named Fiona, from hufflepuff, and you two had always gotten along. She has been quiet at first, but now she was as open as a barn door, her personality always jumping out of her.

Next class was potions, yuck. On your way there you made sure to stop and talk to as many of the girls from your dorm as possible, if only to stall the inevitable. You thought the dungeons down there smelt and that snape needed a nose transfiguration. Although being a slytherin was helpful in this class, because even when you weren’t doing so well, you got good marks due to favouritism. As you helped your friend daphne stir the cauldron, she babbled on about her pressures to be perfect, as always. You didn’t give two fucks, but she was a useful person to be friends with, so you nodded and hummed in agreement when the times arose. The other pair on the table was Katya and Rosie, both hailing from ravenclaw. They were fine, a little distant and they always did every potion to Snape’s satisfactory first time, which irritated both you and daphne to no end. However, at least they didn’t whinge or mumble or anything like that.

After potions was a study break, and usually you would meet Adrian or Pansy for a quick bite to eat and a catch up (“there is no time to talk during practice Pucey” was a popular line of Flint’s). Today though, it seemed that pansy was occupied with her little fan club of boys who enjoyed just to be in her presence. Adrian was probably doing something Salazar-Sinful that would hurt your ears later, so you took the route towards Freya and Nina, two hufflepuff girls whom you adored. They were not in many of you classes, but you all tried to meet up as much as possible.

Today your trio had been joined by a gryffindor boy named Jack, and a ravenclaw boy named Harrison. They were both friends of freya and nina, so you tried your hardest to seem like you actually cared about how many pairs of shoes Jack’s muggle sister has, or how Harrison could gulp down a litre of beer in less than a minute.

That fact was actually pretty interesting, and you had made a mental note to find him the next time there was a party taking place. You and Harrison got on pretty well on the whole, but you could tell jack was a snooze fest. Freya and him spoke about his cat a lot though, so you knew she thought of him as a friend already. Too bad.

After what seemed like an hour, but was actually 25 mins, the bells sounded for your mid-morning lessons. It was now time for Divination. You enjoy this subject purely because you can sleep your way through the classes and still ace your final exam. You and your desk partner, a gryffindor girl who you had never asked the name for after she told you the first time both slept through the class together.

Then it’s lunch, and you are off to meet pansy, who has Adrian in tow with her. Walking into the hall, you wave to your friends further along the slytherin bench, and smile at your friends who reside at other benches. You sit on the slytherin bench next to daphne and Adrian, sharing and spreading stories of how your days have been and what each other has done so far. You tell them of meeting Freya and Nina’s new friends, Adrian tells you of how Miles yet again blushed when Adrian tried to help him with an arithmetic equation, and daphne shares stories of her newest toy. He’s an exchange student from durmstrang, and apparently the rumours of hand-size correlation are correct. You didn’t ask how she knew, and daphne didn’t divulge. You both weren’t stupid.

Adrian left lunch shortly after, claiming a detour to the library was needed before his next class. You thought he was just off to scheme about more ways to make Miles a flustered mess. You and pansy decided to finish up then too, and take a short walk around the autumn gardens. Many students were about, and Irene, another girl in the slytherin dorm joined you and pansy. Winter was fast approaching, which was a common topic to talk about. Winter is your favourite time of the year.

Winter held many important dates, like your birthday, Christmas, New Years and most importantly the winter holiday. The winter holiday was the time of year that you could see your family again, because they travel a lot when you are at school, so you hardly ever receive an owl.

The other girls make small talk as you pick your way across the grounds, on your way to care of magical creatures. You enjoy the sound of the crunch of leaves beneath your feet, and the breeze upon your cheeks. Care of magical creatures was a mandatory class, but one that was easy none the less. You like animals, but some of the creatures that Hagrid brings out are plain terrifying. You had heard rumours from draco in the year above being hurt viciously by one of his beasts. Other rumours had surfaced on how he had exaggerated the whole ordeal but you chose to be wary all the same.

The lesson turned out to be a lovely one, about unicorns and their healing powers. About how unicorns could not only be used for healing, but also as weapon, because their hooves were so strong and their horns so sharp. You enjoyed the lesson greatly, as you usually ended up doing. Unless it was raining, but that always put you in a shit mood.

Your final period of the day was a library period, so while pansy and Irene trudged their way toward the castle with Gretcha (another girl from your dorm), you went towards the Great Lake. You wandered until you settled at the foot of a huge oak tree. Sitting down onto dry leaves, the sun shining warmth onto your face, you close your eyes and just let random thoughts enter and leave your head. You use this time to sort through everything that occurred so far today, to sort through the information needed to be remembered and what could be forgotten.

After a while, you hear the final bell for the day of lessons, and the toll of the bells signal the end. Dinner would be served in two hours, but you had land training until then, as to keep up with your arm strength and flexibility. It would only be an hour long, so the sooner you got there, the sooner you would be ready to leave.

You picked yourself off the ground, brush off any dirt and marched to the slytherin dungeons. Once in some loose shorts and baggy t-shirt, you took a gym bag with water and a towel in it, and made your way back to the pitches, for the second time today. You could sense that Marcus was frustrated at something, or perhaps a someone, as you came into the grassy area.

Flint worked the whole team extra fiercely today, something had put him on edge and it was clear this was an outlet for him. None of the team mates judged him for it, knowing that they too have days where it all gets too much and the energy that fizzles needs a place to go. You kept your head down, pushing yourself time and time again. This is what gave you your strength, your confidence. You knew that any person that challenged you would not only have to go through your solidly built team mates, but would have to beat you as-well. You could pick a fight, and with this training as a beater, most likely win. As long as magic wasn’t involved, because you were shite at self defence shields.

Trudging back to the castle with your team, you were all deep in thought. You walked beside Miles, Adrian on your other side. You could feel them both over the top of her head, making silent eye movements as a way of communicating, and you didn’t think anything of it. Your mistake. At the same time, they launched an attack on you, Adrian grabbing your shoulders and Miles grabbing your ankles. A surprise attack was the only way they could have the upper hand. With you writhing between them like you were lying down, they sprinted towards the Great Lake. Too late did you realise their intent, and your screeches for them to stop were futile.

They threw you in.

It was fucking freezing, and gone was the warm sun from this afternoon. You did the only thing you could to stop their fits of laughter. You created the biggest splashes you could, soaking them from head to toe. You were grinning now, as the dumbstruck fools began to wade into the lake beside you, splashing you in the process. You fought back, laughing the entire time. The other team members ran for the Lake too now, jumping in fast and unprepared for the sharp cold of the water. A number of shrieks rose up, and soon everyone was dripping wet, laughing and pushing peoples heads under the water. This was your team, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Faces sore from smiling so hard, they trudged their wet arses through the castle to the dungeon, much to the misfortune of their classmates, because they all stuck of dirt. You get into the common room for slytherin, shout to the boys some rather unpleasant things including how they would all get what was coming for them, Adrian and Miles especially.

A warm shower was taken, and you get comfy in your Pajamas for the night. You had long since missed dinner, but one of the house elves has brought hot chocolate and cookies into the commons room, so you make your way downstairs. You see your friends from your dorm playing chess by the fire, so you quickly grab a mug of goodness and nestle in between Irene and one of your better friends, Claudia. That made up your dorm. Irene, Claudia, Daphne, Gretcha and yourself. Pansy was in the year above, but she still was as dear as any of your other friends.

With the fire roaring, the girls giggling and the boys jumping in and out their conversations, you couldn’t find it in you to stay awake. So this is how your day ended, with your friends in your dorm lifting you up to your bed.

#i hope you like #writing #hpsource #maraudersera #harrypotternetwork #creations

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leaves-of-three · 7 years

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Day Nine || Turn It Off

Connor Murphy x Reader

Word Count: 3272

Summary: The morning aftermath and dealing with everything that arose in the woods. [This is part of an in progress series. You can follow along here.]

Warning: Mentions or alluding to prior sexual assault.

Author Note: What up? Hope everyone is good. Enjoy! xKatie

The morning sun poured in through the crack between the curtains. It shone across your face causing you to burrow under the covers away from the light. Your alarm clock was buzzing. The noise was irritating and persistent. It couldn’t possibly be morning already. You still felt like you needed another few hours of sleep.

"Shut it up,” a male voice complained in annoyance from the floor beside your bed.

You peeked your head out from under the covers and poked it over the side of the mattress. You were surprised to see Connor was still here. You had asked him to stay last night but you figured he would get bored and leave once you fell asleep. He was sprawled out on the floor, your old teddy bear under his head as a makeshift pillow, and an arm throw over his eyes to block out of the sun. Beetle, your cat, was curled up by his side.

You reached over and hit the snooze button. The alarm cut off immediately. Silence fell over the room once more. You had school today. The thought made your stomach hurt. Memories from the prior night resurfaced. They flood your brain. You were too tired to move. Too tired to do anything. You wanted to go back to bed. You were too exhausted to even entertain the idea that Connor had slept over. Or that you had kissed him last night.

You had kissed him.

Your heart leaped in excitement. Your eyes shot open. Okay, maybe you weren’t that tired anymore. You rolled over onto your side and tossed the blanket back over your head. A smile grew on your face. After everything you had experienced yesterday, you were still able to smile over a little kiss. It gave you hope that happiness still existed, even after a person goes through hell.

It wasn’t exactly anything special. He hadn’t even had time to kiss back even if he had wanted to. You had moved away too quickly. You had busied yourself by getting ready for bed. You acted like it was nothing and he had followed your lead. But still...you touched your lips with the back of your hand and closed your eyes. You imagined that you could feel him there. You imagined what it would have been like had he kissed you back. You tried to remember everything about him in that moment but your memory was so hazy. Yesterday came back to you in chunks of time. You tried to focus just on him though. How he had helped you. He carried you out of the forest. He calmed you down. Five things...he taught you that trick which you would now remember forever. The rock, which had been your fifth object, was still sitting on your bedside table. You stuck a hand out, feeling around for it, and snatched it back under your covers into your little cave. You rolled it over in your hand. It was cool to the touch.

Connor’s steady breathing floated through your ears. He must have already fallen back to sleep. You wished he was in the bed with you. You wished you could curl up against him and absorb his warmth, to fall back to sleep wrapped up in his arms. Instead, you ran your thumb over the rock. It was much less appealing than the boy on the ground. The rock reminded you of the worst parts which yesterday held. It reminded you of the panic, the fear, the memories. You couldn’t forget them again. You had to remember them. It was the only way to start healing.

You slipped the rock under your pillow. If you held it any longer, you were afraid you might start crying. Simple tasks seemed daunting. Like getting out of bed. Getting ready. School. You snuggled up and closed your eyes. All those things could wait. You wanted to sleep. Sleep was good.

Just when you began to doze off again, the alarm went off a second time. You had snooze set for every ten minutes. Connor groaned with exasperation, “I said turn it off.”

“Someone is clearly not a morning person,” you rolled back over and turned off the alarm. It was 6:40. Too early for life. You remembered that your dad had an over night shift last night. He would be home soon. He’d be confused as to why his daughter’s car was not in his driveway and instead a beat, up old black one was. Yours was still sitting in the school parking lot. Hopefully. They might have towed it. For the sake of your father, you forced yourself to get up. You gently kicked Connor’s side as you walked past him. “Get up. My dad’s coming home soon. You need to move your car.”

“Move it for me?” He murmurer sleepily. “Key’s in my jacket pocket.” He half heartily pointed to where ever he assumed he had last left his jacket. His eyes stayed closed the entire time. You sighed. It was the least you could do after all he did for you yesterday. Plus he spent the whole night on the floor...and he sounded so incredibly sexy with his raspy, sleepy voice. You shook your head. You needed to chill.

His denim jacket was draped over your desk chair. You reached into the pocket and felt around for the keys. Once they were acquired, you left the room. You didn’t bother with changing or putting on shoes. Outside was warm and the morning, fiery sun was rising against a deep blue sky. Your socked feet padded down the driveway.

Connor drove a classic, old Ford Mustang. It would have been a beautifully impressive car if it was given some love and attention. Instead it looked like it rolled directly out of a junkyard. The door creaked when you opened it. Inside smelt like a mixture of stale smoke and the faded royal pine car freshener that hung from the mirror. The engine rumbled to life with the turn of the key. You’d just park it around the corner on the side of the street. No one would look twice at it there.

As you turned out of your driveway, the sun hit directly into your eyes. You squinted and moved to push down the sun visor. As you did, some items tumbled into your lap. You didn’t bother to move them until you found a good spot to rehome his car. Once it was parked, you looked at what had fallen onto you. There were two pieces of paper and a rolled up joint. You shook your head. Very classy. One of the papers was a parking ticket indicating that he owed $65 for parking on a sidewalk. Once again, very classy, Connor. The second was a folded piece of lined paper. You recognized it immediately. It was the simple “thank you” note you had left him the first day you met. A smile grew on your face. He had kept it. Or rather, more likely, he had shoved it up into his visor and forgotten it was there along with the parking ticket and joint. But you needed more happy thoughts in your life so you opted to believe that he kept it simply because it came from you. You smiled as you left his car and walked back up the street to your house. Luckily it was early enough that not many people were out yet. Otherwise you would have been self conscious of the fact that were strolling down the street in pajamas and socks.

Back inside the safety of your home, you went to the bathroom. You grabbed your toothbrush, loaded on some toothpaste, and started to brush your teeth. You had a choice to make. You could go to school or stay home. After yesterday, all you really wanted was to go back to sleep. It would be easy to fake sick to your dad. Unfortunately, that would also mean that you would be missing yet another day. It was only the second week and you were already so far behind. You missed the same amount of classes as you had attended. It was not a good start to the year. You spit out the toothpaste just as you heard the front door open.

“I’m home!” Your father’s gruff, tried voice echoed through the halls. “I hope you’re awake or else you’re going to be late!” A panic hit you. Hopefully Connor would be smart enough to not make any noise to indicate that he was in your room.

You left the bathroom and shuffled down the hall to meet him. You put on your best tired, sickly look. It didn’t take much effort. Your dad was putting his bag down on the kitchen table. He was a tall, muscular man with a full, scruffy brown beard. He was still in his security guard uniform. His job was tiresome for him. He had to work long hours in order to support your little family and he wasn’t getting any younger. It took a toll on him. He turned around and smiled when he saw you but it quickly faded. “Hey, Bug,” he frowned at your appearance. “You feeling okay?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been sick all night. I don’t think I can go to school today.”

He stepped forward and placed his hand under your chin, lifting up your face. He eyed the scrape across your cheek bone. “What the hell happened here?”

You racked your brain, quickly coming up with an excuse. “It was the cat. It was my fault though. I tried to grab her out from under the bed and she freaked. We’re good now. Best friends. But I don’t feel good...”

He moved his hand to your forehead. “You’re not hot. You can stay home though if you can explain to me why the hell your car isn’t in the driveway.”

“Oh, yeah, I meant to text you but I wasn’t feeling that great. After school it wouldn’t start. I got a ride home from-” You swallowed. Your dad knew little to nothing about your outside social life. “-from Alyssa.” To him, he still believed nothing had changed over the summer. You were good at hiding things.

“Hmm, alright. We can stop by with jumper cables later and I’ll see if I can get it going.” He moved towards the kitchen and grabbed a cup of water. “If you don’t feel good, you can stay home. I won’t complain. I’m headed to bed in a minute though. I can hardly keep my eyes open another second. We can both use the day to rest up.”

You smiled with relief and watch him walk to his bedroom. “Good morning and good night, dad.”

“Good morning and good night, Bug.” He closed the bedroom door behind him. You knew he’d be out and dead to the world until sometime this evening. He slept like rock especially after an overnight shift. You slowly backed up to your bedroom. With one last glance towards his closed door, you slipped into your room.

At some point since you’d left, Connor had moved from his spot on your floor and was now laying, fast asleep in your bed. He was still in clothes from yesterday, boots included, and was sprawled out on the mattress. You were unsure what to do at this point. Did you wake him up? Did you kick him out? You really just wanted to go back to sleep. You would have been fine doing that had he still been on your floor. You chewed on the back of your thumb while silently debating.

He was in your bed.

You tried to ignore the growing nervous excitement and shuffled closer to the sleeping boy. His lips were parted slightly and he was breathing softly. He must have been just as exhausted as you after yesterday and sleeping on the floor couldn’t have lead to much rest. “Uhm...Connor...” You poked his arm, keeping your voice down in case your dad heard. He didn’t move. You poked him against and spoke a little louder. “Connor? You’re kinda...in my bed...”

He stirred, eyes opening and staring at you through cracked slits. He mumbled some incoherent words and rolled away from you. At least when he rolled over, he opened up a side of the bed that you could fit into. He was above the covers so you decided to slide under them. Above the covers, below the covers. That was the old sleepover trick. You made yourself comfortable. Your back was to his. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. You were sharing a bed with Connor Murphy. He was unaware of that fact but that’s okay. He was in your bed after all. You had every right to be here.

You took a quiet deep breath and relaxed. You had no worries that your dad would come in. He hardly ever went into your room and he was probably already passed out. The weight of yesterday settled back onto your mind. Your body ached from all the tension and walking and crying you had done. You were mentally and physically drained. It didn’t take long for your eyes to grow heavy.

It was mid day when you began to rouse. Your sluggishness gradually dwindled and your mind cleared up. Already you could feel your body becoming stronger than it had been this morning. Sleep healed.

You rolled over and surveyed your room. Connor was no longer in the bed with you. He had moved back to the floor. He was sitting in the corner of your room, wedging himself in the spot between the wall and your desk. It was a small space. You wondered if he felt safe or hidden behind there. You would have. He was on his phone but his eyes looked up when he heard you move. “Your lack of good books in here is abysmal. I’ve been bored as shit for the past hour.”

You sat up with a yawn. “I told you before. I don’t read much. Why are you still here?” It was surprising to you. Your house was only one floor. He could have easily left through the window or snuck down the hall and out the front door. He wasn’t forced to stay here.

He shrugged and stated nonchalantly, “You asked me to stay.”

A smiled tugged at the corner of your lips. You patted the spot on the bed next to you, indicating for him to come sit down. He hesitantly obliged, taking a tender seat across from you. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than usual. You felt you needed to properly thank him for everything he had done. Even now he was still keeping a watchful eye over you. “Listen...about yesterday...” You weren’t sure how to continue. How did you thank someone for that? Hi, thank you for watching me have a mental breakdown and bringing me home safely, please don’t tell anyone, bye. Words wouldn’t accurately describe what you felt. You also wanted to make sure everything stayed between just the two of you. “I don’t want- I’m sorry you- That wasn’t-” Every sentence you started failed to complete itself.

Connor spoke up instead. “It’s okay, Y/N. No else will ever know what happened yesterday unless you tell them, alright? I won’t say anything.” He looked like he wanted to say more, to ask you something, but he refrained.

You sighed with relief, “Thank you. I didn’t expect all that to happen. I’m sure that was the last way you ever wanted to spend your night. I’m sorry.”

He hesitated again. Something was definitely on his mind. He seemed afraid to ask it though.

You bit your lip and rose your eyebrows in question, wordlessly letting him know that it was okay to say whatever he was thinking.

“Who’s Justin Crawford?” His eyes stayed locked onto your face. They held a look of intrigue in them.

Your stomach dropped. You suddenly felt sick. You weren’t prepared for that question. Connor picked up on your change. He quickly spoke up again, “You said his name in the woods. You said he drugged you. What...what does mean? What happened?”

You stayed quiet for a long time. You kept your eyes cast down at the bed. You nervously fidgeted with the edge of your blanket. You weren’t sure you were ready to unpack all that yet. “He was Alyssa’s boyfriend. He used to be my friend. We were drunk...and...he...he’s not a good person,” you shook your head. It was all you could say. Anymore and you’d start to unravel again.

Connor swallowed. His voice was calm but held a concerned undertone, “Did he hurt you?” He must have taken your silence as a ‘yes’ because he inhaled sharply. His jaw tightened. Anger flashed in his eyes. Then he seemingly appeared to clear his throat and put on a calm exterior. You could see through it though. Underneath he was fuming. You quietly wondered why he would react in such a way. It wasn’t like he knew you then. You picked at the blanket some more. The air in the room had become awkward and tense.

“I’ve got to go,” Connor suddenly stood up from the bed. “I should get home. You’re fine now, right? I can leave?”

He was so dismissive. You looked up with a sad, confused expression. You felt like maybe you had done something wrong. You shouldn’t of said anything. You were so stupid. “I...uhm, yeah...I’m...f-fine.” You weren’t fine. His sudden will to leave threw you into a mental turmoil. You had more or less just confessed something awful to him and his first response was to leave. It was your fault. You should have stayed quiet.

He didn’t look at you as he grabbed his jacket from the chair and his keys from your desk. “Where’d you park my car?”

“Uh, the street behind my house...” You wanted to apologize. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was angry at you. You had done something to upset him. His responses had become abrupt. He refused to look in your direction while collecting his things. Tears burned in your eyes.

Without looking back, Connor left your room and walked down the hall. He didn’t take any care in attempting to be quiet while your dad still slept. You followed behind, wanting to reach out and say something, but too scared to even try. Before you knew it, he had slipped out your front door and closed it behind him. Gone.

Your lip quivered. Why did you have to say anything? He probably thought you were dirty. He couldn’t even look at you when he found out. Was he that disgusted that he couldn’t even lay his eyes on you? He thought you were dirty, used, and disgusting just like everyone else would if they ever found out. Tears spilled down your cheek. You ran back to your bedroom and slammed the door behind you, sinking to the floor. You were beginning to think he was someone who cared about you. Someone you cared about. He was special to you and you had ruined it like you ruined everything. This was how everyone would react if they ever found out. They wouldn’t be able to look at you. They would leave. Everyone would leave.

You curled up on the carpet. You’d have to keep this a secret. You couldn’t ever let it get out. Keep quiet from now on.

Your heart ached for Connor.

#connor murphy x reader #connor murphy #connor murphy fic #connor murphy imagine #dear evan hansen fic #deh fic #deh

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