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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

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nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough.

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him.

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says.

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above.

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt.

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong.

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much.

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start.

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt.

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his.

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow.

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #tim i know you read fanfic you can HAVE this one so we can get a recovery arc #i don't even need credit just DO IT #ficcery

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kamotoshi · 3 years

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intent [kamo noritoshi x reader]

pairing: kamo noritoshi (the good one) x sorcerer! fem reader

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: the whole story revolves around the reader being injured so there are brief mentions of medication, pain, and injuries; toshi bein a headass

word count: 3.7k

overview: you have to wonder what your best friend’s intentions are when he’s gone out of his way to visit you during every day of your recovery, no matter how busy he is

On one of the walls surrounding you, the clock’s hand shifts from one minute to the next. Through the speakers of your laptop, the movie you’ve stopped paying attention to long ago drones on in the background. Instead of focusing on the plot, you’ve taken to gazing out the window, watching the lush foliage outside painted vivid oranges and blues by the sunlight breaking through dark clouds dance in the breeze, as if celebrating the end of yet another spring shower. It feels hard to remember the last time you went for a walk outside—or anywhere, for that matter—and the more you think about how painful it is to be bedridden and out of action, the more you start to feel the dull, seemingly constant aches laying siege to your exhausted body.

Thankfully, the sound of the door to your temporary living quarters opening and closing again distracts you from your depressing thoughts, and, instead, makes your heart flutter with hope. Plastic crinkling, fabric shifting, and footsteps padding along the floor reach your ears next before a tall and familiar figure appears in the doorway to the bedroom. There’s a moment’s hesitation on his journey into the room, as if he’d been worried about disturbing you, but he continues with confidence when he sees you’re awake and expecting him.

With a small smile, you greet him, “Hey, ‘Toshi.”

“Hey,” he replies, “how are you feeling?” The long sleeves of his loose-fitting robes flutter behind him like a butterfly’s wings as he wanders over to the chair beside the bed you’ve been confined to for the past few days.

You shrug, glancing down at the bandages peeking out from beneath the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m alright, I guess.”

His eyes dart from the screen of your laptop to your own gaze, then back again. With furrowed brows, he adds, “What are you watching?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

“What’s the point of putting something on if you’re not gonna watch it? What else were you even doing?” he questions.

A scoff echoes from your throat at the fact that you’ve become the sudden subject of an unnecessary interrogation over such a trivial topic, but you can’t help the wry chuckle that follows upon noticing his unfazed expression. As usual, he doesn’t see the issue in such small debates. “I always could leave it to you to argue about the most irrelevant things.” In spite of the dull, warning pain that pangs in the side of your torso, you reach over to move your fingers over your laptop’s trackpad, but Noritoshi quickly stops you and does the job for you.

“Has everyone here been taking care of you while I’ve been gone?” is his next, surprisingly relevant question.

Leaning back against the pillows propped up behind you should give your body a sense of ease, but after spending so much time in one spot, you’re desperate to do the opposite instead. “Yeah. They’ve been checking in on me and bringing me food and painkillers, so I can’t complain.” Your lips curl into a small, devious grin when you mention, “You know, I went on a walk around the place with one of your servants and he told me all these funny stories about you when you were little, including the one where you accidentally gave yourself an awful haircut and refused to leave home without a hat.”

Self-consciously, he fingers the wrappings holding his dark strands of hair together, mindlessly beginning to unravel them. Though his attention is conveniently directed at the computer screen, you can see the blush that dusts his cheeks before his hair falls in front of his face when he removes its bindings. As much as you want to tease him over the event that had happened during his childhood, you find yourself at a brief loss for words at how he looks now. The way your heart thrums just a bit faster and harder is undeniable and fills your body with a different kind of pain, since you wonder if he’s ever looked at you the same way you’re looking at him.

Tracing over the handsome features of his face with your gaze, resisting the urge to separate the kinks in his hair from being held together so tightly all day, hoping you become the center of his attention again.

“You know we have movies here, right?”

His comment abruptly interrupts your thoughts, and you clear your throat before shooting back a, “What?”

“The one you’re watching is horrible.”

“Oh? And how would you know?”

He purses his lips and glances over at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a somewhat uncomfortable pause before he blurts out, “A friend.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” you retort with a snicker.

You swear you see a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’ll bring back a better one from my room for us to watch after I go and change.” When his dark eyes meet with yours, there’s a tinge of something indiscernible in them. Sadnesss, regret, maybe a bittersweet kind of relief? It reminds you of how he’d first looked at you when he’d helped you into the bed in which you lie now.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” You shake your head. “Alright. I picked some stuff up from the store. I’ll be back to cook in ten minutes.” He frowns at the shocked expression that appears across your face at the mention of him cooking, since it’s such a rare occasion—due mostly to his lack of skill in the area—and rises to his feet once more. He does, however, extend his hand toward you and say, “Come on, I’ll help you into the other room since I know you’d be too worried sitting in here while I make us something to eat.”

A coy smile forms across your lips as you shove the covers aside, exposing your legs clad in sweatpants to the cool air in the room. “You know me so well, don’t you?” is the remark you send his way in a facetious manner that only fuels Noritoshi’s chagrin. His hand feels incredibly warm against yours when he grabs it to help you out of your confinement in the shape of a memory foam mattress, and you tighten your grip around it as your legs tremble with fatigue. Moving closer to you, he allows you to wrap your arms around one of his to support yourself, bringing your body flush against his

“Eight years.”

“Huh?” Your eyes, which had been formerly directed at the floor to mask the effects of your racing heart, shoot upwards toward him.

His eyebrows furrow in that judgmental, what do you mean ‘huh’? type of look he always made and wondered why others recoiled at the sight of it. “That’s how long we’ve known each other, so it’s no wonder why I know you so well.”

Giving his arm a playful squeeze, you shoot back, “Didn’t know you’d been keeping count.”

“It’s basic math.”

“’Toshi… you’re so, brutally honest. No wonder I’m, like, your only friend.”

“So?” he murmurs, arm dipping to support you, then lifting once more when your leg nearly gives out on you, “I’d rather have you than anyone else.”

The way he lets what he’s just said be known in his unabashedly straightforward manner of speaking, without tacking any other comments on to verify his intentions are purely platonic sends a wave of comforting warmth washing over you. Over the years, you’ve known him for his sometimes abrasively candid nature, but you’ve always appreciated that he’s never left you to question the value he places on your friendship. In spite of his shy tendencies that seemed to be limited mostly to interactions with you when the two of you had first become friends, he’d never been one to beat around the bush—and he still didn’t now.

Though you’ve always assumed his comments like the one he’d just made were meant in a friendly way, you can’t help but wonder if maybe there is something he’s not being forthcoming about. If maybe his more relaxed pace while walking with you accompanied by his lingering touch as he helps you onto the couch is his way of prolonging the time during which he gets to be closer to you. If maybe the subtle softness to his expression while he watches you settle is a result of love rather than just a superficial level of concern. If maybe him opening his clan’s estate to you as a refuge where you could safely recover had been done out of a deeper affection he harbored for you instead of his own guilt at not being able to protect you in the situation that had led to your injury.

But these are speculations you force into the back of your mind out of the fear you’re being imaginative and presumptuous. Surely, if he’d felt anything more than friendship towards you, he would’ve said something by now… right? It’s getting harder to believe with each visit he spends at your bedside, falling asleep with his head on your shoulder while he’s sitting beside you or resting by your legs as he slumps over onto the bed from where he sits in his chair. Seeing him go out of his way to support you, as he’s doing now while he stands in front of the stove—glaring at all the ingredients before him like he’s attempting to intimidate them into making a meal out of themselves—doesn’t help rid you of your persistent thoughts either.

Thankfully, you’re able to find a bit of distraction through conversation with him about his day. Between your glances over at him, you take to staring out the window, watching the rain come pounding down against the earth once more. Unbeknownst to you, Noritoshi finds his eyes on your form each time he looks up from what he’s doing, but they flicker back to the task at hand upon noticing your head turn back to keep a careful watch on him. Unfortunately, the moment you smell good food is when you let your guard down, and it’s not until there’s a haze in the room that you realize you’ve had too much faith in him.

Tearing your gaze away from the flowers Tōdō had brought you earlier in the morning, you shoot a pointed look over your shoulder at where Noritoshi stands in the kitchen. “Noritoshi, the food’s burning.”

“No, it’s still cooking,” is his swift response laced with confidence, as is usual for him. There’s a loud sizzle when he nudges whatever’s in the skillet onto the other side, sending another plume of smoke upwards

“It’s literally smoking.”

With a sigh, he turns on the fan above the oven and quells the flame beneath the pan with a turn of one of the knobs. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, he prods rather cautiously at what you can only assume is a lump of coal with a fork. You don’t need to see his face to know that he’s realized the error of his ways, since his broad shoulders slump ever so slightly. You’re sure part of him wants desperately to say that it’s not that bad, but you only hear the grating sound of him chipping away at the scorched food.

It’s hard to keep a straight face, especially when he turns away from the disastrous attempt at cooking to face you and ask:

“So, what do you want to eat for dinner?”

Your answer to his question finds a box of your favorite food in your lap about a half hour later, and him close by your side as the two of you eat and watch one of the movies he’d brought over from his room. With the darkness of the sky outside and the warmth residing inside you both at having enjoyed a meal much more pleasant than the one he’d tried and failed to make, it’s no wonder you find him dozing off. And it’s only a matter of time before his head comes to rest against your shoulder—an action you can only assume was done unintentionally in his sleep, but that sends heat rising up to your face anyway.

As much as you enjoy having him close and feeling his deep breaths tickle your collarbone, you decide to nudge him back into consciousness after about fifteen minutes of letting him snooze in case he wants to go back to his own room.

“’Toshi…?”

“Hey,” he murmurs nearly unintelligibly, “are you okay? Do you need anything?” The level of concern in his voice and the questions he asks before his eyes have even fluttered open make it challenging to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your lips. Your noses nearly brush when he lifts his head, and the small squeak you nearly let out soon morphs into a gentle chuckle at the way he blinks slowly and knits his brows together with confusion as he tries to regain his bearings.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you assure him, “I’m fine. I was just wondering if you wanted to go to bed.”

He frowns. “Maybe,” is his reply exhaled in a deep sigh as he stands so he can offer you his hand once more. “C’mon, I’ll help you back to the bedroom.”

There’s a somewhat heavy silence in the air after you thank him and latch onto his arm to steady yourself. Whereas his lack of chattiness is most likely from his own fatigue weighing heavily on him, yours stems from one of the many questions that’s been lingering in your mind. With the way he’d been going out of his way to assist you and keep you company between his missions, you can’t help but wonder what his true intentions are—and if he’ll tell you when asked. You don’t know if you can bring yourself to ask, however, and your own self-consciousness keeps you quiet while he helps you back into your temporary bed yet again.

He lingers, though, almost as if he can sense you have something on your mind with the way you’ve gone silent. So, he takes a seat beside you on the plush mattress and places his hands in his lap. The flash of lightning that brings a slow, rumbling roar of thunder along with it distracts him for a moment and his fingers grip each other tightly. He hates thunderstorms, and you’re one of the only people who know. In a movement that feels instinctual, you reach for his hand, sending a soft smile his way when he slides his clammy palm between your warm ones.

Maybe it’s because you know he’s feeling just as vulnerable as you are—which is a rare occasion with the walls he’s built up around his more personal thoughts and feelings—but words start rolling off your tongue before you can stop them.

“Say, ‘Toshi?” you ask. He hums in response, the low tone of his voice nearly lost beneath the rhythmic thrumming of rain crashing down against the roof. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” Though his words were laced with exhaustion not that long ago, he seems much more alert now. Whether it’s his fear or his intrigue, you’re unsure, but his eyes meeting yours makes your breath hitch in your throat for a moment. The way you’re acting now brings a question you don’t intend on voicing to the forefront of your mind: How did I manage to deny my feelings for so long?

But the one you ask is: “Why are you doing all this for me?”

His brow raises. “What do you mean?” In a manner that’s comedic to you, he glances around the room, looking for whatever it is you’re referencing.

“I mean everything. Letting me stay here, taking care of me when you’re here, baking me dessert; hell, you even tried to cook me dinner.” Another clap of thunder gives you pause, and his fingers tighten around one of your hands. “So, what’s all this for?”

Brushing a few strands of raven-colored hair away from his face with his unoccupied fingers, he states, “I wanted to be the one to take care of you.”

Your face tingles with prickles of heat at his comment, but the sensation fades slightly when you notice his gaze has dropped to his lap and he’s allowed his bangs to shroud his expression. He doesn’t have the look of determination or even adoration in his eyes of someone who’s ready to confess their feelings. No, he looks guilty.

“Why?”

He fills his lungs with a deep breath that he releases in a drawn-out sigh before answering, “Because if I hadn’t suggested we split up during that mission, then this wouldn’t have happened to you.” The warm feeling of hope that had been swelling in your heart grows cold, like a flame extinguished by an icy gust of wind. “I needed to be the one to take care of you since I got you into this mess. This whole thing was my fault.”

“Oh, I see.” The biting undertones of your words don’t go unnoticed by him like they might normally would, since he lifts his head to look at you. With a shrug, you snap, “So you’re only doing all this to clear your guilty conscience, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” is his rebuttal spoken with brows furrowed.

“What the hell else was that supposed to mean, then? How was I meant to take that? Because to me it just sounds like you’re doing this to make yourself feel better.”

He shakes his head in an act of irritation toward himself. “Yes, I feel guilty, but that’s not the main reason why I’m doing this.”

“What, did you do it to be seen as a hero? An amazing sorcerer who’s also an admirable friend? Someone capable of doing the right thing?” you retort sarcastically, the sting of rejection parading as rage tainting your tongue.

“I’m doing it because I love you!”

In the long, somewhat awkward silence that follows his confession, you almost expect his face to fall. For him to realize that he’d revealed something that he hadn’t meant to. Or, worse, for him to tack the condition, “as a friend,” onto the end of it.

But the honesty in his dark eyes doesn’t waver. He doesn’t turn away and mutter about wishing he hadn’t said what he did. He doesn’t backtrack to revise his confession in a way that would keep you safely in the friend zone.

Instead, he says it again with the same level of confidence: “I love you.”

And adds, “More than I think you understand.”

His grip around your hand tightens in a gentle manner different to the fear with which he’d clutched it before with each flash of lightning outside. “You… do?” you whisper as your heart begins to ache in the tight vise of regret you now feel at your outburst. He nods without hesitation in response, and a small tug on his sleeve beckons him closer to you, driving away the chill in the air between your bodies.

For a moment, neither of you move, and, instead, gaze at each other as if your eyes are speaking silent reassurances. Despite the confident nature of his words, his actions are somewhat timid, since you don’t feel his breath fan across your face until you cup his in your hands. But, as soon as you utter those same words in return and press your lips to his, he kisses away any lingering doubts or worries, as well as your quiet apologies. While the storm rages on outside, you can only hear your own heartbeat and the short breaths you take between each tender yet passionate meeting of your lips. It feels as if a great deal of time has passed before you pull away, and you’re grateful for every second of it.

Without so much as a second thought, you make yourself at home in his arms already wrapped around you, resting your head in the crook of his neck. His warmth envelops you when he carefully tightens his grip around you to avoid hurting you, and any pain you’d felt earlier seems to dissipate in the glow of happiness and overwhelming relief that have taken its place. Noritoshi nestles his face against the side of yours, and his body steadily becomes heavier against yours until the peace is disturbed by another roar sounding from the skies above.

“This storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he sighs, “Want me to stay here with you?”

Before you can even answer, he starts peeling back the covers and settling himself down in bed beside you. And in spite of your heart fluttering with joy at the thought of him spending the night with you, the opportunity to tease him is too enticing for you to let it slip away. “Why would I need you to stay here with me, huh?”

As usual, however, he’s unnerved by your attempt at catching him off-guard, and calmly replies, “In case the power goes out or you can’t sleep because of all the noise, obviously.”

A wry chuckle bubbles in your throat as you lie down beside him and move the side of your head onto his chest. “Obviously. Where would I be without you here to take care of me? I’m very lucky to have someone as diligent as you are by my side, aren’t I?” you simper.

His fingers interlace with the ones you have resting on his torso running absentmindedly along the soft fabric of his sweater. Giving your hand a tender squeeze and pausing a moment to admire the way your palm fits into his, he murmurs, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Your last statement had been delivered somewhat facetiously but seeing the way his cheek comes to rest against the pillow so he can look over at you with only pure, unwavering honesty makes you add, in a more serious tone, “That makes two of us, then.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kamo noritoshi x reader #noritoshi x reader #tw injury

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adorerdraco · 4 years

Text

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 4

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Summary: PART 4 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and now having to deal with the reality of his Death Eater status.

Warnings: lots of ANGST (but also tiniest bit of fluff), lots of tears, lots of emotional pain on everyone

Words: 7.5K

A/N: FINALLLYYYY i had no idea what to do with this but something finally came to me !!!! and also an ending ;( so there will only be maybe one or two parts after this one since it is a miniii series BUT FOR NOW I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AND IGNORE ANY PLOT HOLES FROM THE ACTUAL HP UNIVERSE I TRIED MY V BEST AHHH <33333 do not own gif.

There was an unsettling sense of impending doom that washed over the Hogwarts castle in heavy rain and dark thunderous clouds. The familiar orange and bright sunlight and purple-pink sunsets were gone, the sun only making meek appearances through the thick rainy covers of the sky before disappearing into the nightfall. No one knew what was coming or what to expect. Schooling continued like normal and everyone had entrusted that whatever was the situation outside the bewitched stone walls of Hogwarts; there was no way it could get past the protection charms put in place by the all-powerful Headmaster and his fellow teachers.

The only two people in the school who couldn’t share that same comfort with their peers were also the only ones in the school who had an inkling of what was going to happen next. The second Draco realized he had successfully mended the vanishing cabinet he had a squirming sense of regret and guilt begin to eat away at him. You felt the same burn of shame in you when you mulled over the fact that it was you who had encouraged him to keep at it even when he continuously wanted to quit.

So now here you were, in the chilled room of requirement after finding out the cabinet worked only minutes ago, the two of you sitting in silence together on an old pile of junk while you held a shivering Draco with his face buried in your neck. There was a feeling of droplets of quiet tears falling onto your skin while you pet the top of his silver-stricken hair in reassurance and tried to hold your own tears back. The breakthrough that was supposed to be the biggest accomplishment of the young Death Eater ended up feeling like his biggest failure and it devastated him more than he could have ever fathomed.

When he had finally gathered himself together, he stood up and totteringly fixed the wrinkles on his black suit before offering you a trembling hand. You took it and allowed him to walk you out of the room and back into the empty corridors and towards the staircases. It was a silent trip down to the dungeons and you didn’t want to ask where he was taking you but you regretted not doing so when he stopped the two of you outside a certain greasy-haired Professor’s door. He brought his free hand up to the wood and let his knuckles hit against it faintly with one knock before you rushed to stop him as you yanked the two of you away from the door once you had realized how unwise this felt.

“What are you doing?!” you asked him in a hushed fearful tone.

“I have to tell Snape about the vanishing cabinet,” he responds dully.

“I don’t think he’d like me to be here when you tell him that-”

There was a sudden clicking sound, the door of the office swinging open as Snape emerged from the room with an angered expression when he saw the two of you standing there. When his dark eyes landed on you specifically, you shivered underneath his vexed gaze. It was clear, just how you had said, he did not want you there.

“Inside, now, Draco.” He grits the demand through his teeth.

“Y/N is coming in too,” the Slytherin says quickly, earning another scowl from his Professor. He stepped aside from the door with a visible rage as you followed Draco inside to the dingy room lined with jars filled with weird unnameable objects.

Draco stopped in the middle of the room, reaching for your hand again and tightly gripping it in reassurance. You stared into his worried gray’s with fear, silently begging him to not let you go as Snape walked past the both of you.

“Do you have any idea how imprudent you are, Draco?” Snape sneered, staring down the boy beside you who kept a straight face. “Do you understand how reckless this is? How much does she know?”

“Everything, Professor,” Draco answers quietly. There was a fiery glint in Snape’s eyes as he looked towards you now, his lips curling upwards in a snarl.

“Foolish girl with an equally foolish boy,” he scowls. “You have nothing to do with any of this. You have done nothing but write yourself a death sentence all for the sake of what... love?”

“With all due respect, Professor,” you start timidly, “I knew what the consequences would be if I stayed with Draco and I will gladly accept whatever fate is in store for me for my decision. I also promise you my silence with everything I know.”

Draco squeezed your hand and glanced towards you with a sadness you were easily able to see.

“How touching,” Snape says lowly. “So you’re prepared to die at the hands of the Dark Lord? Or perhaps at the hands of his precious aunt who might get to you first?”

“Yes, I am” you stood tall when you answered, hoping to appear courageous for not only a very doubtful Snape but more for Draco who you felt cringe every time your possible death was mentioned.

He said nothing, but his mind was swarming with thoughts and plans on how he could save you from every dangerous person and outcome that tormented his surroundings. There was one constant threat after another and although he’s contemplated on it several times, there was no solution he could come up with where the two of you stayed together and you would survive. He mentally kicks himself, wishing he pushed aside his own selfish needs and never promised you he wouldn’t leave you again and he wishes now more than ever that he could. It wasn’t because he didn’t love you - it was the opposite of that. He loved you almost too much and as dreadful situations were approaching, he wished he could leave you out of the death and destruction that would soon ensue on everyone, especially you, all because of him. All because he needed you by his side for him to even feel any sense of life in him that kept him going.

“Very well, then, I cannot stop you from these naive decisions,” Snape sighs deeply in defeat and faces the troubled blond, “and what of the vanishing cabinet?”

You felt Draco stiffen, a trembling exhale falling from his lips before responding with, “it’s done.”

“Excellent, expect their arrival soon,” he rounds his desk, stopping right above his chair, “you may leave.”

You hurriedly turned to go, tugging on Draco’s hand as you did so and the both of you drudged out of the office with a heavy sensation settling over the both of you. There was nothing either of you could do now. There was no more stalling with the cabinet, no more keeping quiet, no more hopeful possibilities that things could turn out differently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was nearly physically painful to attend all your classes today. It was fake smiles and conversations that left you feeling pathetically phony -feeling like you were lying to everyone that they were going to be okay when they weren’t. You even made plans with housemates to have a little gathering in the common room later in the week to celebrate someone’s birthday and plans with friends to go study in the library with them.

It even hurt to see your Professors, always kind and helpful, not knowing that sometime in the near future, they’ll be either fighting for their life or the lives of students at Hogwarts.

Draco had it even worse. Not one peep from him throughout any of his classes. He was deathly quiet, walking around looking like a kicked puppy and avoided any conversation or interaction with anyone, not even eye contact. He just felt so guilty that he was going to be the reason why death would inevitably wreak havoc on so many souls. He knows eventually the dark wizard he’s resentfully following would have found a way inside the castle walls somehow - you had reminded him that countless times, but it still left him wondering what would have happened if he couldn’t fully mend the cabinet or refused to.

Halfway through the day, he saw you in Slughorn’s class. The two of you worked diligently together through the whole lesson and when the bell rang, he gave you a small kiss goodbye before walking over to his other class. Your worried eyes followed his retreating figure, leaving you a chilling feeling as he disappeared down the hall.

During his next class, he sat in the far end of a classroom, slumped in his chair with his chin on his palm as he thought of you. He wishes he could be stronger for you, braver and less cowardly. He wished he was unafraid of consequences and could simply grab you and his mother, and eventually even his father, and just apparate to somewhere far away and hidden where the Dark Lord and his followers couldn’t get to him or those he loved. But he knew that no matter how much he wished it or try to convince himself he could; he couldn’t do it and he knows his family wouldn’t let him either.

When classed had finally ended for the day and the corridors were packed with rushing bodies of people meeting up with their friends as they laughed and talked with a weightless glee, Draco found himself pushing past everyone like a mindless zombie as his feet mindlessly carried him throughout the school with no specific destination. There was no moment of peace in his head, just a raging battlefield of endless awful possibilities.

You had been scurrying through the halls, hoping to find the mop of platinum blond amongst the busy crowd of people. The scene felt like a maze, twisting and turning through people and corners until you felt like you were on the edge of madness.

There was a small tap on your shoulder before a large hand had snaked down your arm and into your hand with its familiar cold grasp. You sighed in relief, your head turning softly to face your noticeably stressed boyfriend who had put on a very feeble smile for you.

“Can we go somewhere else,” he asked faintly, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke, “I can’t be here anymore.”

You nodded eagerly, moving the two of you towards the nearest exit of the castle, finally releasing a breath of fresh air when you felt your shoes sink into the soft earth below you. There was a humid and muddy smell in the air, the soil, and plants still wet from the on and off rain that had been occurring for the past few days.

Far from the school and on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, there stood a tall and sturdy tree. It was the new tree you had picked for the two of after the first fall out between you and Draco. Its trunk was thick and wide, allowing both of you to hide from anyone who passed by or saw it in the distance. The tresses of leaves nearly showered onto the ground from its long branches that twisted and turned in ways that appeared like it was trying to hug itself. It almost looked like a huge, untrimmed dome, encircling you inside its core while it protected you from unwanted attention. It was perfect.

When you finally reached it, you pushed back some of the leaves so you could walk into the dimly lit and vast space it naturally created and plopped yourself against the trunk with a deep exhale. Draco sat down with you, adjusting himself so that he could lay his head on your lap, humming comfortably when your fingers began their usual work through the soft strands of his hair.

You sat there in silence as the both of you thought, and thought, and thought. It was hard to believe that only this morning you were standing in the room of requirement with him, shocked and distressed that he had finally fixed the vanishing cabinet. Now Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters were aware of the new opening into Hogwarts, preparing to set ablaze the school with pain and some sort of destruction.

You looked down at the boy in your lap, a permanent wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he lied staring straight ahead, a lost look in his gray eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. One of your hands had trailed from his hair and rested gently on his forehead, your pinky gently trying to smooth out the crease between his eyes.

“I should have never fixed the cabinet,” he sighs and sits up to face you. You noticed the glassy look and reddened lash lines, the storming tears ready to come out at any moment.

"Draco, anything that happens next is not your fault,” you tried to reassure but it only made him feel worse.

“No, it’s not only that,” he lets out a shaky breath, letting the first tear fall that he couldn’t hold back. “I have to dedicate myself to my second task now.”

You froze as you remembered the biggest responsibility he had, demanded to him by the Dark Lord himself - the obligation of killing Dumbledore. A mere 16-year-old boy, who was in the middle of a collapsed world and broken judgments, was burdened with the worst trial of them all.

Draco shuddered at the thought, moving to sit beside you against the tree as he sat with his knees pulled to his chest and the waterfall of tears now falling freely down his face.

“I can’t kill him, I don’t want to kill him,” he lamented, “I can’t do it. He’ll kill me first before I can even try.”

You placed a hand on his arm, rubbing soothing circles into it as you let him cry and thought of what you could say. The vanishing cabinet was one thing, but this, this was a life. This was someone who is known to be the most powerful wizard of all time, the only one alive right now who the enemy truly feared. This was someone who everyone needed alive at this time. If Draco went through with this, he would never be able to recover. You know he doesn’t want to do it, at all, and having everyone else in his life nag at him in encouragement is the opposite of what he needs. You truly couldn’t give him any advice on what he can do or why he should.

“I don’t think he would,” you started quietly, trying to find the words to piece together what you wanted to say, “kill you, I mean. I think you’re so used to You-Know-Who, that, you forget Dumbledore isn't evil and is merciful. And maybe, if you stall long enough, someone else can do it? Maybe Bellatrix.”

Draco let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the suggestion, “my dear aunt Bellatrix more than anyone, wants me to do it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” you frowned, letting the back of your head fall against the tree as you stared up at the swinging greenery above you.

“You can help by keeping yourself alive,” he sniffles, his cold hand enveloping itself in yours as he spoke. “If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it’s you. I think you not being here on this Earth, would feel far, far worse than taking Dumbledore’s life.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a warm kiss onto the skin before he held it against his chest.

“I wish I could put you in a bubble and send you up above the clouds so you could watch the sky all day and be happy, and most of all safe from everything evil,” he muses, a slight smile on your lips as you listened to his wish. His fingers began twirling around the band on your wrist, the same band he had gifted you the night before when everything seemed to be okay, in a sense.

“Evil will always be here, Dark Wizards present or not,” you remind him gingerly, “just as there will always be good. It’s a balance, one can’t be here without the other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “But I still wish it was possible to send you away in a bubble.”

“If that was possible, you know you would come with me, right?” You turn your head, smiling at him when he met your eyes. You brought up your held hand, wiping away the stray tears that had lingered on his paled cheeks as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist.

“I would love to go with you,” he said tenderly, heart-swelling at how easy you made him feel calm and present. It was wonderous, he felt, how someone had managed to make him feel this way. He never would have thought he’d have someone who genuinely loved him and he loved back, in his love life. Especially not at this time, in this year, where he was facing his worst tribulations and turmoils.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you now staring up into the darkening grayed sky that peeked through the mess of leaves above.

“It’s getting dark, we should probably go soon,” you mumble tiredly, noticing how the moon was already starting to make an appearance behind the heavy gray clouds. "And it looks like it's about to rain."

As soon as the words left your mouth, there was a loud cracking of thunder, the tree’s branches surrounding you suddenly shaking at the sound. You shot up to your feet, Draco following closely as the two of you heard a whining sound coming directly from the trunk of the tree. Its leaves began to move wildly in the wind that approached, more booming of thundering filling the air as a storm above began to brew. The branches began to swing carefully and more inwards as if it was alive and closing itself up from any danger that was coming from around or above it. The leaves were falling over one another, covering up any spaces in the tree that the constricting branches couldn’t cover.

“Draco,” you say timidly, reaching for his hand in fear, “is it just me, or is the tree moving?”

The space underneath the tree had shrunken significantly, it was now a small circle going around the trunk that was big enough to walk around but not enough to run through like you once could. Whatever light the outside was able to offer was now gone, the cracking and compressing branches and leaf clumps blocked out everything from the outside, including the rain that you could very loudly hear pattering against the fronds above you.

“I think its closed us in,” Draco mutters, moving you behind his back as he pulled his wand from his pocket and whispered a quick, ‘lumos,’ so that the two of you could see. He held you behind him protectively as he stepped towards the walls of the tree, pushing against the leaves and branches that were now tightly contracted together that allowed no room for escape. “We’re stuck in here - unless you want to blast a hole through it.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. You moved away from him and walked towards the trunk of the tree, placing a gentle hand on the dry wood that still seemed to be faintly buzzing from its movement. “We’re not going to hurt it.”

“Y/N, we’re stuck in here, no one knows where we are-” he tries to reason more but you shush him quickly.

“And that’s such a bad thing?” you scoff, moving to press your ear against the wood as you tried to examine it more. You heard the same whining from earlier but much weaker now, its bellows fading now as it felt protected from the storm.

“What are you doing?”

There was confusion written all over the blond’s face as he watched you inspect the tree, curious and concerned with your attentiveness.

“Dray, come here,” you rushed out, motioning towards you so he would hurry over. He let you grab his free hand when he reached you since his wand hand was still casting the only light around you. You placed it against the trunk of the tree with yours, a sudden vibration shooting up his arm at the contact with the wood. “The tree is a sentient. It’s alive and very aware.”

“What, so like the Whomping Willow?”

“Exactly like that, but not aggressive at all,” you nod, beaming up at him. “I think it knows we’re here too.”

For a moment, there was finally a fleeting feeling of glee as both of your worries from the outside left you, allowing reverence and excitement to fill you and spread to Draco.

“You speak tree now?” He snickers, smirking at you when you rolled your eyes.

You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes as you quietly thanked it for its protection from the thunder and the rain and its beauty. Draco’s gaze stayed on you, watching you with wonder and fullness in his heart. He began to question himself how someone like you was real, who was so caring with everything you touched, from nature to people. You radiated bravery, loyalty, strong intelligence, and ambition wherever you went and in every situation, you were in.

How did I get so lucky, he kept thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a bright glittering blue light, and then a purple one, then a pink, and a white. He fully looked up and inhaled faintly when he saw what they all were.

Small translucent and thin stringy flowers of all colors that he could think of began to illuminate themselves from the many branches of the tree before floating off, dancing and twirling in the air as they descended towards the two of you. He noticed they looked nearly identical to spider lily’s - all thanks to Professor Sprout when he was forced to learn several different flowers in her class.

He nudged you gently, pointing up to the air when you opened your eyes and you stepped away from the trunk to look around in awe. There must have been at least a hundred of them spinning and flying, their petals bouncing up and down as they carried themselves around the open area.

You reached up your palm, catching one in your hand as it landed daintily and glowed a bright rose color, its petals still lifting up and down like if it was keeping itself afloat. You turned to bring it carefully towards Draco, almost jumping up and down in excitement that it was on you. He turned off the light of his wand with an easy, ‘nox,’ putting it away now that the area was now fully lit up in beautifully twinkling lights. He smiled down at you, placing both his hands under your one as he helped you hold it up since you were nearly exploding from happiness.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” you whispered in wonder. “I didn’t even know trees could do this! Our tree!”

“I think this is only because of you, darling,” he whispers back. “You have a way of bringing dull things to life.”

Your gaze flickered up, smiling warmly at him before pushing up gently on the flower, encouraging it to fly away so you could move. You got closer to the Slytherin, his arms encircling around your waist once you were flush against him. One of the green flowers had landed on the top of his hair, settling itself carefully on him.

“I’ve got one on me, haven’t I?” He chuckles and you nod, a bright smile on your face as you looked between him and the flower.

“It likes you,” you beam. “But, not as much as I do.”

He laughs a real laugh of delight and amusement, squeezing you delicately tighter against him.

“Obviously.”

You stood on your tip-toes to reach his tall figure, craning your face up and pressing your lips against his in a loving match. You parted your lips and allowed his warmth to wash all over you in comfort, all thoughts being numbed at the feeling. As your lips continued to move against his, you began to feel a tickling all over your hair and whatever skin was exposed to the air. You pulled away from him curiously, gasping softly when you saw that all the flowers had flown down towards the two of you landing and sitting on you both as if they were attracted like magnets.

Draco moved one of his clasped hands from your waist up to your cheek, grinning to himself as you leaned your head into his touch.

“I’m glad this tree has us trapped in here,” he mutters. “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with the one I love.”

“I love you more, Draco.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The two of you awoke to the sound of cracking wood and swooshing leaves, a cold breeze following quickly as it encompassed you. You gradually opened your eyes, seeing that the tree was expanding and moving back to its original state and appearing back to normal. Carefully sitting up, you realized the flowers were gone, there was no sight of them anywhere. If it wasn’t for Draco being there with you, you would’ve thought you imagined the whole thing.

Speaking of the said boy, he groaned beneath you, balled fists going up to his closed eyes as he began to rub his sleep away. The early morning light had streamed through weakly through the clouds and through the leaves onto you.

“I wonder if anyone looked for us,” you yawned carelessly, standing up and flattening down the wrinkles on your clothes. You outstretched your hands and back, deeply exhaling at the feeling of relief from the ground below you.

“Probably,” Draco answered sleepily, standing himself up and wiping himself off of all dirt and grime. “We should go back now before it locks s in again.”

You skipped over to the trunk of the tree, placing your hand on it once again and whispering to it a tender, “thank you.”

You could’ve sworn it whined something back, but you brushed it off at your drowsiness and continued towards the castle with Draco.

The two of you walked quietly hand in hand to your common room, stopping outside of it with a sigh as you read a clock on a far-away wall.

7:42 AM

“How long have we been out?” You question fearfully.

“No idea,” he yawns. “Must have been a very long time though.”

Draco freezes in his spot, feeling his body crawl with what felt like tiny spiders when he saw who was standing at the end of one of the nearby corridors, a scowl on his face when they made eye contact.

“Go inside and get yourself cleaned up and ready for the day, love,” he rushed out, placing a quick kiss on your forehead and parted lips as he nudged you towards the entrance. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You tiredly nodded, giving the required password to the common room before sneakily stepping inside and tip-toeing towards your room.

When the doors finally closed and you were gone, Draco turned down the corridor and started towards a furious Snape down the way. The raven-haired man stayed glued where he stood, patiently waiting for the young Death Eater to approach him so he could swiftly unleash hell on him.

“I have been searching for you all night,” Snape snapped lowly. “Where did the two of you run off to?”

“We got stuck somewhere, but I’m here now,” Draco answers, staring into the accusatory eyes in front of him.

“You better hope you kissed her your final goodbye,” he snarls. “They’re coming tonight, and you must carry out your last duty - tonight.”

“Tonight?” Draco echoes emptily, feeling like whatever happiness he had left in his body from last night was slowly trickling down his body and out into the floor like a sad, melted popsicle.

“Yes, and after tonight you will no longer be a student here,” Snape reminds with a hushed tone. “Miss Y/L/N cannot follow you. I hope you understand that. it would be incredibly dangerous for you and her.”

“No,” Draco begins to shake his head in refusal, his heart dropping to his stomach as the realities began to set in. “I don’t want to leave her, I don’t know how.”

“I think it’s time you start figuring out how,” his Professor suggests inconsiderately. “Room of requirement at nightfall, you’re opening up the cabinet for them so they’re able to transport. Come alone and prepared to leave the school.”

Before Draco could try to argue, Snape brushed past him and disappeared down the corridor and past a corner, leaving behind a pain-stricken boy who was stupidly in love with someone he couldn’t find in him to let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Something was off and unsettling, you noticed. You weren’t sure where it came from, but you felt it eat away at you even though nothing had happened to you. You came home feeling wonderful from an impromptu dreamy night with Draco, completely love-struck and ditzy and halfway through your shower was when it was all washed away and replaced with dread.

You wondered if this is somehow how Draco was feeling before deciding against your gut.

I’m not a mind reader, you thought repeatedly.

It was odd how you saw him nowhere around the school, even more, odd when you hadn’t seen him in your shared Potions class that left you partnering up with your friend who didn’t mind the on and off switching. She asked you eagerly about your disappearance, expecting juicy details but was immediately bored when you gave her a watered-down story of what had happened.

“Oh, we were just watching the stars and accidentally fell asleep outside,” you lied, trying to force excitement in your voice to make the story more believable.

“That’s it?” she deadpanned. “You guys are so boring. Also, what if something attacked you guys? The Forbidden Forest is right there.”

You rolled your eyes, secretly wishing the two of you really were a simple boring couple and not facing the most life-threatening and scariest adversities.

“I’m sure one of us would’ve woken up if we heard something,” you shrug and she sighs, shaking her head.

There was still no sign of him after this class. And there was still no sign of him after the rest of the schooling day had ended.

You sat with your friends in the bumbling busy courtyard, listening to them quietly as they chatted happily. You were worried out of your mind, the pit in your stomach growing wider when you saw Draco’s familiar group of Slytherins gathered together in the distance, not a single platinum head in sight.

As the day continued into the evening and people were making their trip over to the Great Hall, you made up a quick excuse to your friends and broke off from them to scourge the school in its emptiness. It was quickly getting dark, you finally decided to follow your instincts and let yourself bound down the stoned staircase towards the even darker lit dungeons. It was empty and cold, a dooming atmosphere for no apparent reason.

As you were about to turn around, you heard the door to the Slytherin common room open and relief flooded you when you saw Draco emerge from the exit with a new black suit on, perfectly styled and gelled hair, and a somber expression on his face. He looked paler than usual, almost gray, the way he looked when you had found him that day in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with a curse ravaging his body.

“Draco!” You called out to him excitedly, running towards him and wrapping your arms around him tightly when you reached him. He felt rigid underneath your touch, a distant look in his eyes as he looked down at you quickly. “Where have you been all day?”

“I’ve had to take care of some stuff,” he murmurs in response.

“Are you okay?” You ask carefully as you observed him. He was cold, emotionally, and physically. He resembled his house’s ghost, the Bloody Baron, cold and angry with hidden despair - just without all the blood.

“I’m fine.”

You stepped away from him at his answer, peering up at him in confusion at his sudden aloofness.

“I need to tell you something,” he ends up breathing out after a moment of awkward tension. His hand wraps around your forearm instead of his usual spot in your hand, nearly dragging you towards an empty classroom that was a few feet away from where you both stood.

He closed the door warily behind him once the two of you were inside, the dingy lamps in the room automatically lighting up when they sensed a presence so you wouldn’t be left in the dark.

“So, what do you need to tell me?” You begin to wring your hands in distress, not feeling hopeful under his miserable gaze.

“We need to end this, here, right now,” he spits out quickly, a troubled expression taking over his features as soon as the words left his lips.

There was a thick silence that fell over the room, a heavy tension that grew with every passing second was bursting at the seams of the walls. You couldn’t think straight, your heart feeling like it had fallen into your back and your stomach bubbling dangerously with bile you desperately wanted to release.

“What do you mean,” you ask stupidly. The tiniest piece of you was desperately hoping that he had meant something completely different than your relationship.

“You and me,” he pointed between the two of you brokenly. “I have to kill Dumbledore tonight, and then I have to leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” you promptly offer, nodding in agreement with yourself.

“You can’t,” he asserts sadly, walking up to you and placing both hands on either side of your biceps, gripping you tightly in place as if you were toppling over. “Y/N, this is the one time you can’t help me. If you come with me tonight, someone will hurt you.”

You stared up at him in dread, relentless tears streaming down your face as he stared back at you with the same look. He was breaking apart, his insides shriveling up in agony while he spoke and continued to hurt you.

“But when will I see you again?” you cry out hoarsely, letting your head fall against his chest as he moves to hug you tightly.

“I don’t know,” he whispers out.

“Draco, please let me come with you,” you begin to plead into the jacket of his suit. “I’ll hide, transfigure me into a goblet, anything! Just please don’t leave again. You promised!”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. You felt his hot tears land onto the top of your hair, adding more fuel to your anguish. “You have to stay here, in this room, until I’m gone.”

“Are you that dense?” you cry wildly, pushing yourself away from him as you gave him a look of pure anger. “You expect to let me wait here like a sitting duck while I could be out there helping you somehow.”

Draco watched you with remorse, his hand reaching into his suit pocket before drawing his wand out on you with a vigorous trembling hand. You gasped, quick to reach for your own with the same shakiness before it was thrown out of your grasp the second you pointed it at him.

“Expelliarmus,” he said quickly, voice matching his hand. He looked at you painfully again before sputtering out, “locomotor mortis.”

Your legs locked together from beneath you, sending you tumbling backward into an empty desk beside you. You caught yourself on the edges of the desk, staring agape at a shuddering Draco a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he cried hard, “I’m so sorry, but I have to keep you safe.”

“Draco, I swear,” you wailed out in despair, “if you leave me here, I will never forgive you.”

Draco halted, contemplating his next move for only a minute. His heart thudding fast against his chest, yearning to give into you as he weighed out his options. He swallowed thickly and turned on his heel towards the door. When his hand landed on the brass handle, he turned back one more time to look at you and felt his world completely and irreversibly shatter.

You were in hysterics, legs stuck together and your hands barely being able to hold yourself up on the desk. You had a despondency about you now, weeping strongly in heartbreak that was caused by him.

He speedily opened the door and threw himself out, shutting it tightly once again and placing his wand against the handle.

“Colloportus,” the lock chimed with a magnifying and powerful click.

He let his head quietly fall against the door, tormenting himself further when he heard your continued cries and now yelling out a pained, “you promised!”

Nothing was holding him together now as he ripped himself away from the door and began his walk to the room of requirement. There was no more hope, no more tranquility, no more comfort. He couldn’t run back to you at the end of the night and let you heal him with soft reassurances and tender kisses. He couldn’t feel your hug anymore or the way you’d lull him to sleep after a rough day with your hands in his hair. It was all gone, all of it. Including you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know how long you cried or when you had fallen to the floor and accidentally fallen asleep in your hopelessness.

When you finally woke up, the room was especially dark now, the lights having been dimmed to nothing as the room had thought you were gone. All you could feel was grief and dejection, everything you knew and loved had been torn away from you; because it was.

When you subsequently felt some of your energy return, you rolled yourself around the floor, extending your arm to grab onto something sturdy so you could hoist yourself up and begin looking for your wand. Luckily, the lights lit up again when they sensed your figure begin to hop around the room, allowing you to search much more easily.

You hopped down each row of scattered desks, searching high and low for where your wand might have been thrown when you were disarmed. You mentally cursed Draco again for the thousandth time that night, the throbbing in your body growing stronger while you thought of how he had left.

You found yourself regretting the bluff you threw at him, feeling stupid now that he was gone with the idea that you might hate him. You regretted letting your rage and sadness get to you, yelling at him things you didn’t mean all because you were angry he was trying to do to protect you.

Stuck in your head and mindlessly hopping towards the front of the room where Draco had hit you with both spells, you didn’t see your wand under your shoe until it had rolled out from underneath you, sending you falling into a set of desks that were lined up behind you.

The impact of the fall barely phased you, weakly shifting yourself upright and bending over and outstretching a hand towards your wand. When you finally felt it between your fingers, you dragged it towards you and into your grasp before hurriedly pointing it towards your legs and muttering the counter-curse to unbind yourself. Once you felt the feeling back in your legs, you jumped up and ran towards the door only to slam against it, unknowing to you that Draco had also spelled the door before he left.

“Arse,” you mutter, touching your wand against the lock and speaking out a clear, “alohomora.”

When you stepped out into the gloomy freezing corridor of the dungeons, you knew something was wrong. It was clear in the air that something awful had just happened, every feeling of sadness seeping deep into the stone of the castle.

You flew up the stairs, running as fast as you could towards the Quad where everyone was gathered like zombies. Your legs continued carrying you out, looking up at the sky to see a huge Dark Mark painted in the grayed clouds above. Your gut was screaming at you the reason why, but you didn’t want to believe it until you had seen the evidence of your thoughts lying on the ground not far from you.

It was Dumbledore, motionless, and gone.

Harry was sitting above him, Ginny hugging him tightly as he cried quietly. You felt your tears prick your eyes, feeling guilty that you had known all along what was going to happen, guilty that you couldn’t do anything to stop it, guilty that there was no one to challenge against the evil that doomed the wizarding world, guilty that you couldn’t help Draco against it.

You kept telling yourself he couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have, but it was clear as day - the scene in front of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, allowing yourself to cry with your school in grief, crying even more while the second loss you experienced tonight had begun to work itself back into your tears.

And when everyone had cleared out, and it was just Harry and a few others, including some Professors, you begrudgingly made yourself walk up to the group. It was hard, seeing Harry and his friends stare at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. A look between pity and something unidentifiable.

“I’m sorry,” you let out hoarsely to Harry as you finally neared them. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered awkwardly. “I saw it happen, you know.”

“Oh,” you frown, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans as you waited for him to curse you out, to yell at you for Draco’s wrongdoings and murderous feat. But he didn’t. He only stared at you sadly.

“If you wanted to know,” he began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he spoke, “Malfoy didn’t do it, he couldn’t.”

There was a solace that ran deep within you at the revelation. A shaky exhale quietly falling from your lips while you tried to hide your relief. You silently thanked the stars for sparing Draco, knowing now that there was still hope he could be saved.

“So then who did it?” You ask timidly.

“Snape,” he shook his head glumly, “it was Snape.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There was a loud snapping sound ringing throughout the Malfoy Manor as Draco apparated inside the living room with his mother, clutching tightly onto her as he stumbled over his feet, feeling sick to his stomach and distraught at everything he had to live through that night.

He fell to his knees, backing himself up against a wall as he began clutching at his chest, gasping desperately for air as his panic attack had started to tear away at him. He was breathing erratically, tears falling from his eyes in rivers as he tried to remove the suit jacket that felt too tight against him.

Narcissa Malfoy looked down at her son, fear and sorrow suddenly undertaking her as she bent down to sit in front of him. She was momentarily glad she felt the need to meet the others near the outskirts of the school’s failing barrier, instantly grabbing Draco from the group when everyone was planning on staying longer for further destruction. One broken look on his face was all she needed to whirl the two of them out of there and back into their large empty house.

“Breathe, Draco,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on his wet cheek as he continued to sob. “Breathe.”

“I left her,” he choked out through his tears, “mother, I left her!”

“Who?” Narcissa asked, puzzled. “Who did you leave?”

But he didn’t answer her. He only cried harder and it didn’t stop even though his mother was holding him reassuringly in her embrace. She swiftly realized that there was more than he was letting on, and she knew that these weren’t only tears from what had happened with his failed task, she knew his tears mostly came from an ache deep within his heart, from an anguishing love.

“I left her there!” He cried loudly in her arms, clutching onto her tightly as he continued to struggle for his breath and sanity. She felt her own heart begin to break, wishing so deeply she could remove all hurt that stabbed at him.

“Draco, my love,” she tried again gently, “who did you leave?”

“Y/N,” he croaked out, “I left Y/N.”

PART 5

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy @bluesunflowersz @dreamyvcid @goddessofgames @natt-nih @cheesecakes-randomshitz @supersouthy @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee @peter-parka @thefandomplace @angelofslytherin @blueleonor @karentheugly

(I’m sorry if I forgot anyone, I <3 all of you and everyone who read this)

2K notes · View notes

zackcollins · 3 years

Text

speechless || bo bichette

masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello! Everyone gets a treat of a second fic today because I was in a mood to write. Hope that’s okay. Idk man. When you’re in the mood to write, you write. And sometimes, you just wanna post right away because you’re too impatient to wait. Ya know? Anyways. GIF credit to glasnow!

Warnings: An anxiety attack. That’s probably it??? I don’t think there’s anything else. Feel free to let me know otherwise and I’ll fix this warnings section for you.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Title: Speechless by Dan + Shay

Additional: The reader should be gender neutral again! I don’t think I used any identifying language or pronouns or anything. If I did, it was accidental because I was hella distracted watching my dog while my grandparents went grocery shopping. As always, let me know how I did because constructive criticism is always welcomed!

Tagging: @whimsical-daydreams @donttelltheelf-x

You had suffered from severe anxiety; it had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember. At this point, it had totally consumed you. You could hardly do anything anymore without your anxiety trying to take over in some form or another. It was the worst feeling in the world.

That's why it was like all your prayers had been answered when Bo waltzed into your life. For the first time in your life, you were able to open up about your anxiety with someone. There was just something about Bo that made you feel safe, secure, and like nothing would ever hurt you again.

You had been dating for about two and a half years before your relationship changed. It changed on what had otherwise been a quiet day in the middle of February. Snow was falling outside of your house, blowing around peacefully in the evening breeze. You were sitting on the window seat of the living room window, staring out onto the street while idly sipping on a mug of hot chocolate.

Somewhere outside, you heard a dog distantly barking. You found it odd because to the best of your knowledge, nobody in the housing community you and Bo lived in had a dog. Most of them had cats because they were easier for their housekeepers to look after when they were away on business trips or vacation. You quickly shook it out of your mind, though, thinking it only to be a dog that had wandered in from somewhere nearby. It wasn't entirely unlikely for that to happen because some of the people in the housing communities on either side had been known to let their dogs roam freely from time to time.

A couple of minutes later, you heard the front door to the house open. That snapped you out of thinking about the barking dog because you needed to know who walked in. Turning around, you heaved a relieved sign when you saw Bo standing in the entryway. You felt a little anxious, however, when you saw that he had placed a rather large box at his feet. Placing your hot chocolate on the windowsill, you walked over to Bo.

"What's this, sweetie?" You asked, walking all the way around the box. You wanted to see if it had some sort of label or marking on it that would hint at what was inside; it did not. All it had was a pink ribbon embossed with white hearts tied around it.

Bo smiled as he was undressing from his winter apparel. He tossed his hat into the closet. He unzipped his coat and carefully placed it on one of the coat hooks beside the door. Lastly came his boots. He slipped out of those and tossed them haphazardly onto the plastic boot mat you had bought specifically for the winter so snow wouldn’t be tracked all over your house. He ended up bowling over your boots and a spare pair of boots you kept in case of emergencies. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Bo raised his arms in surrender as he stepped forward and gave you a quick kiss. You relaxed, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his back. When you pulled apart, Bo stepped aside and motioned to the box.

"If you wanna know what’s inside,” Bo produced a pocket knife seemingly out of nowhere because you didn’t know him to carry one. He handed it to you and motioned to the box a second time. “All you have to do is open it.”

You walked forward and leaned over, carefully cutting the ribbon a couple of times so that it was easier to untangle from the box. Once you had all of the ribbon untangled and balled up, you placed it along with the knife on the console table next to you. When you looked back at Bo, he gave you an encouraging nod and a soft smile. You bit your lip nervously as you carefully lifted the lid off of the box. What was inside made you blink in surprise. Staring back at you was a beagle puppy. You had to blink a couple of more times, just to make sure that truly weren't imagining this. When you surmised that this was, in fact, a real dog sitting in the box, you lifted them out, cradling them in your arms. They even kissed you on the chin a couple of times. That was also all it took for you to be absolutely smitten with this puppy.

Just as you went to put the puppy down, the light from the chandelier made something on their collar glisten. At first, you thought it was name tags or the city registration tags. But, when you examined it, you discovered that it was an engagement ring. You turned to ask Bo about it. Much to your surprise, he was down on one knee, holding his hands out. You handed him the dog (who you could now see was a boy), thinking that was what he wanted. Bo chuckled as he scritched the dog behind the ears. The dog sighed, jackrabbitting his back foot in satisfaction. You huffed an amused breath, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

Bo carefully put the dog down and took the ring off of his collar. He gave him a few more ear scritches which made the dog flop on the floor and curl in a ball. Bo rolled his eyes before he looked up at you, holding the ring in your direction.

"Since I know I'm the best thing to happen to you and you're the best thing to happen to me," Bo paused, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes, "I was wondering if you'd marry me?"

You clammed up. You felt your anxiety wash over you like a giant wave crashing into the surf. You fell to the floor, chanting a bunch of incoherent nonsense as you curled into a ball and clutched your knees tightly to your chest. You rocked back and forth, tears streaming down your face as you continued to death-grip your knees. It was then that you felt Bo wrap you in his arms. He cradled you, rocking you in time with how you were rocking yourself. Only, he was doing it softer, gentler. He was also mumbling some of his stats from last season, the stats from the hockey game you watched yesterday. Hell, he even started mumbling what you needed to buy when you went grocery shopping the next time. Anything mundane and boring because he knew that was what generally helped you out of anxiety episodes. The more boring the better. It gave a sense of normalcy and order that helped your brain to focus on the everyday parts of life as opposed to the falsehoods of meaningless compliments that people only said to you when you were in the middle of an anxiety episode.

Hearing about baseball and hockey stats as well as what groceries you needed to buy helped remarkably well. You calmed down relatively quickly given how badly this attack had started. You tilted your head, looking Bo in the eyes. Your eyes were full of a question that didn’t need to be asked but probably should be anyways. Bo, knowing how to read you by now, simply nodded. He met you halfway as you connected your lips. You shared a brief, albeit meaningful kiss.

When you broke your lips apart, you held your hand out. "Of course I'll marry you."

You smiled, though it was a little awkward because you were still recovering from your anxiety attack, as Bo placed the ring on your finger. You moved your hand around, looking at the ring from every angle. It was a gorgeous ring. It was also simple and not very flashy. Which is something you had told Bo you wanted when the time came for him to finally propose. You weren’t a flashy or extravagant person so there was no need to have a flashy or extravagant ring. The thought of having an expensive or flashy ring made you really anxious. You were afraid that somebody would break in and steal it from you. And you didn’t want to live the entire rest of your life in fear that someone was going to break into your house to steal something from you. You had told Bo that that was no way to live. That’s why you were content with a small, simple ring. You didn’t have to live in a constant state of anxiety that some schmuck off the street was going to get the wise idea to break in one night and rob you of it. And the ring Bo had picked was exactly the ring you had been eyeing the last time you were in a jewellery store. So, it worked out even better.

Bo snapped you out of your thought by grabbing you by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your face up so that you were looking at each other directly. Bo’s eyes flitted down to your lips and then quickly back up to look at you. You nodded as best you could with Bo holding onto your chin, a soft smile breaking out across your lips. Bo smiled back, dropping his hand away from your chin. He, instead, grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers. You huffed softly before you leaned forward and connected your lips with Bo’s. Bo smirked into the kiss, bringing his other hand up and resting it against your shoulder. The kiss was far more passionate than the first and you swore it could’ve gone on forever and ever. The only reason you stopped was because the puppy weaseled his way in between you and licked both of your noses. Bo laughed and booped the puppy on his nose. You made an amused noise and scritched the puppy's chest.

Bo turned back to you after you both spent a few moments playing with the puppy. "Sorry for surprising you. I know how you hate surprises."

"It's alright, Bo. It would've defeated the whole purpose if you told me," you responded, moving in closer to Bo.

At that moment, the puppy plopped himself down in between the two of you. You both scratched him behind either ear. He made a soft groan of appreciation, before falling fast asleep. He was snoring softly after a few moments which made both you and Bo chuckle bemusedly.

"What do we name him?" Bo asked, picking him up and placing him in your lap.

"Biscuit!" You replied with excitement. The dog responded to that, briefly opening his eyes and snuffling before he went back to sleep. "See! He likes that name."

Your smile grew wider as your leaned down and gave Biscuit a kiss on the head. He snuffled again, his tail wagging against your knee. You lit up significantly, almost forgetting that you had had an anxiety attack a few minutes ago.

“Scratch that,” you said, a smile beaming on your face. “He loves that name.”

Bo just shook his head, chuckled, and waved a dismissive hand at you. "You're such a huge dork. You know that, right?"

"But I’m your huge dork," you replied, pointing to the ring on your finger as proof of that claim.

"Yes, yes you are."

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hhunjins · 4 years

Text

skz as roommates

Word Count: ~1200

Warning: some language

Note: just trying out something new! idk if this bullet format is going to be something i continue, but i had fun with this and wanted to share~ send me discourse asdkjfasd (also!! uni starts up again tomorrow so i’m going to hold back on writing for a while so ✌ until then)

Chan

You’re not sure if he ever sleeps because there’s always noise coming from his room but the lights are always off??

Has a calendar on the fridge delegating chores

Will send passive aggressive texts in the group chat reminding you to do said chores if you forget

Has perfected The Mom Look™ where he squints at you with his hands on his hips and says your name like this

Won’t really be in your space too much but if your door is open he’ll peek in, say hello, and ask what you’re up to

Blasts music while he showers

The one you go to to get stuff fixed

Always wants to do roommate bonding activities like making dinner together or whatever

Will go on grocery runs for everyone and send pics of things he gets if he’s unsure

Doesn’t mind if his snacks go missing because he leaves them out on the counter (its his way of feeding you)

Minho

Door literally always closed

Looks like he just woke up no matter what time of day it is

Has cat slippers that he wears only at the ungodly hours of the night when he goes to get food from the kitchen

Buys food and leaves it in the fridge, but doesn’t touch it until it expires/someone else eats it all

Will judge you for eating instant noodles but proceed to make his own because “you tempted me”

If you’re watching something, he’ll pull up a chair/plop down next to you to watch without saying anything

Will sometimes yell/make loud noises for no reason

If you find a bug, he’ll catch it and bring it outside (and scare you with it as he’s walking past, the gremlin) instead of squishing it

Leaves group chat on read/only ‘thumbs up’ reacts when he’s mentioned

Sometimes forgets to bring clothes when he showers and will walk out with only a towel and yell “don’t look, I’m naked!” when no one is looking

Changbin

If you’re sitting on the couch, 100% will come sit next to you “for company”

Gives you his Netflix password just so you’d watch movies/dramas with him

You’ll probably catch him doing sit-ups/push-ups in the living room at least once a week

Bought a step stool for the kitchen and while everyone made fun of him for it at first, they all use it too

Kind of terrible at cooking, survives off instant meals

Will ask you what you’re eating and if he can have a bite

Parents pack a shitton of food for him to bring back when he goes home to visit and that’s the only reason he’s not nutrient deficient

Does work at the kitchen table because he gets lonely

Heavy sleeper, you won’t wake him up if you’re accidentally too loud

There’s always something on the floor in his room (clothes, textbooks, his laptop???)

Hyunjin

Cuts fruit and leaves it in the fridge for everyone

Over-shops when he goes to the grocery store so the fridge is always full

Wanders into your room, asks to borrow one thing or another, and then leaves (won’t give back the thing he borrowed unless you specifically ask for it back)

Leaves his stuff everywhere and forgets where he put them

Somehow always leaves a sock in the washing machine/dryer

Always asking to have roommate movie night (another “bonding” enthusiast)

Gives his opinion on whatever thing you’re watching if he watched it before and will sit down and re-watch with you just because

If he’s not in his room then he’s splayed across the couch on his phone/laptop

Will skip around the house if he’s in a good mood

Hums/sings to kdrama osts as he’s cooking or doing stuff around the house (will hand you an invisible microphone to finish the line if you happen to walk in)

Jisung

Sits in the living room in the dark on his phone if he can’t sleep at night (which scares you shitless every time)

Makes the bi-weekly walk of shame to the recycling with his arms full of empty water bottles

Eats in his room a lot

Does two loads of laundry at a time because he keeps putting it off (since he’s lazy) until he runs out of clothes to wear

Leaves dishes in the sink until someone calls him out in the group chat

Orders takeout at least once a week and tempts you with “do you want some too?” every time

If he catches you staring at his food, will share without even asking

Has headphones on 95% of the time so it takes a few calls of his name to get his attention

Will scream if there’s a bug and vacate the room until it is caught

Takes the longest showers

Felix

Always greets you/asks how it’s going when he sees you for the first time that day

Has a gaming system set up in the living room because his room is too small

Yells a lot when he’s playing games but will be quiet if you ask him to or if it’s everyone’s sleeping

Makes a ton of food and then wanders around the house telling people he made food

Will do other people’s chores if they’re not done on time

Sends memes/videos he finds funny in the group chat

Likes to lie down on the living room floor on his phone??

Mumbles/talks to himself

Randomly asks questions that sometimes give you an existential crisis

Likes to decorate the place according to whatever holiday is coming up and will make your birthday a Very Big Deal

Seungmin

Has a strict eating/sleeping schedule (will judge you for eating late at night)

If you’re awake in the morning, will ask you to eat with him (won’t take no for an answer)

Always does his chores on time

Will call people out by name in the group chat to get their shit together because mans has no fear

Stays in his room most of the time but the door’s always open

Periodically checks in on you throughout the day by walking into your room and standing there for a bit before leaving

Always asks before taking food that isn’t labelled

You caught him making “nyooom” noises as he walked from his room to the kitchen a few times

Sings very loudly when he thinks no one is home

Semi-disaster in the kitchen when he’s by himself but is very helpful when you cook

Jeongin

Takes naps on the couch (most are involuntary because he gets sleepy looking at his phone and just knocks out)

Cereal is his go to meal because it’s quick and easy and there’s no way he can chop off his fingers

Never has to cook legit food because someone is always down to feed him

Tags along on grocery runs but only buys snacks/junk food

Pretty good with all his chores except for taking out the trash so he needs constant reminders

Almost always the first one to wake up but makes a racket every morning while trying to get ready (and wakes up others in the process)

Will walk into your room and ask you to study/do work with him so he’s not lonely

Kind of clueless so he’ll come to you and ask how something works and you have to walk him step-by-step because the dude’s a hazard to himself

Orders things and forgets about them so there are packages by the door that go unclaimed for 2 weeks

Knocks out with the lights in his room on so someone has to go turn them off for him

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #bang chan #minho #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #jisung #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin #i.n.

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mydisasteracademia · 3 years

Text

Random LOV Headcanons

• Repeating something from my book “Did My Time”, due to the damage to Dabi’s body, he needs to use eyedrops multiple times a day. The amount depends on whether or not he uses his Quirk a lot; if he uses it more, he’ll need to practically drown his eyes with special medicated eyedrops to help with the dry-eye.

Adding onto this, due to his body’s natural affinity for the cold, he prefers cold things more than hot, because he has a worse reaction to hot/spicy things compared to other people (just like his mother). Yes, this means I HC him to absolutely never get brain freeze. The others are always jealous of him whenever he chugs a Slurpee in one go.

His burnt, scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially to scents and scented lotions. He’s found that ointment works to keep things moist, but that also means he needs to be constantly re-applying it every time it dries, given that his Quirk is constantly drying out his skin to the point of damage. Every time his staples tug, even a little, it’s really painful and he’s prone to bleeding.

He does have a bit of a protective instinct, but only over those he deems weaker than him (and let’s be honest, he already has a lot of trouble with his own self-image, so that list might be shorter than you’d think). Definitely has an ‘irritated older sibling to hyperactive younger sibling’ relationship with Toga once they start to get closer. Gets unnecessarily competitive with others he considers stronger than himself, even if he himself doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing.

Due to his Quirk being dangerous to himself, he can smell off, and he gets very touchy about it. Having grown up in a wealthy family, he can get very insecure at his bedraggled appearance and smell. He literally smells like burnt flesh all the time, and it lingers on his own body and his clothing. Due to this, he always hits up a laundromat to wash his clothes a few times a week, using money he’s picked off of wealthier victims of his. Really lays on the cologne to mask his natural corpse smell (and usually ends up smelling like pine trees, smoke, and something vaguely rotting).

Dabi is incredibly touch-starved, given that most people look at him and recoil in horror. He’s more like a cat, though. If you give him too much attention, he gets annoyed, but if he happens to rest his arm on your head or shoulder, that’s his way of subtly asking for positive attention. Depending on who’s doing it, he won’t immediately shove someone away if they decide to hug him. He’s a bit iffy with touch, and the fear of accidentally hurting someone he’s close to with his own Quirk messes with his head a lot. He can be a bit of an attention whore, given his fucked-up childhood, and when he gets praise it can put him in a good mood for a while. He really internalizes negative attention and can brood about not being good enough for a long time though. Won’t admit it, but he lives for headpats. Please give him headpats. He deserves headpats. Just watch out for the hair dye.

• Shigaraki’s Quirk does affect his body, though not by quickly decaying him like he does other things. Instead it’s more of a ‘slow-burn’ decay, and his constant itching is one side-effect of that. Since his body is constantly breaking down (his scratching gets rid of a lot of dead skin on the surface), his skin is incredibly sensitive and he can’t use most face/skin products because it damages him even more and he reacts horribly to it. So far he hasn’t found a brand that can help with his marred skin. Adding to this, he can’t stand spicy foods because it aggravates his decaying body.

Since his body is in a constant state of death and dying, this means he can smell off on even good days. It could be described as musty or ‘stale’, and since he’s extremely sensitive to scents and lotions/creams, he can’t exactly just use any old cologne to mask it.

Sometimes his throat gets super dry and he chokes on debris from his own mouth and throat. He needs to constantly hydrate to keep things from getting a bit too dusty. This means he prefers wet/moist foods over dry, and if he eats anything dry he’ll have a drink to go with it. At Kurogiri’s insistence, he always has a few bottles of water in his room at a time so he doesn’t have to get up in the night to go to a working sink for a drink.

This boy is so touch-starved. Whenever someone of the League hugs him, he acts huffy about it, but he doesn’t shove them off (unless it’s Dabi giving him a noogie, then he threatens death, much to the taller one’s amusement). He secretly craves touching other people. He’s terrified of accidentally dusting someone he cares about again (his family’s deaths haunt his dreams more nights than not), but if someone hugs him he just kind of melts into it. Someone please hug this boy. He needs headpats and positive reinforcement.

• Spinner absolutely loves sunning himself on rocks during summer. Whenever the weather is hot and it’s sunny, if he has a day off you’ll find him chilling outside on a rock just soaking up the sun.

Adding onto this, he really loves humid, hot weather. While the rest of the League (especially Dabi) is suffering, he’s just vibing with the weather.

And he sheds. Usually a few times a year, but it’s not uncommon to see large swaths of translucent white patches left behind. This can annoy the League, but to his credit, Spinner tries to keep it on the down-low. More than once he’s tried inconspicuously rubbing his arm or cheek against Shigaraki to try and help get the dead skin off. (He gets really irritated, but it helps with the itching a bit, so he doesn’t really complain unless he’s trying to concentrate on something.)

• Compress will casually swipe up random items that the League leaves around and later might give them back depending on what it is. The other members can get varying levels of annoyed at this, but they don’t get too beat up about it considering Compress’s Quirk and personality. (This is how Toga lost her favorite lip gloss. She didn’t stop pouting for a week until Twice bought her another one.)

When he gets anxious or bored, he often resorts to simple hand tricks to keep himself entertained: fiddling around with his marbles, practicing simple card tricks, or practicing magic.

• Toga loves horror. Almost any horror. Especially guro. During movie nights with the League, as long as the movie has some form of mutilation and/or blood, she’s giving it her full attention. Adding to this, she really loves anything written by Junji Ito and has read Tomie about twenty times. Despite this, she has a soft spot for cutesy things and her aesthetic is Gurokawa. She definitely has a Gloomy Bear plush or two.

She definitely has a fondness for beauty products, given that she’s still just a normal girl despite her Quirk. This fact can make her really insecure, and she’s prone to depressive episodes just like anyone else in the League where she does herself up real pretty just to try and feel more ‘in tune’ with her femininity and less like the monster her parents saw her as. Magne helped with this a lot in the past, but now that she’s gone she relies more on the others to help cheer her up.

She is not above forcing the other League members into spa days. Shigaraki is the only one who doesn’t have to get a facial, though she does insist on painting his nails and doing his hair.

• Kurogiri’s mist/fog can get blown away quicker than he can create more, but only by a very strong wind. It’s hilarious. Shigaraki can’t stop teasing him for it.

Is not above using his Quirk to forcefully separate two squabbling parties, especially in the bar hideout.

When he’s bored, he does bar tricks, much to Toga’s delight.

Since quite a few League members are under drinking age, he always makes sure to have sparkling cider on hand.

He carries snacks and a first-aid kit every time the League goes out on a mission -- especially when it’s Shigaraki heading out. He really does care for the man and will be the first to hand him ointment whenever his skin gets really crumbly or damaged.

Has come to reluctantly see the League as people he worries for. That’s the closest to “hm yes these are my children now I must protect” that you’ll get.

He misses Magne for how sensible she could be. He appreciates Compress’s overall chill vibe and his being the voice of reason among their little group of mass murderers.

• Kurogiri and Magne were the League’s parental figures. You can’t fight me on this. (Kurogiri reluctantly, Magne enthusiastically.) Compress was more like the outgoing uncle that has a sense of humor nobody can really understand at first and was definitely a theater major in college.

• Shigaraki and Dabi love chicken nuggets. Every time someone brings home fast food, you can bet your ass they’ll have ordered like a fifty-piece chicken nugget meal from wherever sells that. Constantly have to deal with each other trying to swipe the other’s nuggets when they finish their own.

• Twice loves Vine compilations and can recite a worrying number of them from memory. He gets a kick out of the “A Bagel, Two Bagels” one for how much he relates to it.

• Before she died, Magne loved when Toga begged her to help her with makeup. It helped with her dysphoria when Toga would doll her up.

She loved window-shopping and imagining herself wearing some of the stylish clothes in shop windows.

Despite her cruel persona towards her enemies, Magne had a soft spot for elegant-cute things, kinda like Toga but a little less bloody.

• Muscular always challenges the other League members to arm-wrestling when he’s around. He always wins. The others have learnt not to accept his challenges, lest they want bruises/sprains.

• Mustard is very childish in his tastes. He loves chicken nuggets and mac n’ cheese. Provokes people by pulling his lower eyelid down and sticking his tongue at them. I can definitely imagine him muttering “Eat my shorts” or “Don’t have a cow, man” whenever another member is angry about something.

• In this household we pretend that Moonfish does not exist.

• If the League had Switches, you bet your ass they play Animal Crossing on them.

Toga would go for a ‘Aika Village’ aesthetic, all gloomy and creepy but with an undeniably cute element to it. Definitely wears pastels and gothic-themed clothing.

Shigaraki models his after his favorite RPG and hunts down NPCs that fit the personalities of the various characters. His favorite characters tend to be dogs. Will not hesitate to kick out any animal who fails his ‘vibe check’. Surprisingly, this game can calm him down almost as well as an RPG. Joycon drift is the bane of his existence.

Compress uses only the most glamorous, expensive items on his island. Outright refuses to use dirt paths. Uses only Snooty villagers.

Dabi wants his island to look the best and is uncharacteristically stern about how his island looks. Everything is very neat and streamlined (and he has an outdoor gym near his player’s home). Will physically fight anyone who tries to ruin it by littering or messing around on it. He has a rivalry with Compress about whose island looks the best.

Spinner doesn’t really care about how his island looks. He just wants to max out his encyclopedias. Shigaraki once caught him up at 3 AM because he was trying to catch a spider crab.

Kurogiri doesn’t play it that often, so his island is fairly undeveloped. Doesn’t really care about it, considering his responsibilities to the League overpower a video game.

Muscular doesn’t care about it at all and doesn’t play.

Mustard made his island look like something out of Harvest Moon or Stardew Valley; a town area, a forest, and even a beach.

#lov headcanons #league of villains

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corruptedconfessions · 4 years

Note

Are you still in the kiri mood? If yes, can you yeet him into this thought: different yanderes (izuku, bakugo, kiri, or whomever you want!) Reacting to a touch starved reader. Ever the stubborn captive, they deny they want anything to do with the yandere, but during some forced fluff shenanigans, the yandere accidentally squeezes readers legs/ holds onto readers shoulders deeply, and reader let's out a moan. Thanks! And remember to drink water and take a break if you need!

Ngl Kirishima, Bakugo, and Hizashi are like the 3 yanderes im always down to write 24/7

they all live in my head rent free

This one is more of an imagine/drabble thing, I threw in another bonus yandere bc I feel like he fits the prompt well. I hope thats all okay <3

Also thank you for your kindness <3 Im hydrated and hopefully ready to write out some fics! I have a few drafts in my computer already :)

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Kirishima is the very definition of clingy yandere, he is practically the poster boy for clingy, so it won’t be very long into your...moving in (he refuses to admit he kidnapped you! You were just too shy to ask yourself so he encouraged you! Don’t worry he gets the message no matter what you say otherwise!) that he’ll catch on to you being so desperately touch starved despite angrily telling him to fuck off every time he tries to cuddle. Being the ever delusional puppy he is he just assumes that you’re shy and keeps doing it even more

He’ll try to respect your space and let you come to him naturally but he’ll still insist on being close to you, dragging you to sit on the couch, you sitting on one end with him sitting on the other, your legs entangled in the middle. He’ll wait until you are engrossed in the tv or your book or whatever hobby of choice you have (the poor sap will buy you anything you ask, he just wants you happy) making sure you’re completely relaxed before he slowly slides a bit closer, reaching out to run his hands across your legs, squeezing and massaging them gently. Honestly he expected you to kick him or freeze up, stare at him in fear and confusion and anger like you always did whenever he reached out to touch you.

But you didn’t do any of that. If anything you relaxed, arching up into his touch as a soft breathy moan slipped past your lips, causing both of you to freeze at the same time, staring wide eyed at each other, stunned.

If you thought Kirishima was clingy before you would be dead wrong compared to his behavior after that. He’s constantly by your side whenever he can, brushing against you in the kitchen when the two of you are cooking or washing dishes, moving closer to bump shoulders when the two of you are close by, constantly touching your hair, your neck, your shoulders, everywhere. You’ll be overstimulated and stressed but there is no going back now that he knows. Cuddles and spooning sessions whenever he can get you to sit still, honestly I wouldn’t put it past him to whine and demand you sit on his lap sometimes too, or at least lay against him and let him give you massages when the two of you are curled up on the couch.

And that isn’t even getting started on sexual touching. He’ll be like a dog in heat, constantly aching for you, practically humping you any chance he gets. He’ll wrap his arms around you waist and hold you close as he grinds his hard on against your ass, trying to pull out those cute little noises that you’ll make. Pins you against the counter, over the couch, on the table, anywhere and everywhere is free game.

And know that his poor sweet darling is touch starved? He’ll be quick to try and remedy that, he’ll tie you down to the bed and get you off just by rubbing his hands across your skin, massaging you, kissing you, just touching you. He won’t stop no matter how much you plead until he is done and he is sure that you have gotten the attention you deserve from him.

Izuku is probably one of the best yandere matches for a touch starved darling, he is so submissive and cuddly for his darling, but not so much so its overstimulating and overwhelming like other yanderes. Unlike others he is more likely to let you have your space when he...first takes you home. He understands moving is a big change and you need your time and space to adjust and adapt to your new surroundings. He may coax you out with your favorite home made meals and promises of hot baths or treats, but he’ll smile and suck it up when you yell and scream at him, saying you want nothing to do with him. You’re just stressed and adjusting thats all! He can wait you out.

Now just because he is patient and understanding doesn’t mean he just lets you do whatever you want. He has needs too! The entire reason he had you...move in was so he could be closer to you and spend more time with you without anyone else interfering! Even you just being in the same room with him without throwing a fit is enough for him to feel like his patience is being rewarded.

That patience wont last forever, though.

He tries to work his way up slowly, very slowly demanding more of you, insisting you stay just a minute longer, let him stand just an inch closer, it will be so slow you wont even realize you are practically cuddling up to him until it’s too late and you are so use to an reliant on him that you can’t go back to isolating yourself again.

He’ll always have an idea that you are a bit more...starved for attention than others but he won’t get confirmation until months into your captivity. He’ll sweetly insist that you seem stressed and that you should let him give you a massage to help you relax. His calloused hands will reach out, squeezing your shoulders soothingly, coaxing a soft happy moan from your lips.

Oh sweetheart! How can you expect him to hold back when you make such sweet noises just from a simple touch? He may be a gentleman but even he has his limits...

You can bet there will be more...touching in your future. And much less patience towards an aversion to it.

Bakugo is probably one of the worst (yandere) matches for a touch starved darling imo, the poor boy is sensitive and touch starved himself, and with his aggression he would probably just end up overstimulating his darling, and not in a good way. He’d much rather be on the receiving end of massages and pets, nuzzling himself into your chest or your stomach as you stroke his hair and tell him what a good boy he is.

Having said that he would catch on pretty quick to your little act, seeing right past the screaming and defiance and your insistence that you want nothing to do with him, which is going to get you locked up in the basement and punished heavily, he sees the subtle ways you act that remind him of himself, that tell him exactly what he needs to know.

Unlike the others when he reaches out for you, he knows exactly what he is doing and exactly what kind of reaction he is going to get. The shit eating smirk on his face as you moan in surprise tells everything. He’ll keep touching you, fingers digging into your skin just a little too hard, trying to drag more of those noises out of you until you are trembling under him, left feeling raw and sensitive. If you’re lucky he might notice that he went to far and be how ever much more gentle next time as he can be, but honestly after that he’s the same old Bakugo. He doesn’t go out of his way to touch you more, if he wants to wrap his arms around you he will, if he wants you on his lap he’ll pull you onto his lap, if he wants to lay on you, fuck what you’re doing, you get a lapful of Bakugo.

That act doesn’t hide the way that he curls around you and cuddles you way closer at night in those tender moments, though.

Hawks is another very handsy yandere. He wants constant contact and attention from his darling, so much so its almost impossible to keep up with his incessant demands for your attention, it grows draining. Even negative attention in the form of screaming, crying, fighting seems to fuel him. He just wants you to be looking at him, he doesnt care how. He’ll be the quickest to figure it out since if you wont give him attention he’ll give you his. He’s constantly reaching out to touch you in some way or form, be it grabbing your ass, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, or curling his wings around you to pull you closer to him, you’ll always know if Hawks is home and where he is since theres always some part of him reaching for you. He’s a weird mix of aware and delusional, he knows he has kidnapped you and you’re unhappy because of it, but part of him also believes he just needs to take good care of you and that you love him anyways. Because of that he’s just constantly trying to please you to try and “make up” for kidnapping you. (He often brushes it off like he got the wrong food or forgot to text you back instead of something more serious)

It’ll happen when you’re standing still, he’ll sneak up behind you, reaching out and squeezing your shoulders, rolling his thumbs across them in a brief massage as he happily opens his mouth to greet you, only to be interrupted by the cutest moan bubbling out of you as you arch your back, pushing into his touch with a soft gasp.

Immediately you’ll find yourself pinned down to the couch or the bed, whichever is closer. Hands will be dragged across your body, desperately repeating that movement and many others, anything to drag those sweet noises you had been hiding from him out. He wont be satisfied until you are near tears, gasping and limp under his touch, having given him all your cute little noises, surrendering yourself fully to him.

Not much will change after that, he is just as clingy and handsy as before, but now he knows all the pretty noises and faces you can make for him, and he practically pounces on you every time he comes home, desperate to hear more.

#yandere #kirishima x reader #kirishima ejirou #reader insert #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #hawks x reader #hawks

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crossbowking · 4 years

Text

Look After You

Summary: (Set in the beginning of Alexandria) After a supply run goes wrong, the reader is forced to face one of their greatest fears.

Request: “Hey! Glad you’re back and in the swing of things! Hope everything is well. How about number 15 from the recent drabbles list? Maybe the reader says it to Daryl after a close call where he put himself in danger to save/protect the reader? And maybe it can say “what the hell is wrong with you?” instead cause it sounds more angry or whatever. Idk I just think it would be something cool and I know you can do a great job bringing it to life. That is if no one has requested it yet. Thank you!!” @mikahowl

A/N: REPOST!!! I was a big ol’ dumb ass and accidentally deleted this story. Which means I also deleted all of your lovely comments. Ugh. I’m sad. :(

This oneshot is a bit lengthy, but I actually really love the way it turned out! There are some characters from Alexandria in this story that are actual characters in the show! Let’s see if you recognize any of them!

(Shoutout to @jodiereedus22 for her constant support and letting me run ideas by her! Check out her awesome work!)

Enjoy!

xx crossbowking

Masterlist

Tip Jar

The people of Alexandria were oblivious — ignorant, even — to the reality that loomed just outside their towering walls.

But regardless, when your group had first arrived at the Safe-Zone, each of you had made a promise to try — to try and live the way they did, to try and live as normally as possible, as though the world wasn’t crumbling around you.

Everyone in your group was doing their part, offering what they could to earn their keep, designated a role in the community by the town leader, Deanna. In the beginning, you’d been assigned to assist on supply runs with an established group inside the walls, led by Deanna’s son, Aiden.

But after a run went horribly wrong, everything changed.

Your group was still recovering from the loss of one of your own — Noah. Glenn was taking it especially hard, having witnessed the boy’s gruesome death. But after hearing what had actually happened, your group knew things needed to change — things needed to change and quickly if any of you stood a chance of survival.

After Aiden’s death, the responsibility to lead supply runs fell on you — and training the residents on how to properly scavenge became priority number one.

“Okay, are there any other questions? Anything you didn’t catch or want to hear again?” you announced tentatively, eyeing the lineup in front of you. “Anything at all?”

A group of four stood before you, all residents from Alexandria, all looking increasingly nervous.

“We just want to be thorough,” Tara suddenly spoke from beside you, addressing the group, attempting to ease their worries. “Even the smallest mistake can get someone killed,” she finished, her voice breaking off at the end.

You reached out, giving her hand a soft squeeze — Noah’s death had been hard on all of you.

“Seems like a lot more people have died since your group came around, don’t it?” Barnes suddenly called out. He was one of the residents — late twenties with tousled brown hair and a distrusting look in his eyes.

“Barnes —” another Alexandrian named Annie chastised from beside him. She was one of the more skilled when it came to supply runs, having been part of the initial scavenging group before your people joined Alexandria. She was in her early twenties, brunette with a slight frame but tough as hell.

“It’s okay, Annie,” you quickly interrupted, taking a step forward, locking eyes with Barnes. “What we’re trying to do here is prevent any more death — the only reason your people are still alive is because you’ve been lucky. Most haven’t.”

Tension hung between you before Barnes looked away, muttering something under his breath as he adjusted the rifle in his hands.

“We need to be in and out,” Tara finally continued, pushing past the uncomfortable atmosphere. “Big-box department stores like this don't tend to stay empty for long,” she explained, motioning towards the towering building beside you.

“And it’s pretty likely that most supplies have already been taken. So check in places you might not normally — underneath shelving units, behind registers, back of the house stocking areas,” you listed off the top of your head. “We grab what we can and get the hell out,” you finished with a nod. “Since the store is pretty huge, Tara will take three of you inside first to scope it out — take out any walkers, make sure there are no stragglers. The rest of us will stay outside to keep watch.”

“Well, w-what do we do if we find another survivor?” another one of the residents, Eddie, spoke — he was nineteen, maybe twenty years old, and scared shitless.

You sighed, sharing a look with Tara. “You just — just find one of us, okay? Make sure the person is unarmed, make sure they’re not a threat and —”

“A threat? You’ve gotta be joking,” Eddie protested, looking at the other residents for support. “Look, I shouldn’t be here — I-I just tend to the gardens. I don’t know how to ‘unarm’ someone. I can’t be here —”

“Eddie —”

“No — no, I can’t —”

“Hey man, you need to relax,” the fourth resident, Scott, intervened, placing his hand on the kid’s shoulder. He was in his forties and also experienced with the outside world — just like Annie. The two, along with another resident named Heath, would go on week-long supply runs for the community. He was a beast of a man — tall, broad, and built like a damn wall.

But Eddie quickly shook him off. “I just want to go home. Please, I-I just want to go home. I —”

“The hell’s goin’ on over here?”

The sudden gruff voice was like music to your ears, a wave of relief washing over you as the archer appeared from around the far side of the building, his eyes immediately finding yours. He marched forward, wordlessly eyeing the Alexandrian’s as he passed before halting beside you and Tara, looking at you expectantly.

You sighed, shifting your weight slightly. “We’re fine, we’re just — we’re just going over the plan one last time.”

Daryl regarded you carefully, not believing you entirely but also not pushing the topic further. “Perimeter’s clear,” he grunted, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder before turning to face the residents, scowl set firmly in place.

You took a breath. “Alright — Scott, Annie, Eddie — you’ll do the sweep with Tara,” you instructed, motioning the three forward. “And Barnes, since you’re used to guard duty back home and you’ve got the rifle, you’ll be with us,” you finished jerking a finger between you and Daryl.

“Awesome,” Barnes muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he walked away from the lineup and towards your group’s van, the one you’d parked by the building’s front doors.

You felt Daryl stiffen from beside you — apparently, you weren’t the only one who picked up on the attitude.

Scott and Annie shared a ready look, immediately making their way towards the building. Eddie, on the other hand, remained frozen in place, looking incredibly pale all of the sudden.

You sighed. “Eddie —”

But Tara quickly took a step forward, slinging her backpack over her shoulder before glancing at you. “I got it,” she reassured with a wink, moving towards the frightened boy without another word.

Eddie watched her approach, shaking his head slightly in defiance. “I’m sorry, guys, but I-I can’t —”

“Hey, easy,” Tara calmed, stopping in front of the boy. “Listen, kid, I know you’re freaking out. I don’t blame you. But you gotta get your shit together, okay?” she continued, reaching down to grab the empty bag at his feet, forcing it into his grasp. “You can do this — but you have to trust us. We’re in this together, alright?” she encouraged softly before holding her fist out in front of her.

Eddie eyed her nervously before his shoulders sagged, eventually giving in and connecting his fist to hers. He slung the bag over his shoulder, unsheathing his small hunting knife as he hurried to catch up to Scott and Annie.

Tara glanced back at you and Daryl. “Fist bumping — it always gets the job done,” she grinned, waggling her eyebrows as she jogged to meet up with the Alexandrian’s.

You snorted a laugh, shaking your head as you watched the group of four disappear through the front doors of the department store.

“Ya did good,” Daryl suddenly rumbled from beside you.

You sighed, turning to face the archer, giving him a skeptical look. “You think?” you asked softly, hoping you didn’t sound as self-conscious as you felt. “I don’t know — this is more of Glenn’s specialty. He’s better at this kind of thing — he’s also better with people, I might add,” you murmured.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, the intensity in his stare catching you off guard. “What’s wrong with ya?”

“What? Nothing,” you shot back defensively, wishing he’d stop looking at you as though he could see through you — past flesh and bone, into the parts of yourself you kept hidden in darkness, away from the world’s wandering eye.

“Bullshit,” he grumbled before you could spew any more lies. But when you opened your mouth to respond, another voice cut through the air.

“So, are we just supposed to stand out here with our dicks out or —” Barnes called snidely, leaning cooly against the van, rifle propped up against his shoulder.

You watched Daryl’s features darken, his head snapping in Barnes’s direction before he suddenly stormed forward. “Ya best watch that fuckin’ mouth a’ yours,” he growled, his threatening tone unwavering as the smirk etched on Barnes’s face dropped.

“Relax, man,” Barnes held his hands up, the sarcasm in his voice obsolete as he quickly straightened. “It was a joke, alright?” he huffed, eyes darting between you and the archer as he took a small step back. “Damn,” he scoffed, almost in disbelief.

But his words only riled Daryl further. You watched his head cock to the side as he jabbed a finger towards Barnes. “Ya —”

Before the archer could take another step, before he could hurl another definitive threat, you grabbed onto his arm. Daryl glanced down at you, the look in his eyes practically lethal, only fading once you shook your head. “Not worth it,” you murmured, just soft enough for him to hear.

Daryl held your gaze a moment longer before he pulled out of your grip. “Asshole,” he spat, his eyes like daggers as he shot Barnes one last hostile look before sliding his crossbow off his shoulder. He muttered another curse under his breath as he moved away, beginning to pace back and forth like a caged animal.

You exhaled heavily, letting him simmer down — you knew Daryl well enough to know when he needed space.

Barnes watched the interaction curiously and you found yourself fighting back the urge to smack the defiant, and slightly cocky, expression from his face.

Tara suddenly appeared at the front doors, stopping you from doing something you’d regret. She motioned Daryl over from where he’d stormed off to. “We’re all clear,” she announced, slightly breathless before she disappeared back inside the store.

You unsheathed the hunting knife strapped around your thigh as Daryl wordlessly stormed past you. Barnes moved forward after him, only stopping when you held out your arm. “What?” he questioned, a confused look flitting across his features.

“Not you,” you shook your head resolutely.

Barnes scoffed. “Are you kidding —”

“It’s not a punishment,” you interrupted, holding your hand out, giving him a pointed look. “I need you out here to keep watch.”

“Why me?” he demanded, clearly offended.

You felt your last bit of patience dissipate. “You know what,” you hissed through clenched teeth. “If you think you’re better suited to lead this run, then by all means —” you took a step back, extending your arm, urging him forward. But when Barnes didn’t move, you dropped your arm. “That’s what I thought,” you muttered, taking a step before pausing, eyeing the rifle in his hand. “And hold your fire — it’s for emergency only, okay? Emergency only. If that thing goes off, it’ll attract every walker within miles. Understood?”

Barnes looked as though he wanted to object, but after a moment, he merely huffed a breath and turned to face the parking lot.

You entered the store without another word.

The first thing you noticed was the smell — like spoiled meat and unwashed gym socks. You thought that after all this time you’d get used to the stench — but still, to this day, it had a funny way of taking you by surprise.

The store had already been ransacked — though you weren’t surprised. You hadn’t expected to find much — big-box department stores were the first to get looted when the world ended. You’d chosen this place as more of a trial run, to help the Alexandrian’s get a feel of how supply runs would work now that your group was in charge.

Your team worked quietly, efficiently, taking the building by storm.

It was easy.

Almost too easy.

You should’ve seen it coming.

Scott and Annie were making their way to the front of the store, empty bags now filled with supplies they’d found on a truck still attached to the loading dock. Tara and Eddie were sifting through an overturned clothing rack, shoveling clothes of all sizes into their backpacks.

And Daryl was standing on the opposite side of the store — looking at you.

You didn't understand why — why his expression twisted into one of panic, why your name fell from his lips in what seemed like slow motion, why the smell of rotting meat was getting stronger and stronger until —

It happened in the blink of an eye.

One moment, you were upright, watching Daryl in the distance as he took off into a dead sprint towards you. And the next, you were facedown on the floor, a heaviness pressing into your back, pushing the air from your lungs. A gnarled hand wound through your hair, the other grabbing onto your shoulder in a vice-like grip, yanking your head backward as a low growl sounded in your ear.

A cry fell from your lips as you twisted, stunned for just a moment before survival instincts kicked in. You braced one arm against the ground, pushing off and propelling yourself onto your side, knocking the walker off your back.

You didn’t waste another moment as you rolled away from the biter and jumped up, frantically searching for the knife you’d dropped, focusing only on the dead staggering to its feet. The walker lunged once more, but this time, you were able to brace your forearm against its chest, keeping its snapping jaws mere inches from your face.

You grunted under the pressure, feeling your arm start to give way, its teeth snapping closer and closer until —

You saw a glint of silver.

You felt cool metal press against the base of your throat.

You recognized the handle of your knife, the one you’d dropped moments ago, wrapped in another’s hand.

You heard the growling before you morph into something different, something hauntingly familiar.

“Mine.”

The low, hushed snarl stunned you into stillness, the sound shooting through you, feeling your blood run cold as you caught a glimpse of what exactly was in front of you.

Another survivor.

“Mine,” the man growled once more, pushing the tip of your knife deeper into your neck, your flesh splitting beneath the blade.

You grimaced, grabbing onto the stranger’s wrist to keep from screaming as your eyes frantically searched his.

He was covered in blood — some streaks fresher than others, spread across the naked parts of his face. His beard was tinged with grayness, curled and matted, hanging just above his chest. His teeth were bared like some sort of beast, crooked and yellow. But his eyes — his eyes you couldn’t seem to pull away from. They were wide and panicked — feral in the most animalistic way. They were distant, detached from any semblance of humanity as he neared closer.

You cringed away from the putrid smell he exuded, your dwindling strength no match for his barbarity.

“Get — out,” he growled between ragged breaths, his other hand tangling throughout your hair. “Mine — mine — home — get — out!“ he rasped, beginning to drag the knife’s edge across your throat.

But just as a cry reached your lips, suddenly, the man was gone.

You fell backward, colliding against the floor as chaos erupted around you.

That’s when you noticed Daryl.

He had the stranger pinned up against the wall, landing blow after blow, his movements fierce, precise, unrelenting. But then you saw something the archer didn’t — the man’s arm, raised high above his head, your knife in his grasp.

“No!” you screamed out, stumbling to your feet as the stranger plunged the knife down.

Except Daryl was quicker. He pushed away from the man at the very last second, just narrowly missing the knife’s blade — but the dodge threw him off balance, allowing the stranger a chance to land a solid left punch right against the archer’s temple, catching him off guard and sending him staggering away.

“Hey!” Tara suddenly appeared, distracting the crazed man, the rest of your group showing up right behind her.

The stranger let out a sort of animalistic shriek as he raised your knife, charging towards them without a second thought.

But before he could get close enough to attack, you heard gunshots.

Bang!

The stranger froze, stunned mid-strike, his body swaying slightly before his legs gave out, folding beneath him. The sudden silence was so deafening, you were sure the sound of your heart pounding was heard by those around you. No one spoke — all eyes trained on the kneeling man, blood beginning to drip from the corners of his mouth.

“Mine,” the stranger gargled between hitched breaths. “Mine — my — home,” he sputtered through the redness, his lips curling into a deranged grin as the light faded from his eyes. His body slumped forward, motionless, three bullet holes now torn through his torso.

As if on cue, everyone turned to look toward where the gunshots came from.

And there stood Barnes, rifle clenched in trembling hands, breathing slightly labored. “I — uh,” he stuttered, breaking the quiet. “I-I figured this — this would be considered an ‘emergency’, right?” he jumbled, any previous trace of humor gone from his tone.

Before you had a chance to speak, you felt a familiar touch — calloused fingers grabbing your chin, turning your face forward.

Your eyes fell on Daryl, now standing before you, his expression furrowed, eyes troubled as he gently tilted your head back. You winced as the slash on your neck stretched, his features growing stormy.

“U-Uh, guys?” Eddie suddenly whispered from behind Tara, breaking the stillness, his features growing increasingly pale. “I’m —”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as the boy spun around and toppled forward, emptying the contents of his stomach.

You grimaced, squeezing your eyes shut — but then you felt Daryl’s grip move to either of your shoulders.

“Hey, ya alright?” he murmured, voice just soft enough for you to hear it.

Your eyes snapped open, but before you could respond, you noticed something that sent your heart plummeting.

A small gash just above Daryl’s right eyebrow.

It wasn’t a bad injury — not at all. You weren’t even sure if he knew he was bleeding. He’d sustained worse, you knew that. But the fact of the matter was that it could’ve been worse — it almost was worse. And that was because of you. Because he was trying to protect you.

And that was something you refused to be okay with.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you suddenly snapped, unsure where the abrupt fury came from — you hadn’t meant for the words to come out so harsh, but you also couldn’t seem to stop them.

The archer’s hands immediately retracted from your shoulders as he straightened, a look of confusion flitting across his features. “What?” he demanded, clearly taken aback.

“W-What — I mean, why would you —” you fumbled for the right words, feeling the anger in your gut simmering. You knew your feelings were being misdirected — but you couldn’t find it in you to stop. “What the fuck, Daryl?”

Daryl’s expression hardened as he took a step back, his eyes narrowing. “Are ya seriously pissed a’ me right now?”

“I can take care of myself, okay? I don’t need you to protect me!” you fired back, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“I jus’ saved your damn life, Y/N!”

“Yeah, and you nearly lost yours!”

Your words echoed throughout the store, the silence that followed incredibly vast as you stood toe to toe with the archer, your heaving breaths mirroring his.

It wasn’t until Tara spoke that you remembered you weren’t alone. “Uh, guys, we gotta — we gotta go,” she intervened, appearing between you. “That gunfire’s gonna draw walkers in from all around — we need to get these people home.”

Daryl held your gaze a moment longer before shaking his head, grumbling something you couldn't quite catch as he stormed off. He grabbed his crossbow off the floor, having lost it in the scuffle, before walking out of the store without another word.

“Y/N?” Tara murmured, reaching out to gently squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you breathed, exhaling heavily. “Yeah, I’m coming,” you murmured, forcing a small smile onto your face.

Tara nodded, handing you a worn bandana. You pressed the cloth against your bleeding neck, wincing at the contact as Tara turned to address the group. “We gotta move — let’s grab our stuff and get the hell out of here,” she called out, picking up her backpack and herding the Alexandrian’s out of the store.

A traumatized Eddie stumbled after Tara, sparing the unmoving stranger one last look. “This — this place was his home. H-He was just protecting his home,” he whispered sorrowfully before Scott placed a hand on his shoulder and helped guide him the rest of the way out, Annie close behind.

The store was eerily quiet — the only sound being your footsteps as you slowly approached the man. His eyes were open yet vacant, mouth unhinged in what appeared to be a silent scream. You reached down, pulling your knife from his limp grasp before gently pressing the blade into his skull.

You felt for the stranger — he’d simply been a man who lost his mind, desperate to protect what he felt was his. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, a heaviness settling over your chest as you pulled your knife from the back of his head.

You turned to leave, pausing when you noticed Barnes standing by the front door. He watched you approach, expression grim as his eyes bounced between you and the lifeless stranger.

“Hey,” you murmured, nudging him gently, waiting until he looked down at you. “It had to be done.”

Barnes audibly swallowed, nodding slowly as he glanced down at the rifle still shaking in his grasp. “I — I’ve never killed a person before,” he whispered gravely.

“I know,” you sighed, any feelings of frustration you felt about Barnes from earlier dissipating. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to do it.”

Barnes simply nodded once more before you motioned him toward the van, the rest of the group already inside.

Just as Tara predicted, you spotted clusters of walkers beginning to fill into the parking lot as you climbed into the back of the van after Barnes. But by the time the dead neared closer, your group was already peeling out of the parking lot, headed back to Alexandria.

The ride home was silent.

You tried to ignore the nagging in your chest every time you glanced at the back of Daryl’s head. Instead, you focused on the steady throbbing in your neck — that pain seemed to be easier to accept.

When you arrived back at Alexandria, Daryl hopped out of the van before it even fully parked, stalking off towards the house your group shared without another word.

“Want Denise to check that out?” Tara asked, motioning towards your wound, interrupting your inner turmoil.

“Oh, no,” you waved her off. “It’s okay — just a scratch,” you shrugged, walking side by side back to the house. But as you neared closer, the fear of confrontation stopped you short — you couldn’t be around the archer right now.

Tara’s momentum slowed as she glanced between you and the house before taking a step closer. “He’ll come around,” she suddenly murmured, her lips turning up into a soft smile.

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a moment. “I didn’t mean —”

“I know,” she cut you off, taking another small step towards you. “He knows. He just — he was just scared, that’s all.”

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Daryl Dixon isn’t scared of anything,” you pointed out, only half joking.

But Tara’s expression didn’t waver, now looking more serious than ever. “He was today,” she remarked quietly before turning around and walking away.

You watched her leave, heading towards the house Daryl had entered moments before. Her words sat heavily on your chest, only furthering the existing guilt you felt. You couldn’t walk into that house — not yet, at least.

Night came quickly.

You’d volunteered yourself for guard duty, welcoming the isolation, desperately needing the distance. It was easy to pretend when you were away from it all — that the day hadn’t panned out as it had, that the world hadn’t completely gone to shit, that you hadn’t almost lost the last good thing in your life.

You welcomed the solace.

When the ladder leading up to the tower suddenly began to creak, you couldn’t help the burst of hope that shot through you. But it was Sasha who appeared, relieving you of your duty, and you immediately felt yourself deflate.

You walked back home with your head hung low. How could you have said those awful things to Daryl? What the hell was wrong with you? He’d saved your life and in return you — you’d hurt him. He didn’t have to say a damn word — you knew your words had stung. And now — now you had to make things right.

The house came into view, one or two lights inside still dimmed — but that wasn’t what caught your attention.

There, sitting on the front porch steps, was Daryl.

Even in the darkness, you noticed the way he stilled when you approached, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. Your breath caught in your throat as you faltered mid-step, feeling incredibly exposed all of a sudden. “Hi,” you whispered, your voice slightly hoarse.

Daryl acknowledged you with a short nod before taking a long drag, fiddling with the cigarette between his fingertips.

You sighed, slowly making your way towards the porch stairs. “Can I sit?” you asked quietly.

Daryl grunted a response as he exhaled the smoke — you chose to interrupt that as a ‘yes’.

You sat down with a huff on the opposite side of the stairs, resting your back against the railing. The silence between you was overwhelming — and part of you wondered if the archer could hear your pulse racing from where he sat. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words tumbling out of you. “I’m — shit, I’m so sorry, Daryl. I didn’t —”

“Ya don’t have ta’ do this,” Daryl interrupted suddenly, inhaling another puff of smoke before flicking the cigarette away. “Ain’t mad at ya or anythin’.”

You pursed your lips, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. “Doesn’t matter — I’m still sorry,” you shrugged, sighing softly.

“I couldn’t do it,” Daryl spoke after a long moment of silence, glancing over at you before turning to stare ahead.

“Couldn’t do what?” you pressed gently, hanging onto every word he said.

Daryl grumbled something to himself, almost like he was second-guessing speaking in the first place. You merely sat, still and quiet, giving him time to sort himself out. “I heard what ya said back there — ya don’t need me —”

“Daryl —”

“I couldn’t do it, alright? I couldn’t jus’ stand there an’ let that asshole do what he was gonna do ta’ ya,” he pushed forward, his words fiercer than before as he faced you. “Now, I heard what ya said — ya don’t need me ta’ protect ya, I know that. But that don’t mean I ain’t gonna do it anyways.”

You couldn’t stop the swell of emotion that rose, forming a clump in the base of your throat. You lowered your eyes, the archer’s intense gaze too much for you at that moment. There were things you wanted to say, feelings you wanted to share, but they all seemed to tangle up inside you. “You could’ve died,” you whispered, those three little words all you could muster. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “God, if anything ever happened to you because of me —”

“Hey,” Daryl hushed you, leaning forward a fraction. “I’m alright.”

You shook your head slowly, giving him a serious look. “It doesn’t matter — you almost died back there for nothing, Daryl.”

The archer regarded you curiously then, an honest look of confusion crossing his features as he watched you. “Wasn’t for nothin’,” he rumbled simply.

You held his gaze a moment longer before slowly scooting forward, closing the short distance between you. Daryl stiffened instantly, practically turning to stone as you slowly reached forward, waiting until he relaxed a little before pushing back the hair from his face, revealing the small cut he’d received earlier.

You gently cupped the side of his face, your thumb grazing just above the wound as your eyes locked with his. “What am I gonna do with you, Daryl Dixon,” you sighed softly, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

Daryl didn’t respond — simply melting into your touch instead.

You lowered your hand, closing the last bit of space between you before resting your head against his shoulder.

After a moment of stillness, you felt the tension within him give way, his cheek finding its way nestled against your hair.

And so you sat, interwoven around one another, guarding the only thing left in a crumbling world that mattered as the cool, calm night lingered on.

A/N: Aww...what’d you guys think? Was the reader justified in her reaction? How did you like that sweet moment in the end?

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janekfan · 4 years

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248915

Hunger.

Honed and piercing.

So corrosive and corrupt and consuming it was a wonder it even fit inside him anymore. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want it inside him anymore. Wanted to sweat it out like a fever, burn it out like mold and rot, tear it out of himself with his bitten-short fingernails until he couldn’t hear its constant demands.

It wanted to burst from his throat and it was everything on a good day to keep it inside, away from the others, swallowed down, down, down like acid where it couldn’t bother anybody.

It was hard to know just how much something could hurt until you tried to hide it from the people who once knew you best.

Tim was fixing his lunch in the breakroom. Jon Knew that.

Unbidden, the memories came, unstoppable and swift. The ache grew stronger with each one.

Soft, warm pats on the back, a mutual embrace after completing a difficult deadline. Tim was, used to be, casual touch, easy and affectionate to a little brother replacing the one he’d lost fitting into the space left behind like it was Jon’s place to fit. Comfort and care and Tim could make this stop the ache the hurt the pounding buried in his scarred skin down to the bone.

Tim could be an answer. A balm for the flickering, dying candle flame Jon still cultivated, protected from the rush of an entire ocean filling up his ears as he sank, awful deep, to a place where even sunlight didn’t dare reach its trembling fingers.

Tim doesn’t want to see you.

It was true, but Jon was desperate, needy, on the brink of screaming or tears or both and he needed someone to please help him because surely he was falling apart at his strained and stretched seams, all his dirty, ugly stuffing on display for the Archives to See.

“T’Tim.” Underwater and kilometers away his voice caused Tim to jump, spoon clattering into the sink as he cursed and turned and glared.

“You look shite, Boss.” Jon thought of all the iterations of himself that had come before, that should have prepared him for this moment. He knew more than anything, anyone, how to want without letting anyone know. Knew how to be alone and make it seem as though it had always been his choice to be so. “Seriously, what do you want? If this is more of your paranoid, supernatural rubbish, Jon.” Angry, Tim stalked forward, Jon stepped unsteadily back. Surprised (scared) and still needing.

“I, I, uh, what are you doing?” And instead of easy camaraderie, static rose in his throat, clashed against his teeth and forced its way between pursed lips at the same time red rage rose in Tim’s face as he strained against the compulsion and failed, words so fraught that even if Jon had been paying attention he wouldn’t have understood. Tim’s arms came up to frame Jon’s face as his palms collided heavily with the wall he crowded him against and he couldn’t hide his flinch.

“What. The fuck!?”

“I, I, I--”

“I, I,” he mocked, “Not enough to spy? You need to force it out of me? The fuck!” And Jon flinched again, cowering in the shadow of Tim’s bulk, breath too fast and pulse hammering in his head. “Christ, Jon.” And he hung his head, jaw so tight his molars were grinding together and for a moment Jon was sure he was going to be struck, bracing for it. Instead he stumbled as Tim shoved him roughly away and that was wrong. Tim didn’t do that and here Jon, stupid, stupid, stupid, had pushed him far enough. Another large hand smacked against his shoulder blade and he almost lost his footing, dizzied and sick and grateful when Tim didn’t follow him to his office. It was there he let himself go, let the tears come as he hid his stinging eyes in folded arms. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t...it just slipped out and he was sorry.

He wouldn’t be believed.

The burn of where Tim had pushed him was distracting and disquieting, stealing the stale air from his lungs and binding the too small cage of his ribs in knotted, tangled twine.

Not for the first time, Jon longed for the relief that would accompany his giving in to the monster, gathering up all his multitudinous selves and rejoicing in the hideous nature that would be his and his alone. Leave his friends (not your friends any longer) and embrace this transformation with the finality of the damned. After all, despite inumerable attempts to right all his wrongs, they knew his living in the world brought an irreparable damage. Jon existed at too steep a cost and the debt was becoming so heavy it was crushing his bones to sand in its punishing fist.

For now, he existed in the awful, liminal space between choices, an agony so deep seated and the sheer, impossible need, pulled like taffy in too many directions. Was this the end of things? No more kind touch. No one to be careful with him when he felt already so fragile.

Why did he have to make himself so hard to love?

“Ah!” His tailbone ached as he hit the ground sending sparks of sharp pain up his spine. “I’I’m sorry!”

“Shut your mouth!” Jon raised his arm to shield his face, breath heaving in shuddering gasps. He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t, he hadn’t. What was wrong with him? “You alright?” Basira looked shaken, eyes just this side of too wide as Daisy ran rough fingers over her cheek, examining her closely, brows furrowed.

“Yeah.” She seemed dazed. He’d done that. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. Not to the people he loved. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Daisy nodded, that same unhinged look in her hard expression.

“Bas--”

“I said. Shut. Your mouth.” And he swallowed another apology, lurching to his feet and fleeing before Daisy could hit him again. Clumsy, he rushed through narrow corridors, colliding at the corners in his attempt to put more distance between them until he finally began to flag. He’d made it into the stacks, surrounded by boxes of statements like beacons begging him to look inside. Find the real ones. Read them. Taste them.

Consume.

He deserved this.

Jon didn’t know how long he sat there curled around his knees before Martin found him, but he was stiff and hurting, head pounding and stomach rolling from the heat buried in his skin, trying to claw its way out.

“Jon?” He must’ve looked up, because he was looking straight at Martin with the sudden realization that he had him boxed in between the shelves. “Hey,” calm, soft, talking down a wild animal but there were only the two of them here. “You don’t look well.” What was he talking about?

“M’fine.” His tongue was thick in his mouth, words of treacle and like a tide, Martin drifted in and out, Jon’s head was too heavy for his own neck.

“Jon?” Suddenly, a pale hand was reaching for him and he panicked. “Jon!” Shouting and loud and angry(?).

“Go away!” Static and bitterness flooded Jon’s throat, rushed to strangle him, and he coughed, sputtering, black coating his fingers as he tried to stop another accidental compulsion. He couldn’t bear to look up and witness the betrayal he knew he’d placed there and instead leaned forward to lose the ink threatening to choke him, watching it pool like an oil slick around his fingers.

“Jon!”

I’m sorry.

“Jon?”

I’m scared.

“Leave me alone!”

“Jon!” Fading, being carried away by struggling steps. “Jon!!” He clapped sticky hands over his ears until he was alone again.

Martin is kind to you.

Because he fears you.

Even if you let him help, he’ll leave you. Hurt you. You’ve ruined everything, you always do. You’re hurting them. You keep hurting them.

He wrapped his arms so tightly around himself, until his fingers were dug into his flesh, sucking down a heaving lung full of air because he’d forgotten how to breathe with all his wanting. Cracking apart, letting things in that he kept trying desperately to keep out, out, out.

Exhaustion caught him up despite how fast he ran from it, trapped him in a current he couldn’t control. Whirling eddies and rip tides left him gasping, sore all over from failing to hold on to something, anything to steady himself. Just get to the next second. One at a time. Unable to think of the full moment.

And he looked up into a kind and familiar face creased in concern.

Martin.

“Hullo, Jon.” Soft, so soft. Kneeling beside him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m not angry with you.” He kept quiet. The buzzing was there, the Eye was demanding he ask, tell, order.

“Martin?” Shaky and small and closing his eyes against the touch of a palm against his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” The clot of fear, ink and ash, stopped up his voice box and kept him silent, barely clinging to the shreds of whatever he had left. Jon wanted to take Martin’s soft attention and turn his focus elsewhere, at someone more deserving than he could ever be. “You need to rest. You’re not well.”

Not well.

A cool flannel swept over his face leaving bliss in its wake before moving to envelop each finger, rid it of the tacky, drying blotches. Wary, he watched Martin’s deft hands fold the cloth to hide the mess, setting it aside.

“I’m going to take you home. You shouldn’t be alone, not right now.”

“M’m…” He wasn’t safe, he couldn’t control the Beholding. Even now it was feeding him information, rooting around in Martin’s head for things that didn’t belong to it. Luckily, Jon couldn’t hold on to any of it as he was, wearied and wasted.

“You didn’t mean it. You aren’t thinking clearly, not with a fever like that.” The words washed over him, soothing and soft. Martin shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be kind to him like this when Jon would only take it and twist it into something terrible. But he was being lifted to his feet, the rest of the world following along a beat behind in his crowded vision, and Martin had to catch him when his knees buckled under him. “Alright, steady, I’ve got you.” With Martin doing the majority of the work, they waded through pools of emergency lighting between empty desks, everyone long gone home by now. He didn’t remember the cab ride, now standing cold and shivering at the bottom of the set of stairs leading up to Martin’s flat. Glancing up, overwhelmed and overwrought, the thought of climbing them drew a sob from his tight chest.

Warmth at his elbow made him balk, eyes wide and searching when Martin held up his hands in a placating gesture, moving slowly and with calm, obvious intent. He was speaking. Jon could see his lips moving, but it didn’t make any sense and when the Eye reached blindly for it an icepick lodged itself firmly behind his ear. The next time Martin went to touch him, the effort he put in to avoid it ended with him twisting up his feet together and all he could do was watch the ground rise up to meet him. If he hit the floor he didn’t remember, prying apart heavy lids to take in unfamiliar walls.

Not alone.

Before he could panic, Martin crouched beside where he was laid out on a sofa, removing his shoes and smiling gently when he caught him staring.

“It’s okay.” Calm. Quiet. “It’s okay.” Again. Infinitely softer. The backs of steady fingers brushing against his forehead and when Jon closed his eyes against his kindness, tears slipped down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” And he let himself believe it, the relief heady and stealing away the last of his resolve. “Let’s get you tucked up and warm, hm? Slow now, that’s good.” The babble was comforting, easy to drift along in the current, and he let Martin tell him what to do, accepting the water, the tablets, and drinking both down. Allowing Martin to manhandle him into soft clothes to replace his stained ones. “Lay back, try to sleep.”

Martin’s bed.

Before he himself knew he’d moved, the sleeve of Martin’s jumper was tight in his trembling grip. He could feel it, his expression twisting up, ugly and disgusting, lips pressed tightly together to keep his begging in, to trap the want. Trap it behind teeth and tongue until Martin realized what he’d done and kicked him out.

Then he could let go again. Where no one could see how badly he needed.

“It’s okay.” The soft pass through his sweat damp and tangled curls undid the rest of him. “What do you need?” A sob, a laugh, a burst of static that made both of them wince. Desperate. And his crying stopped all else. A stillness descending so thick and deep it felt like drowning, throat blocked up with ink and sorrow and impossible agony.

Arms wrapped around him. Tight, hot bands of iron and despite the strength with which he was held it became easier to breathe and he gulped down air sweeter than anything he’d known in a long time.

It was dark. Darker than it had been before and he was something far beyond tired. Wrung out and stretched thin, unspooled like fine wire. Gradually, sensation trickled in. The scent of tea from the breakroom. Wash worn wool. Gentle hands. He was moving, just slightly. Swaying.

Small sounds he couldn’t parse fell like rain, soft and warm.

Laid carefully down, like he was a precious, breakable thing. Wrapped up, legs and limbs and warm, warm, warm. Greedy, selfish, he drank it in, clinging to Martin in the velvet dark, hand to hand, skin to skin, and it still wasn’t enough. How could it be when he’d gone so long without. When he’d never known anything else.

Hunger. Always there.

Even before he’d been cursed with this awful gift.

Gnawing and persistent but quieting in the wake of the grounding beat of Martin’s heart, everywhere and all around. In his own pulse, his blood, his body. His touch was fire to his frostbite; painful and so very good.

He wanted it. Wanted so badly to be warm again.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jon buried his nose in Martin’s throat, shuddering under his hands. “Rest, Jon.”

Apricot light seeped between his lashes, lifting him up and out of sleep. His cheek was pillowed on Martin’s chest, the man’s fingers still buried in his hair.

It was gentle here. The static muted and buried under the quilts, no longer lurking, waiting for its chance to take.

“Fever’s down some.” But all the same he pressed him with more medicine before excusing himself to put the kettle on. Jon curled up in the warmth he left behind, clear headed and wondering, waking when Martin came back with tea and toast. “You should eat a little something.” Wordlessly, Jon opened his mouth. Closed it, worried that all he had left inside was the ability to compel, to steal. Martin busied himself with the meticulous application of jam on his toast and Jon appreciated the space. The patience he didn’t really deserve.

“Th’thank you. Martin.”

“How long have you been ill?” Jon shrugged one shoulder, forgoing his own toast and sipping on the tea instead.

“Thought.” What had he thought? He only remembered wanting. “I. I don’t know. It’s all…” he tried to gesture in a way that explained how twisted things had been with the fever and the hunger and the fog. It was lacking. “I’m sorry for--I, I didn’t m’mean to. I.”

Couldn’t control it.

Jon thought he could taste the ink threatening to make a reappearance and took another swallow. He felt somewhat better, still sick. Still worried.

“I’m not angry with you.” Jon stared into his tea. “Hey, look at me.” Martin lifted his chin with a touch. “I see you. I see you trying.” Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over only for Martin to brush them away. Jon set the cup aside and let himself fall into the broad chest, melt beneath the heavy hand cradling his head.

Safe.

Sated.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #mental health issues #touch starved #tears #crying #accidental compulsion #fever #sickfic

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bella-caecilia · 3 years

Note

can you make a fanfic with cora and robert like teen parents?

Haha, thank you for this prompt. I laughed really hard when I received this ask and I thought, ‘yes, I’ll definitely write that’. Still took me a while to figure out how to put it into practice (turned out less funny than my first reaction had led me to think). It’s a rather short one-shot for this topic. I hope you like it nevertheless.

Oh, and it’s modern Cobert but I think there is no question about that with this particular prompt, right?

…

Cora sat at the breakfast table, not touching her toast for minutes. Her mother was scurrying around the kitchen and singing with emphasis.

“Please, mom! This is unbearable in the morning,” Cora finally snapped. Her nerves were on edge since she had awoken with this nasty nausea. Now her mother’s eccentric demeanour was straining all Cora’s senses. Worse than the loud singing, though, was the intense smell of the bacon Martha fried.

“Excuse me, Cora. I am sorry that my mood isn’t as sulky as yours.” Her mother’s answer was as sarcastic as expected.

“But do you really have to cook bacon every morning?” Cora whined while rubbing her hand over her unsettled stomach. “This abhorrent smell will be in my nose all day.”

“You are particularly sensitive lately, Cora,” Martha stated. She turned around at the oven to face her daughter and pressed her hands into her hips, one hand clutching a spatula. “You’re having the nostrils of a pregnant woman, darling,” she mocked her daughter with a chiding tone.

“You’re being ridiculous, mother,” Cora rebuked. Her mother let out a short laugh and turned back to her bacon.

“Well, that would really take the cake if my son-in-law gave you a baby for your one-year anniversary,” Martha babbled more to herself chucklingly.

“Robert is not your son-in-law!” Cora exclaimed. He was her boyfriend for nearly one year.

Twenty months ago, Cora held a tally sheet in her nightstand, she had moved to England with her parents. Her father’s job had required his direct attention at the British branch of his company. The family had decided to settle their lives in London for the next years. Cora’s brother, Harold, who had no intentions to leave the States whatsoever, had argued and baulked until Martha had enrolled him in some elite boarding school in Ohio. Everyone was happy with this solution. Cora thought maybe she was happiest about Harold staying behind but knowing her brother and his absolute laziness that probably wasn’t true.

Moving to the UK at the age of nearly fifteen had been super exciting for her. Her heart was constantly beating at a high pace because everything around her had been new and fresh. Yes, of course, her emotional picture had also been painted with an amount of nervosity but that never kept her from enjoying the new world around her. Her racing heart though was allowed no rest when she bumped unpreparedly into the charming boy with the most attractive British accent she ever encountered right in the centre of the school’s cafeteria. She had managed to spill her entire lunch on the matt tiles, and his clumsily uttered apologies and courteous assistance had set her heart galloping since. She had tried to tell herself that it wasn’t his coy smile or sandy curls but merely his attentive manner that had captivated her. But not long and then there was no use. If it was his smile or his manners didn’t matter, for she had fallen hard for him. Their encounters had increased and Cora couldn’t tell if it was coincidentally or if he was seeking her contact. The awkwardness of their first meeting faded away as soon as they engaged in a real conversation, experiencing an instant familiarity that drew them together even faster. The first kiss behind a bookshelf in the deserted library was as coy as it was unexpectedly prompt. That Robert had sought her closeness afterwards deliberately had been obvious.

For nearly a year now they went out together. Both were sixteen years old by now and inseparable. Robert was a constant visitor at the Levinson’s mansion and Martha liked to call him her ‘son-in-law’ jokingly. Cora didn’t think it funny at all. She couldn’t quite sort if her mother wasn’t taking their relationship seriously or if, on the contrary, she was putting her under pressure to make this work because Martha didn’t like to think of a son-in-law other than Robert. Cora was rather seldomly at Robert’s. His mother had a distinct reaction to her presence but other than Martha’s it was not one of amused excitement.

But now her mother carried her teasing too far with mentioning the possibility of a baby.

“I have to go,” Cora stated, deciding she couldn’t take her mother’s presence at the moment anymore.

“But you haven’t eaten anything yet!” Martha called confused behind her daughter.

Cora merely mumbled, “I am not hungry,” while exiting the room.

Before leaving for school, Cora went to the bathroom and, sitting on the toilet, she scrolled through her phone and accidentally opened her period tracker app. The picture that met her froze her thoughts. Late, very late, overdue. How could this have gone amiss? The count of days, that appeared on her screen, was a horrible image and she tried to block the number from her thoughts. She deliberately pushed away all reflections, closed the app, put away the phone and carried on as if nothing had happened. Cora couldn’t do anything else. She just was not able to take in the consequences of this unforeseen discovery. She washed her hands, not meeting her reflexion in the mirror. She left the bathroom and grabbed her schoolbag that waited in the hallway.

“Bye, mom!” she called casually.

“Bye, sweety! Have a nice day!” her mother exclaimed, and Cora exited the house, seeking the bus stop.

Only once she was seated in the bus, gazing out of the window it hit her with full force what she had found out minutes earlier. Oh god! There was no doubt. She could keep on ignoring everything as much as she wanted. The absence of her period for this long could only mean one thing. And now all the little hints that had been there over the last weeks came to mind. How had she been able to overlook it? Cora felt her chest constricting unpleasantly. She clutched the front of her shirt in an attempt to loosen anxiety’s grip, but of course it didn’t help. Not being able to stand her unrest she jumped out of the bus one stop early and took a few deep breathes before striding the way to school briskly. She pulled her phone out of her bag and dialled the number, which was always up on her list of last calls, with trembling hands.

“Robert?” her voice was shaky.

“Hello, darling? What’s up?” he inquired. Hearing his voice, even if it was distantly through a phone, took away a small part of the heavy weight that had settled deep in her stomach.

“Uhm… can we talk?” she mumbled.

“Of course! What is on your mind?” he said encouragingly.

“I’d like to do it in person. Can you meet me on our bench in the yard in a few minutes?”

“Golly, that sounds serious!” his answer came out with a slightly nervous chuckle. “Sure, I am on my way. But are you alright, Cora?” Robert inquired.

“Mmh,” she hummed in affirmation. She didn’t trust her voice. The “Sure” she added after a second held little conviction.

“You have me worried here, Cora,” Robert spoke insistently from the other end of the phone. Cora really had no idea how to answer that. She didn’t want him to worry but she couldn’t just undo the grand drama that was trailing around the two of them with evergrowing density.

“I am alright,” she spoke softly into the receiver. The next minutes went by in a blur until she walked onto the yard and her eyes immediately found his form sitting on ‘their’ bench fidgety. She could spot from afar the bobbing of his knee and despite his apparent nervosity, his sight enveloped her with a thin veil of relaxation. Her feet carried her reliably toward him, and she noticed his exhalation of relief as he spotted her. He swiftly rose from his seat and took a step to meet her halfway. He took her hands in his instantly. His eyes sought hers, and the concerned look he directed at her made Cora’s stomach twist uncomfortably. She cast down her gaze and pulled him gently towards the bench. She had to sit down, but no doubt would be restless again in a matter of seconds.

“Robert?” she breathed cautiously. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles.

“Yes, dear?” She heard how he attempted to keep the nervosity out of his voice by caressing the words lovingly.

“Why do mothers always have to be right?” She shook her head, still not meeting his gaze.

“Uhm… I don’t know. What did your mother say?” he gave back in slight confusion.

“She was only joking I think but she was right,” Cora answered. Now she looked up at him, took in the warm dusty blue of his eyes and felt soothed by the care she found in them. “Robert, I don’t know when exactly we have been sloppy but the fact is… I’m… Robert, I’m pregnant,” she uttered and the tone of her voice sank with every word. The last one was only a mere breath. At Robert’s agape lips and his frozen look, she saw, however, that he had understood what she’d said. Her heart began beating more and more rapidly and she pressed his hands anxiously, trying to irk a reaction out of him. He inhaled deeply.

“We’ll manage,” he said calmly. Cora looked at him baffled.

“That’s the first thing you say?” she asked taken aback. “No question like ‘how could this happen?’ You say we’ll manage?”

“Yes. Because I am sure of that. I don’t know how, and actually, I don’t know a lot. My head is quite mushy at the moment. But what I know is that we’ll get this,” he assured. Cora nodded slowly. His rather alert reaction surprised her. “We’re in this together. We have been from the beginning.”

At his last words, Cora sank against his chest and buried her face in his jumper. Her welling tears soaked his pullover, and she couldn’t tell if it were tears of relief, or worry, or fear, or joy, or utter adoration. She felt too much at the moment and was only grateful for the hideaway Robert’s embrace offered.

#cobert drabble #cobert #modern cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #martha levinson #downton abbey

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xxdearlybeloved · 4 years

Text

The Road Not Taken

A collaboration with @flowers-in-your-hayr

It’s a lovechild inspired by that photo shoot and fueled by constant thirst for a certain Skarsgard brother. Super thanks to Gabi for the inspo and the idea!!! It is an honor to work with you, my dear.

Summary: The reader finds herself a little lost, but sometimes that’s the best way to be found.

YOU WEREN’T ANYWHERE near your stopping point, but you were simply tired of driving.

You had thought that a 4 day road trip across the country was exactly what the doctor ordered. After months of being in the same place with the same people, the hours alone would do you some good.

Or so you thought.

Yours was a soul in transition. You found yourself leaving one stage of your life and entering the next one, still not feeling sure if it was where you were meant to go. The trip you were on covered the distance between your old home and your new one, and you were hoping to find yourself in between.

A new day had brought you to farm country, and while the idea of being alone there once the sun set made you nervous, you couldn't help but slow down and enjoy the view.

There would always be another city. The world had no shortage of places full of people passing each other by, but somehow this part of the world felt more alive.

You found yourself on the service road off of the highway, gazing at the crops and animals that passed you by. You wondered about the people who lived there, about how their lives were pulled by a different rhythm than the one you were used to.

A gas station interrupted your view and you decided it wouldn't hurt to refuel and grab a snack for yourself before getting back on the road.

It was just your car and another truck at the sleepy station. You pulled up to the other pump and went inside to pay and pull together a meal with whatever was inside.

You greeted the clerk with a smile and saw the truck owner in the back grabbing a case of beer. The store was packed with everything you could think of. Phone chargers, hats and shirts, gas cans. You stepped carefully through the aisles looking for whatever would call your name.

You heard the man and the clerk start talking in a way that let you know the man was not new to this town. As you were eavesdropping, you accidentally tripped over a stack of magazines that you definitely should have seen before. You knocked down some snacks in the process of trying to steady yourself and you could feel the men staring at you.

Too embarrassed to look up, you hastily began putting things back where you thought they should go. You heard footsteps approaching and felt someone reach past you to get some of the remaining bags from the floor.

You finished the task together, too mortified to look at the kind stranger. Finally, you looked up to thank him, but could not get the words out of your mouth. His kind, blue eyes seemed to smile at you, his whole nature telling you that everything would be okay.

You mumbled something about trying to take the whole store with you and he laughed. He put a hand on your shoulder as he told you to take care and went to collect his beer and head to his truck. He cast you a gentle smile over his shoulder before the door closed behind him and the store seemed to darken a little.

Watching your steps more carefully, you gathered a few things and paid for the gas you needed to put in your car. The stranger was still out there filling up his own truck and you watched as the setting sun seemed to make the blonde in his hair shine a little.

“He’s single, you know,“ the clerk said to you as if he were doing you a favor.

“Thanks, but I’m not from around here,“ you said, giving him a wave and leaving out of the station before you could embarrass yourself anymore.

You put your snacks in the car and went to pump your gas, trying not to make eye contact with the stranger for fear that he would see whatever the clerk had seen in your eyes.

Unfortunately for you, the pump was unlike anything you had used before. It was an older model, and you weren’t even sure what to press first. You said a silent prayer that the man in the truck would drive off and you could go inside and ask the clerk for help. You heard the man get out of his truck and listened as his footsteps got closer to you.

“Do you need some help?“ he asked, slight amusement in his eyes. You were glad someone was benefitting from your pain.

“How many times are you going to come to my rescue?“ you asked, watching him work the pump and put gas in your car.

“As often as you need me to,“ he said easily, turning to face you.

You didn’t expect that answer and you smiled, wondering how this man could possibly be single.

“Do you live around here?“ you asked, standing up a little straighter and pushing the hair out of your eyes.

“Just moved here about a year or so ago. My uncle got too sick to work his farm so I came to help him“

“You live on a farm?“ you asked excitedly. He laughed while he pulled the pump from your car and put everything back where it needed to be.

“I do,“ he said. “Would you like to see it?“

His offer took you by surprise and before you knew it, you were following him away from the highway and down some dirt roads that you hoped you would be able to find when you left.

You parked your car next to his and slowly got out as you took in the beauty of the picture before you. The air was almost magical as everything seemed to move in slow motion. You took in the barn, the horses, the modest house with the porch.

The land before you looked like a postcard come to life. The air felt cleaner, the sky was more blue, and you felt at peace.

He watched you as you slowly got out of your car and took in his little piece of paradise.

You let him lead you around, telling you about all of the different areas and work he had done. You could tell he loved this place and you could easily see why.

As he opened himself to you, you found yourself opening up to him. You didn’t know if it was the gentleness in his eyes of the rarified air of the farm, but you felt more at home than you had in a long time.

It was easy to stay for dinner, your gas station snacks long abandoned as you helped in the kitchen. The homegrown food and local wine was the best meal you’d had in ages and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

You both took the rest of the bottle and a blanket out to the porch as you sat in silence, in awe of the stars that sprinkled the cloudless sky above you. This day felt too good to be true and you felt yourself tearing up as you remembered that it also had to come to an end.

He saw a tear fall down your cheek and you let him comfort you with his hands, then his lips. His kiss was cautious until you returned it fully, pressing your body into his. You let him lead you inside, knowing that he needed this as much as you did, fully surrendering your body to his touch.

You wanted to give him what he needed. His kisses became hungrier as they seared into your lips, your chin, then your neck. You moaned his name as you clung to him, letting him lead you to the stairs.

You were ready for him and you told him so, helping him take off your clothes and letting him take you on the stairs. He was desperate and you were so sweet in his arms. You took everything he gave, your walls pulling for more as you whispered praises in his ear.

He held you as you came around him, barely holding it together for your sake. He kissed you gently as he moved in you again, stoking slowly as he kissed your whimpering lips. He picked up the pace, bringing you to another release before losing his rhythm and coming inside you.

You both lay there panting, catching your breath as you stroked his back and felt him grow soft inside you. Your eyes grew heavy but you didn’t want to move from this spot, from this moment, so you let them close.

The sun woke you up and you opened your eyes, seeing it was well into the morning. You stretched, looking around to find yourself alone in his room. You rose slowly, realizing he must have carried you to his room last night. Grabbing one of his shirts, you went downstairs, blushing slightly as you passed that spot that still felt warm under your bare feet.

You found the kitchen empty except for a note from him that simply said “Make yourself at home.”

Smiling to yourself, you decided to take a shower and make yourself breakfast. You took your time, loving how the soap smelled like him.

He came in as you were finishing breakfast, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. He went to the refrigerator to get some water, taking long gulps before coming over to kiss you.

“Hello sleeping beauty,“ he said, sitting across from you and pushing his hair out of his face. You talked for awhile before getting up to wash and put away your dishes, smiling as he kissed you on the cheek on the way back outside to finish his chores.

Your smile faded as you caught a glimpse of your car outside the window. You knew you should be getting on the road. It would be dark again and you would have to drive nonstop to make it to your destination on time.

But you knew in your heart you didn’t want to go.

A part of you was afraid. What would happen if you didn’t show up? If you detoured from the path you had been placed on that didn’t feel quite right to you? You had been so afraid to even tip toe off the line and here you were, half-naked in a stranger’s house.

The path you were on was well-lit and paved. You knew what was waiting if you got back into your car. But wasn’t it possible that the dirt road would bring you exactly where you needed to be?

You put on some pants and shoes and looked for him outside, finding him by the horses. He turned as he heard you coming, his heart sinking a little when he saw that you were dressed. He knew you had places to go, a life to get back to, but he had hoped that you would stay a little longer.

He came closer to the fence to meet you, trying not to be worried by the unease he saw in your face. You looked up at him, smiling hesitantly as you placed a hand on his cheek.

“You have been a wonderful host,“ you began, trying to hold back the sadness and focus on the gratitude.

He nodded as he understood, the disappointment in his face sending your tears over the edge. He kissed you softly and it was all you could manage not to climb over the fence and fall into his arms. Instead you pulled away, daring not to look back as you got into your car and drove away.

He finished his chores less enthusiastically, taking his time as he tried not to think about your car leaving his driveway. He prolonged going inside for as long as he could, knowing that he would still see you sitting at the kitchen table in his shirt or still feel you in his arms as he made his way up the stairs.

Sure, he lived in paradise, but it had been a lot sweeter with you to share it with.

Eventually he made his way back inside, taking a long shower and wondering if he did the right thing by letting you walk out like that. It had been awhile since he’d met someone and even longer since he’d met someone he connected with so easily. And now he never knew if you would meet again.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his doorbell.

He got out of the shower, draping the towel around his waist as he absentmindedly took the steps down to the front door.

Your heart raced as you took him in standing soaking wet in front of you, the towel dangerously low around his hips. He was blinking at you in confusion and you were starting to wonder if you had made a mistake.

You didn’t know how to tell him that you had barely made it to the highway before the regret set in and the tears began to flow. You’d had to pull over and call your best friend to see if you were actually out of your mind.

“You won’t know unless you try,“ she’d said. “And you can always find your way back if it doesn’t work out“

With her blessing, you had gone back to that gas station, smiling at the clerk from yesterday as you picked up a bottle of the wine you’d had the night before.

“I thought you weren’t from around here,“ he said, smiling at you.

“I’m not,“ you replied before getting back in your car and driving back to the farm. After a few wrong turns you found yourself back in his driveway. He was nowhere to be found, so you went to the house, ringing the doorbell and waiting while your heart raced.

You waited for his reaction, death gripping the bottle of wine as he looked at you like you were a ghost.

Unable to take the silence anymore, you started to apologize but he stopped you with his lips. He pulled you closer and you breathed him in, already growing lightheaded with happiness.

Your smiled mirrored his as you both went inside. He noticed the bottle of wine in your hand and took it from you to set on the counter. “I figured we could have it with dinner...” you said shyly, still waiting for him to show any sign that he didn’t want you here.

You couldn’t help but stare at how beautiful he was, still dripping from his shower, his body begging to be touched. You drew closer to him, hesitantly running your hand down his arm before biting your lips as he turned to you.

He seemed to read your mind. “I was thinking of having dessert first,“ he grinned, helping you onto the counter before bringing his lips back to yours.

#Alexander Skarsgard #alexander skarsgård imagine #alexander skarsgard imagine

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jawira707 · 4 years

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Miraculous Ladybug New York Special fanfic - On the Plane

Info: I read yesterday that some people wanted a sweet Adrinette fic, where they fall asleep next to each other on the plane like they did in the Startrain episode. So I hoped someone would write that. Then I thought, maybe I should write that. This is my first fanfic in nearly one year I think, but why not, why not...I hope you like it! (Spoilers (even though no major spoilers) from the NY special!)

Word Count: 1462

Summary: Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane, Plagg was on the Titanic and Mari had no earplugs with her...but luckily, they had each other.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Warning: None

(Disclaimer: this fanfic is not sponsered by Air France, but I want them to know despite my critique they’re still 100 times better than American Airlines. Merci)

Title: On the plane

Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane. No matter on how many trips he had gone, to the US, to Italy, even to Australia and China - mostly business related traveling in first class because his father insisted on that-, he just couldn’t get used to the dry air and the constant noise of the machine. He vividly remembered being scolded for not trying to rest and being too tired for shootings after they had landed, but luckily Gorilla didn’t care, absorbed in his own little word, listening to his meditation podcast, while Adrien kept moving around in his seat trying to find a more comfortable position. He was tired of scrolling through the entertainment program on his screen and additionally, he started to feel cold.

Looking around in the dark, he tried to find anyone that was not asleep, another classmate to talk to, but all the lights were out and he could hear snoring all around. I should have stayed in Paris, he thought guiltily, I should have convinced my father to let me stay. But how? Another voice in his hand, that suspiciously sounded like Plagg, replied. If Ladybug ever finds out, she would be so mad at him. Putting his head in his hands Adrien felt terribly alone, wishing once again his partner knew his real identity so he could explain to her why everything was so complicated at times.

„You’re here for Marinette and your friends too, remember“ The little whisper in his pocket really came from Plagg this time.

„Sorry, did I wake you up?“

„Sleeping with you is like being on the Titanic. And trust me I would know, because I was there! Do you ever sit still?“

„My leg has fallen asleep“

„I have never heard that human body parts sleep separately…“

„It’s just a saying Plagg“

„Well, then here’s another one. Stop worrying so much! Your friends are happy you came“

„You just want cheese and you know it“

„Sure. I live in France to go for cheese to the United States…“

„But you said-…“

„I want you to have some fun, kid, just relax!“

„I can’t“ Adrien gave back, tiredly. Finally giving up on trying, he stood up and started walking back and forth between the rows. The sun hadn’t risen yet and there were still hours to fly. Yay.

Suddenly he saw someone getting up a few rows in front of him. The person was stretching and didn’t seem to be headed to the bathroom or elsewhere. As he approached, he could already tell who it was. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, already not feeling that abandoned as he had a minute before. Maybe he could talk to her? He just had to be careful not to startle her.

„Hey, Marinette“ he called out quietly.

„Hi? Oh…WOAH…I mean, hi Adrien!“ Marinette nearly stumbled as she turned around quickly, her elbow accidentally making contact with her seat neighbor. Her face had turned the color of deep red, but luckily in the dark, no one noticed. „What are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice that you came, it’s not that I don’t want you here, I just-„

„I couldn’t sleep“ Adrien gently interrupted her nervous rambling. „Why are you up? You’re not feeling air sick, do you?“ He remembered her mentioning this earlier, but Marinette seemed confused.

„Me? Oh…no, it’s a…calm flight“

„I’m glad to hear that“

For a moment there just stood next to each other in silence and Adrien wondered if she wanted to sit down again and didn’t do so out of courtesy. „Well, if you would like to sleep some more…“, he started, but didn’t finish because she shook her head.

„No, at least not here, our principal is snoring like a champion.“

Adrien chuckled at this.

„Oh..Adrien?“ He nodded, wondering why she suddenly sounded concerned. „Sorry, but are you feeling air sick?“ She felt stupid for not asking – he always was so caring, complimenting her and asking how she was doing. Maybe he had walked here not to chat, but to consult one of their teachers which were sitting next to her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Next, she almost flinched away before she realized he had put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

„Ah non. Thank you for asking. I’m used to flying, I just don’t like it. It’s loud and stuffed…I know, I sound like a spoiled child“ He chuckled again,making her heart flutter. „Normally, I fly in first class. I’m more chatty when I get tired.“

„Do you want me to come with you? I mean …sit next to you?“ Wait, did she really just asked him that?!

„That would be great.“

„Let’s go“ Wow, Marinette congratulated herself, maybe it was because she couldn’t really see Adrien’s face and his beautiful, wonderful green eyes in the dark or because she also was exhausted, but she was sure that these were the first coherent sentences she had spoken to him recently. And now he was holding…her hand!

„I will lead you, be careful, there’s a lot of backpacks and jackets lying around“ he told her and she couldn’t disagree with that logic. Nope, it made perfect sense...

As they reached the seats, Adrien sat down first and this time she joined him without any hesitation. „I still can’t believe you convinced my dad to let me come“ Adien started, making her blush.

„Yeah, me neither. But I guess, he realized how important it was to us“

„Oui“ He sounded happier now. „Do you want to play a game?“

„Huh?“

Adrien turned on his screen again. „There’s not a huge selection but there are some quiz games on here…alone it’s boring, but maybe it’s more fun playing together“

„Yes“

Marinette had no clue what he was talking about, but a few minutes later they both tried to answer questions of different categories as quickly as possible.

„Wow, I’m dumb“ Adrien said after the first round. „I have only 4/10 correct answers in the geography section“

„Geography is hard“ she reassured him.

„But I selected France, Paris as the main category“ And then she laughed and he laughed too.

„Well, Monsieur Agreste“ she teased him, again surprised about her sudden boldness, „I guess you have no clue where you’re living“

„True, I have not seen so much of Paris after all, haven’t I? If there was a category „My room“ I would win for sure!“ He kept on laughing, but Marinette realized she needed to change the subject.

„Let’s play this word game…it’s in English though“ „Fine, we should practice anyway“

It turned out Marinette excelled in this game and nearly found all the hidden words. „Can you find another one…one is still missing?“ As he didn’t answer, she turned towards him, realizing he was about to fall asleep, his eyes closed and him leaning back into his seat. „Okay... good night, Adrien“

She smiled and thought about getting up but just then the boy unconsciously moved his leg in front of hers. It’s not so bad, being small after all, she thought. All the tall boys had to be much more uncomfortable in the small space than she was. If she got up now, there was a chance she would wake him up. „Mari…?“ Speaking of which…

“Adrien?“ He didn’t seem to be fully awake, murmuring something unintelligibly.

"What?“

„Stay“

Oh…my…

“Please“ he whispered and she felt his weight against her side. He wasn’t heavy and apparently longing for contact, instead of actually falling asleep on her. His little „please“ moved something inside her and she placed his hand on his arm.

„Shh…“

She couldn’t think too much about this, she realized.Therefore she closed her eyes as well, leaning into him as if to hide away from all her fear, her awkwardness and no matter how little sense that made, it worked. Adrien rested his chin on her head, her ear close to his chest, so that she now heard his steady and slow breathing. He felt so much better and warmer with Marinette in his arms.

The motor noises were still just as loud and the air just as dry, but there were by themselves in their little world, blocking out everything around them.

The little timer for the game on the screen showed 0:00 seconds and the score was displayed „You found 9/10 hidden words“ it read. The 10th word is „solace“.” Then after a few moments the screen got dark automatically, because no one had restarted the game.

Adrien shifted in his seat, pulling Marinette closer to him, sighing contently as he felt her wrapping her arms around his waist.

At the same moment, in a different time zone, the sun started rising in Paris.

And Adrien Agreste was finally asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! I’m always happy about reviews, here some little things that didn’t make it into the story:

- Marinette sitting on Adrien’s chocolate bar he placed on the seat next to him instead of eating it

- Plagg nearly getting stuck in the ventilation (a drama, really)

- Adrien and Mari sharing headphones to listen to music on the plane (classic to fall asleep or Jagged Stone to have themselves their own little party, your choice)

I hope you like this little story =)

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrinette #miraculous new york special #new york special #miraculous spoilers #miraculous fanfic #adrinette fanfic #adrinette fluff #ML spoilers

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yandere-sins · 4 years

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Follower

Yantober List! Feel free to participate at any point :3

»»———————————— ♡ ————————————««

Even if the rest of the world would had told him that he can’t just follow you everywhere, it would have been likely for Rhys to ignore this advice. It wasn’t bad, it didn’t cause harm. So why stop? Even if it started so innocently - him tearing away from his current conversation, when he saw you out of the corner of his eyes, talking to your friends, so he could join your conversation casually - it very clearly became an issue in your eyes quickly.

Everyone else seemed to be oblivious to his behavior. “Maybe he likes you?” one of your friends suggested as you conveyed your worries to her. “He probably just comes over to get to know you better,” another one followed up. There wasn’t really anything you could say to them without sounding rude or hysteric now, could you? Perhaps, Rhys really was crushing on you, and you completely misunderstood him, but at the same time, you just couldn’t bring yourself to trust him.

Something about him… was weird. It was hard to pinpoint, really. Rhys was friendly, funny, clever. He had plenty of words on every topic, and he helped you and your friends study or lend out his clothes. It could have been acceptable to be friends with him, talk with him, hang out. But all you felt when he looked at you was this weird suspicion that something was wrong with him.

He’d clutch tightly onto a book that you would lend him, and then not return said book for more than a month. At the same time, he was almost insistent to always stand next to you when you two met, and his shoulder would bump into yours more than just on accident. Maybe you were just uncomfortable and wary, but you could have sworn that your fingers locked with each other as you two shared a bucket of popcorn in the cinema.

There were many, many little things that happened with Rhys, and the number of times you’d bump into each other on the street or when grocery shopping just didn’t make any sense to you. You’d been to his place before. He lived on the other end of the bus route from yours. There was no way he’d just happen to shop at your supermarket every day, right?

“You’re interpreting too much into it,” Alex said, as you two made your way back home. You had pleaded with him to accompany you home, or else Rhys would probably have done it. “Maybe he moved? We can’t know, he’s not talking about himself that much.”

To hear these words out of Alex’s mouth felt like a backstab you didn’t expect. It had been years now that you two were best friends, and it felt just like yesterday that your mothers put you together in your crib, already influencing this friendship. If anyone should have understood you, it should have been him, right?

Even if you pondered long and hard about these mixed feelings of betrayal and frustration, your thinking was harshly interrupted as you heard Alex exclaim loudly, “Hah, man of the hour!” next to you. You lifted your eyes from the concrete street before you, the sun blinding you and making you blink until Alex passed you, blocking the light. Hand in the air, ready for a handshake, and laughing loudly, he approached your worst fear.

From behind Alex’s shoulder, you met Rhys’s familiar, citrine eyes, that you knew too well. They didn’t even waver to look at your best friend for a second, always just staring at you while his lips had an absentminded conversation with Alex. It was so surreal, knowing that something was wrong with this guy, while at the same time, everyone else didn’t notice a thing. The two exchanged pleasantries and even joked around before you stepped up to them.

At least now, you expected Alex to notice the change in behavior as Rhys just let the conversation fall into nothing, all his attention on you as he smiled at you much more sincerely than at Alex. As if he was pleased to encounter you. “Hey, [Name],” he greeted you casually as if you two were close.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, unnerved by his constant stare, the infatuated gaze he threw at you. “I went to the bookstore. Are you on your way home?”

“Why does that even concern you?” you hissed back. His expression never faltered as you glowered back at him. Seconds passed by before he cocked his head to the side, humming in contemplation. “I wonder?”

Alex must have seen it in your face that you were about to jump this guy for giving such a stupid answer despite you obviously knowing that he knew exactly what he was doing. He put his hand on your shoulder, whispering a quiet, “Keep calm,” into your direction, and you hesitantly turned to walk away. Not without another good glare into the visage of the man that was ringing all your alarm bells. You heard the two exchanging goodbyes behind your back, before Alex sprinted up to you again, giving your shoulder a friendly push.

“What was that? I’ve never seen you so feisty before.”

“I just really don’t like this guy, okay?” you grumbled back, and Alex sighed, shaking his head.

Lucky for Rhys, you didn’t think about looking back at him, staring so longingly at your back while there were daggers in his gaze for Alex. You didn’t see the lovesickness in his eyes as his heart dismayed over the closeness you two had, something he wasn’t allowed to have with you. All you received was an earful of how nice Rhys was, and that you should give him a chance, while Rhys thought about the way your hand would fit so nicely into his when you two would go home together instead.

Saying goodbye to Alex left a bitter taste on your mouth, knowing your best friend wasn’t as concerned about what was happening to you as you were. Frustrated and sad, you went up to your room, hitting your head into your pillow and remained there for the rest of the night, blissfully unaware of the young man standing in front of your front door. Like a dog, desperate to get in.

But this night, Rhys couldn’t spend his sweet time soaking in the thoughts of how it would be if he got inside, cuddled up to you, with you in his arms. This night, there was someone else he had to follow.

No one would have thought that the new day’s first news was that Alex got drunk last night with some friends and accidentally stumbled in front of a moving car. But when you were finally allowed to see him in his hospital bed, bandaged from head to toe with various machines around him trying to keep you alive, everyone could understand that you’d break down crying. He meant more to you than any other friend you had, even if you sometimes disagreed.

You could barely bring yourself to care when the door to the room flew open behind you, but for some reason, your body still reacted, even while in shock. Rhys looked… distraught. He was sweating, his clothes washed out and old. You had never seen him so imperfect before. He almost looked like he was real this time and not some creep that gave you goosebumps. He was just average, no trying too hard, no fake expression on his face. Just Rhys.

The two of you just stared at each other, and you could see the hurt in his face as he eventually looked at Alex behind you. Maybe he was crying, you couldn’t tell, but the next thing you knew, he was holding you tightly, and you leaned into him without the strength to push him away. He was shaking, and so were you, but you merely clawed your hands into the hoodie he was wearing, hoping that maybe, this was just another part of a bizarre nightmare you were experiencing.

That was the only time you ever really felt anything despite wariness for Rhys. You were almost glad that he was there, holding you, rubbing your back. Had the two of them always been this close that Rhys was allowed to visit Alex like this? To be the one consoling you? Perhaps you really had thought too poorly about him when actually, he was a great guy, someone even Alex liked enough for them to get close with each other. But it didn’t matter, as of that moment, you were just glad not to be alone.

Rhys was just so happy that he had you all to himself now, he could barely contain his excitement as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, embracing him back in your desperation. You were so warm and soft, and though you didn’t shower this morning as he was aware, you smelled just like he always thought you would. Right then and there, it seemed like he had finally made the jump from ‘follower’ to ‘friend’.

And he wanted to become so much more than that, no matter what it took to get there.

Continue

#yandere #yandere writing #yandere scenarios #yandere oneshot #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yantober #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x oc #yandere oc #yandere prompts #Rhys #Rhys Aspen

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