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flowesona · 4 years ago

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Wicker Man - yandere! jungkook x reader

so my child @babeejk wanted a y! sugar daddy jungkook, and i live for nothing if not to fulfil her jungkook obsession so here we are.

word count: 2.1k

pairing: y! jungkook x gn! reader

Most people (Y/N)’s age would spend their Friday night partying, hanging out with friends, trying new things. But (Y/N) was spending the best days of their life entertaining a young, rich CEO who would no doubt dump them for a new pretty face in a few years.

Jungkook was a sweet gentleman. Always made payments on time, and usually never pushed the boundaries. But there were instances where his hands crept a little too far for (Y/N)’s liking, or his grip on (Y/N)’s arm got a little too tight in the presence of his friends.

He was peaceful enough that Friday night, having ordered takeout for the two of them and put on a movie. Clearly, he needed the company of (Y/N) more than their body as most of their previous sugar daddies had coveted.

With (Y/N) placing their plate down onto the coffee table and relaxing into his arms to watch the movie, it was almost like they were dating. Jungkook didn’t dare push this idea often, happy to stick to the simple domesticity they had as if they were already in love and nothing needed to be said.

He pressed a kiss on the back of (Y/N)’s neck, enjoying the fleeting feeling of his lips on their skin.

“You seem tired, baby. Want to go to bed?” The film was reaching its climax, but (Y/N)’s eyes were barely able to stay open.

“Mmmmm.” They replied, not protesting as he lifted them like a bride and carried them into his room to rest on his king sized bed.

(Y/N) had allowed a gentle smile to settle on their lips, their eyes having drifted closed. Jungkook settled himself beside them, feeling equally as at peace.

“I wish every night could be like this.” He mused allowed. “Would you like that, baby?��

(Y/N) was only his for two nights a week - Fridays and Saturdays, wherein he would often have them stay for the night.

“Mmmmm.” (Y/N) gave an ambiguous grumble as he hooked his arms around their chest to spoon them.

“Really? I can’t wait, baby. I love you, so much.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The morning after, (Y/N) woke up to an empty bed. Unusual, considering that Jungkook loved to wake up beside them and talk in the morning. Brushing that aside they stood up and padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Jungkook was seated at the counter, glasses perched on his nose and his laptop in front of him next to a steaming cup of hot water (allegedly, it had health benefits but (Y/N) had never understood it).

“Good morning, baby.” Jungkook had a bright smile, beckoning them to join him at the counter. (Y/N) followed his instructions, hopping onto the stool beside him and leaning on his shoulder in a move they knew he adored.

“I’ve been working hard for you this morning, baby. You know, I want to get this done as soon as possible so we can be together.”

“That’s good.” (Y/N) hummed in reply.

“How do you feel about the moving company getting there at two today? That’ll give us time to have lunch on the way.” Jungkook ran his hand down their arm, soothing them as he noticed how they tensed up.

“What?”

“So you can move in, baby. Of course, you don’t have to bring everything here and I’ll be more than happy to buy anything extra you need-”

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” (Y/N) breathed out slowly. “Moving in?”

“We talked about it last night. You agreed, didn’t you?” (Y/N) scrunched up their nose, trying to recall the conversation but drawing a blank.

“No, I never agreed to that. And I never would. It’d break the terms of our contract.”

Jungkook had such a sincere look of hurt in his eyes that it tugged at (Y/N)’s heartstrings.

“We don’t need that contract, baby. We just need each other. You know I’ll give you anything you want, right?”

“And what I want… no, what I need… is for some space. This is just my part time hustle, I still have college and a life outside of this. I want to keep it to two days a week, otherwise it’ll blur the lines between you as a sugar daddy and you as a boyfriend.” (Y/N) tried not to let their irritation show as they spoke.

“Fuck the lines, (Y/N)! We don’t need any of those labels, I just want you to be mine as much as I am yours!” Their companion’s grip on their arm had grown tighter to the point that his nails started to draw blood. Realising this, (Y/N) pried his hand away and stood up.

“I’m sorry if I’d misled you. But I’m not looking for that kind of relationship with you, I’m just looking for strictly business. If this doesn’t work, maybe we should end this.”

Jungkook stared at them incredulously.

“Well…” He bit his lip, deep in thought. “Fine. Life will go on, I guess. I’ll call up the moving company and cancel it. Let’s not end this beautiful thing we have over a silly argument.”

(Y/N) nodded, although they had a horrible feeling in their stomach that it was not the end of the conversation, and Jungkook would stop at nothing to get his way.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

(Y/N) had chosen to make Thursday a ‘me’ day. They cooked themselves breakfast and lunch, did some online shopping and applied a face mask. They had zero intentions of visiting anyone else, when all they wanted to do was de-stress from life.

As they were lighting a candle and listening to some Beethoven, a shrill alarm rang out.

‘Huh. They don’t normally hold the drill today.’ (Y/N) shrugged, waiting for it to cease. However, it didn’t stop.

After a few minutes, (Y/N) grabbed their phone and stepped outside, only to see people hurrying down the stairs.

“Hurry! Fire!” One of her neighbours yelled, jogging past them.

Their eyes widened, but sure enough they could see smoke curling throughout the air and they knew they had no time to lose. Leaving their apartment with only their phone in hand, (Y/N) followed their neighbours down the stairs and out of the building, standing on the pavement as they watched the flames licking at the building and smoke billowing out of the open windows. Soon enough there were fire engines on the scene and ambulances to deal with the people who’d inhaled too much smoke.

(Y/N) found themselves sitting on the pavement, numb with shock. To think everything they owned was going up in the flames was terrifying, even as they saw the firefighters doing everything to minimise the damage.

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Their state of shock was broken by someone yelling their name, and suddenly they were pulled into a tight hug.

“Baby, thank god you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you.”

“Jungkook?” (Y/N) instantly recognised the voice. “What- How-”

“I was in the area when I heard about what happened. I came as quickly as I could.” Jungkook pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead.

“You need to rest. Come back to my place, okay?”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

(Y/N) had ended up staying there far longer than intended. Their apartment had been completely wrecked by the fire, since it had started on their floor. Every possession of theirs, gone so quickly, although of course Jungkook insisted on replacing whatever they wanted.

Jungkook seemed to be very much content with their prolonged stay. In fact, he’d been working from home for the first few days to make sure they were settled in and not feeling too lonely. (Y/N) would sit with him in his home office, since they didn’t really have much else to do, and scroll on their phone until he inevitably called them over to cuddle with him.

The young man had become progressively bolder with his skinship, never holding back from pressing kisses to their neck or holding them a bit too tightly to his crotch. They hadn’t done ‘it’ yet, but with how he was acting it was only a matter of time.

They were just sitting together, (Y/N) scrolling through instagram and Jungkook answering some emails when the desk phone rang. Jungkook reached around them to answer it, holding it to his ear for a few seconds before putting it back down.

“Your nintendo switch has just been delivered. I need to go down to the lobby and sign for it. Are you okay waiting here for a few minutes?” Jungkook pouted, as (Y/N) nodded in reply.

He pressed a kiss to their cheek before standing up.

“Don’t miss me too much, baby.” He smiled before leaving.

(Y/N) let out a breath they didn’t realise they’d been holding in whilst he was there. But now, they were bored as ever.

A chime rang out, and (Y/N) found their attention drawn to Jungkook’s phone, sitting there innocently. They reached over and picked it up, only seeing a text from his mother asking about dinner plans next week. But they noted how he’d changed his lockscreen to a picture of them, from a few nights ago when they’d accompanied him to a formal event and he’d asked one of his colleagues to take a picture of them together.

(Y/N) suddenly had something to do. They set about trying to unlock Jungkook’s phone, first trying their fingerprint and face ID but to no avail. Then, realising that he had a numeral password they tried typing in a few dates - his birthday, his parent’s anniversary. Then, out of sheer boredom and with only one attempt they tried their own birthday only for them to be granted access to his lockscreen.

‘Jeez, he needs to get a life if he’s that whipped for me.’ They sighed, as they scrolled through his phone. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary, until they checked the photo gallery, to be met with tons of pictures of them. Screenshots from social media, snaps from their ‘dates’, selfies with them fast asleep in his arms. It was enough to make (Y/N) shudder with fright.

Another message popped up.

‘I need the other half of the payment, sir, or I will be contacting the police.’

(Y/N) clicked on it, expecting business talk only to be met with something else entirely. Fear settled in their stomach as they scrolled up through the messages.

‘(Y/N) has been evacuated outside, doesn’t seem to have been hurt.’

‘Someone’s called emergency services, but the fire should spread far enough that (Y/N)’s apartment will be damaged.’

‘I’ve started it, it’s spreading quickly.’

It didn’t take a genius to realise what had happened.

(Y/N) dropped Jungkook’s phone on the floor in shock, standing up immediately. They’d walked right into his arms without hesitation, they’d played into his plan perfectly. Jungkook always got what he wanted, no matter the cost.

‘I have to get out of here.’

(Y/N) started for the door, only stopping to tuck their phone into their pocket. They were just by the entrance to the penthouse when they heard talking outside.

They knew they had to hide, but it was too late.

Jungkook burst through the door, accompanied by a stern faced delivery driver carrying a large box. This was subsequently placed by the door and he made a swift exit, avoiding (Y/N)’s existence the entire time.

“Ah, baby I missed you. Here, come and see what I bought for you.” Jungkook beckoned to them, but one look at their face told him he’d read their mood entirely wrong.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He cooed as he approached them. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it for you.”

“Get the hell away from me.” (Y/N) snapped. Jungkook froze. “I know what you did. What the hell is wrong with you? I could’ve died in that fire?”

His face became stern.

“I would never have allowed that to happen. I just wanted to give you a little push to move in with me, that’s all.”

“You’re insane!”

“And you’re too stubborn to progress our relationship!” Jungkook bit back. “Can’t you see how hard I try to make you happy? Is that not enough for you to love me?”

“I never want to see you again.” (Y/N) huffed, trying to show past him only to be caught in his iron grip.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

(Y/N) struggled, but Jungkook’s determination was stronger than their body weight.

“Maybe I am crazy, baby. And you know what that means?” He leant in close, so (Y/N) could feel the warmth of his breath. “You never know what I’m going to do next. So don’t try me unless you want to get burnt.”

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #bts yandere #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jeon jeongguk #yandere jeongguk x reader #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #yandere x reader #yandere oneshot

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cuziloveyou7 · 3 years ago

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Festering feelings

Pairing: Bokuto Kōtarō x gn!reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, anxiety and panic attacks. Also kind of mentioning eating disorder?

A/n: I know I said I don't like angst and stuff, but since I'm a walking angst piece right now... here ya go! I did it! Someone help me out bc idk how to do tw! If I missed something please tell me! Also please bare in mind that this is my first real fic after not having written anything for 7 years.

This is not proof read, I made this around 1.30am bc I had an idea.......

It was slow, very slow, yet very fast. The first thing that happened was just build up tension. You were mad, frustrated. You needed to vent but didn't want to bother anyone. You would usually confide in Bokuto but he was so busy. The Olympics were coming up and he was training so hard. Each time he came home he was even more tired than the day before and the day before that. So you just did what you always do, suck it up and keep your mouth shut.

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You were slipping. You felt it gradually happening. Not like the times before, when for the most part you didn't know what was happening. No this time you knew.

A week. That's all you could handle. Slipping up here and there, mentioning tiny details to your best friends. Until eventually you just wanted to scream on top of your lungs on the highest building you could find at that moment. Luckily one of your friends caught on and asked you out for a walk around the park.

The two of you talked for hours. Finally getting it off your chest. It felt like such a relief. You felt like the situation was under control again. Nothing wrong. A false alarm? Or maybe just in time before the damage was out of anyone control.

Another week passed. You absorbed yourself in work, house duties and watched some episodes of your favourite anime. You cherished the little time you could spend with Bokuto and loved the stories he would tell you about the team. Your best friend also checked in on you, because they were still worried about you even though you brushed them off saying all was well.

But that nasty tiny feeling inside you was still there. A little unconscious, but festering each day, oh so slowly.

It started with getting tired more often. You blamed it on work. But even on your days off, you would wake up feeling exhausted. You would be so drained even when you did nothing but watch TV or play games to pass the time.

The next thing that happened made you more aware of your situation. Your friend asked you to go out for a walk again. You guys talked, gave an update on what was bothering you but switched the topic to an update about your friend's life. While they were telling you about their life you noticed you weren't exactly paying attention. Your mind wandering off to nowhere, zoning out of the conversation. You felt bad. Your friend had been there for you, listening to all your problems and yet here you were not really paying attention to them.

The same goes for Bokuto. He would come home, ask you how your day was and continue with telling you about his. As much as you loved his stories about the antics of Hinata and Kageyama or the other players, you actually couldn't be bothered in the least. Responding with a 'really?', 'Oh yeah...', 'that's nice'.

Next came closing yourself off. You just wanted everything to get over with. Counting the minutes down for when you could finally go home from work and curl yourself in a blanket on the couch. When Bokuto came home you would usually be "too absorbed" in whatever was playing on the TV or you would already be in bed, blaming it on work or just being tired.

You started losing interest in all the things you liked. You couldn't occupy yourself anymore. The days became longer and longer. You started losing your appetite. Only eating when your body basically screamed for nutrition and even then you would sometimes ignore your own body's scream for food.

At some point, you were just so done. Not caring to force a smile on your face anymore. Plain up ignoring your friends when they texted you. And when Bokuto would come home. The lights would already be out and you would lay in bed with the covers over your head and your back facing him.

Usually, Bokuto picks up very fast on your moods and emotions. Having gone through his well famous emo modes when he was younger. The two of you were always open and honest with your feelings and emotion towards each other. It was something you guys as a couple prided yourselves on.

It was also something you especially needed. Having gone through horrible panic attacks, anxiety and depression. Talking yourself down was/is also something your very good at. And Bokuto picked up on that very quickly when you just started dating.

To some Bokuto seems very carefree and not aware of his surroundings. But in actuality, he's very emotionally intelligent. So he struck up a conversation you would've never guessed you'd have on one of your many dates. Bokuto eased you into it, told you about his emo modes and made you comfortable enough to let you open up about your experiences. This actually helped you go past the blockade that was stopping you from making this relationship official.

But with Bokuto training for the upcoming Olympics and him being away from home more often than not, it was easier to go unnoticed for him and easier for you to slip and fall into a deeper depression.

After weeks of walking around like a zombie, you finally broke down. You had a day off. When you woke up Bokuto was already gone. He texted you later that day saying he would sleep at the training centre because training would go on longer than normal.

It had been a beautiful day, the weather was nice, the sun had been shining, the warmth of summer started to peek through. It would have made you giddy had it not been for the nasty pest growing bigger and bigger inside you. When dusk came you felt it bubbling up. You tried really hard to ignore it. Tried to soothe it with some episodes of your comfort anime. Tried to pick yourself up and pamper yourself with some extra steps in your skincare routine but it was all in vain. Once you stepped inside your shared bedroom you felt the tears trickling down your face. Through your tears you searched for your earbuds, plugging them in and searching for the best sad songs playlist you could find. Shutting off the lights as you lay down in the middle of the bed.

At first, you just lay there, looking up at the ceiling, silent tears streaming down your temple, past your ears into your hair. You felt the tears slowly make their way past your scalp until they finally touched the soft pillow behind your head. You turned your head getting uncomfortable from the feeling of your tears. The pillow your head lay on smelled like him, it's smelled like everything you loved, comforted, his favourite shower gel, a hint of sweat, it smelled like warm sunbeams on an early summer morning, it smelled nice. This made you break down in sobs, which became louder the longer you went on. You stuffed your face in his pillow, threw the covers around you, trying to silence your sobs and screams. They were too loud for you, agonising pain shot through you. You felt alone. Spiralling deeper into a dark hole that was your mind.

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When Bokuto stepped inside your shared apartment he tried to be as silent as he could. The lights were out, a sign that you would probably be asleep already. While trying to get his shoes off Bokuto debated whether or not he should wake you up. He noticed you being unusually tired and sleeping earlier than you normally would. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall, 9.04 pm. A soft smile crossed his features. Maybe he was a bit selfish but he decided to wake you and tell you about his surprise day off coach gave the team. Shuffling around in the dark apartment trying not to bump into any furniture he neared the bedroom door.

The smile Bokuto had on his face disappeared in an instance. His heart dropped when he heard your muffled sobs. You sounded tired. As if you had been crying for a while now. Bokuto rested his head against the door, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white. How could he not have noticed it before? Sure he was busy, but he always noticed when you started feeling down. Was he not paying attention to you? Had he been too absorbed in his own world? Why didn't you tell him anything? You guys told each other everything. What got you down like this so bad you wouldn't open up to anyone, not even him. But most of all, he was angry, angry at himself for letting it get this far.

But right now that wasn't important. What's most important is you. Without further hesitation Bokuto softly opened the door and stepped towards the bundled up form on the bed.

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You felt a cold rush of the air when your blankets lifted up from you. Goosebumps made their way onto your skin. But it wasn't long before you felt a comfortable warmth surround you. Nothing like the suffocating warmth from your blankets. Two strong arms held your body. You didn't have to look up to see who the arms belonged to.

No words were spoken between the two of you. You started sobbing a little louder again until you felt the soft vibrations of Bokuto humming. Taking your earbuds out you looked up at the man 'Kou..' you sniffle softly, but before you could continue Bokuto laid your head back on his chest and started petting your head 'It's okay now. I'm here. Let's just stay like this okay? We'll talk tomorrow' he gave your head a soft kiss before continuing humming again.

Tired from all the crying combined with the soft vibrations coming from Bokuto humming you closed your eyes. Your worries drifted away, tomorrow was another day. You would tell Bokuto everything. But for now, you felt content, safe in his arms. The bad feelings slowly subsiding for at this moment, he was your light, he was the warmth you were desperately searching for, he is your home.

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years ago

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SECRET LOVE

Pairing: DBH!Connor X OC!Character

Words: 3.636

Warnings: smut, dominance (nothing too heavy), slightly rough Connor

Summary: Kat is a detective of the DPD and secretly dating one of her colleagues for a few weeks. After a long day, the only thing she is yearning for is a nice evening with her boyfriend to forget about all the idiots in the world. But sometimes ‘nice’ is not the wanted thing.

02. January 2039

05:26:07 PM

… and the only thing Kat wanted was a coffee, a hot shower, pizza and maybe watching a movie… But instead she pushed a junky around she had arrested thirty minutes ago as he was dealing nearby an elementary school.

The junky grunted as he stumbled forward, a bit clumsy on his feet, “Come on, sweetheart, be a bit more cautious with me. There is still a chance for the two of us to work out. I mean after everything we went through so far.”

“I don’t think so, asshole.”, Kat muttered and pushed the guy further through the department to put him finally into one of the detention cells. It was a pity that the cells had electrical doors nowadays, otherwise, she just could throw the key away.

“But darling-”

“Shut the fuck up and move.”, Kat spitted and pushed him around once again.

“You need help there, hon?”, Gavin asked with a lopsided smirk while he leant casually against his desk with crossed arms and legs.

Kat rolled with her eyes. That was another asshole she didn’t need right now. Not after such a long day. “No, thanks, I’m fine. There’s no need for you to get your hands dirty.”, Kat fired back.

“Oh, but Kat, I would love to get my hands dirty...with you. If you just could read my mind right now-”

“Then, I’m sure, I would puke straight into your ugly face.”, Kat hissed and was happy to reach the detention cell and to leave Gavin, the biggest asshole of the DPD, behind. Kat pushed the junky into the cell and closed the door with the scan of the palm of her hand.

“But, baby. You can’t leave me alone here. I’m afraid of the dark.”, the junky said with a disgusting smirk.

Kat closed her eyes, breathed in and counted to five to calm herself. She really needed the end of the work day or … her boyfriend.

“Hey, Chris! Where's Hank?”, Kat asked as she stopped by the abandoned desks of Hank and Connor. Neither the Lieutenant nor the android were around.

“They brought a suspect in ten minutes ago. I guess they’re still in the interrogation room.”, Chris answered and turned back to his own work. Kat considered if she should just wait til they were done or if she should visit them. She looked quickly around, her eyes fell on Gavin who spoke to a colleague. If he would see her sitting around alone, he would come over to her - the last thing she wanted.

So, Kat decided to sneak into the interrogation room. An officer sat at the desk and controlled the camera and the microphone. Hank sat next to him and observed the interrogation room through the one-way mirror. Kat closed the door softly but Hank noticed her nevertheless. He greeted her with a quick nod before he looked back ahead to his partner.

Kat knew about their latest case. An android had killed its owner and they had searched for it for a while. Since the successful revolution, these kinds of attacks were rare but they happened from time to time. Hank and Connor were still assigned to these cases and now, as they had found the suspect, it was Connor’s turn to question the android.

Connor wore still his grey jacket and his typical white suit shirt underneath but the android markings were gone. The blue band around his arm and the android label on his back were both removed. He was no longer property of CyberLife but he got used to the style of clothes, so he had decided to keep them. Even the black tie was still around his neck. Kat liked to watch the android no matter what he did.

That was one of the reasons why she had said yes as Connor had asked her out several weeks ago. He had been nervous as hell, Kat had seen it in his eyes and his insecure expression but she had said yes and till now, it was the best decision she had ever made when it came to men. To date an android was interesting and new. She had expected it to be more awkward but there was nothing that felt uncomfortable with him.

Connor was extremely nice, the complete difference to all her ex-boyfriends before. He acted as a real gentleman and treated her right. Always. Til this day, Kat didn’t regret getting into a relationship with Connor. But they kept it secretly to avoid any unwanted attention - mostly of Gavin who already had made it to his personal mission to torture Connor whenever he could. It is not for nothing that Kat always called him Detective 'douchebag' Reed.

Kat enjoyed watching Connor interview a suspect. She had seen it several times before but each time, she was amazed by his skill to get a confession. Sure, his analyzing program was helpful to find clues before the suspect even spoke a word but it was for his special ability to piece these information together in no time that made the difference.

"Is this the android who killed its owner? Have you found it finally?", Kat asked curiously. Hank nodded.

"At least, that's what the eye witnesses said. They saw it running away but it came back one night. Maybe Connor will get something out of it.", Hank explained and Kat was sure the android would be successful. She was glad that she came to the right moment.

Connor sat across the suspect, an MC500 model. An android for paramedic purposes. The victim had been a dealer, maybe there was a connection. But this one android was rigged up with dirty skin and clothes which were damaged. This model reminded Kat always of a Ken-like guy but this one seemed to be living on the street or it had experienced some bad times.

Connor considered the best approach. He considered a friendly way to gain his trust but the android in front of him seemed to have experienced a few rough things so, maybe, it wouldn't be impressed by kindness and wouldn't fall for it. The android's right arm was covered with deep scars which were glowing blue and even its chest seemed to be damaged, visible through the shrewd fabric. The best way would be a more aggressive one. Maybe if he would scare it, it would talk more easily.

Kat watched how Connor skimmed through the case file and the pictures with his long, slender fingers. She saw him stopping at some pictures, probably searching for the right way to start.

Several minutes passed before Connor looked at the handcuffed android. "What's your name?", Connor asked directly to start the interview slowly. His smooth voice sounded like honey and Kat was looking forward to seeing her boyfriend doing his job. After this rough day of chasing a junky through half of Detroit’s city, she needed some eye candy.

"So, you want to stay silent, huh?", Connor said and stood up more aggressively than necessary. With crossed arms, he walked around the table and towered above the other android. He looked down at it with a stern expression. His brows were drawn together and his brown eyes were gleaming darkly. Suddenly, Connor freed his hands and slammed them violently on the metal surface of the table. The booming sound echoed through the interrogation room and Kat jumped a little. Surprised, she watched how Connor lowered towards the android to be on the same level while he was still towering him.

"Just because androids aren't slaves anymore doesn't mean that you can run around and kill humans.", Connor grunted deeply. "You're accused of murder,", he said low but threatening, "Crimes like this will be punished. You hear me?", Connor asked, still very threatening.

With huge eyes, Kat watched how Connor grabbed the android by its collar to pull it up to his eye level.

"Do you hear me? I swear you will be sent back to CyberLife." he threatened. "They will switch you off and tear you apart piece by piece!", he screamed into the android's face. The android winced and shuddered. But Connor just tightened his grip on the fabric. "You're just a fucking murderer! A cold blooded piece of shit who killed an innocent human!", Connor spat poisonously and let the android drop back on its chair.

With an open mouth, Kat looked shocked at Connor who had cursed in front of her for the first time. He acted aggressive. He screamed. He became physical. She had never seen him like this before. Her mind was racing to process what she had seen and heard. His voice was dark, deep and demanding. He was dominant and the boss in this room who showed off his power. Kat was speechless and became… turned on.

"I… I don't want to be destroyed…", the android whispered weakly.

But Connor didn't seem to be impressed. Instead, he waited and stared down at the android unemotional. He waited a few more moments before he slammed his hands on the surface again. "I don't care what you want! The victim also didn't have a chance to decide if he wanted to die or not. You took that chance from him!", Connor said low but powerful.

This low voice shot goosebumps down Kat's spine.

"But just because he attacked me first!", the android screamed back desperately to explain himself and that was the breaking point. Connor sat back on his place across the android and listened to the confession. Hank was also listening but Kat had difficulties to follow the interrogation. Several times, she tried to concentrate but her mind was always drifting back to the demanding voice and rough behavior of Connor.

Kat felt that something rose inside her. She knew the hot feeling that rose deep in her core all too well. And she knew the reason behind that feeling: Connor. Connor had turned her on so much with his aggressive way that she wasn't able to concentrate anymore.

Kat sneaked out of the room. Neither Hank nor the officer had noticed her disappearance. In the hallway, she leant against the wall next to the door and stemmed her hands into her sides. She tried to calm her thoughts but intense pictures were running in front of her eyes and fueled her lust even more. Her mind was running wild.

Several minutes later, the door opened and awoke Kat from her trance. The officer left the room with the android and Hank by its side. Connor followed them. Kat grabbed Connor by his arm to pull him towards her.

"Oh, hey, Kat- what's wrong?", Connor asked, concerned as he saw Kat's dark eyes.

But she just dragged the puzzled Connor after her, down the hallway and slipped into the next available room.

"That's the male bathroom, Kat.", Connor explained softly but she pressed her hand over his mouth.

"I don't care.", Kat said low. She saw the confusion in Connor's eyes. "I saw you. During the interrogation. What was that?"

"What do you mean?", Connor asked with a raised brow.

"You were cursing! You were aggressive and dominant. I had no idea you could be like this!"

"It was a tactic to approach the suspe-", Connor explained matter of factly.

Kat stopped him from speaking once again. "I don't care, Connor. You turned me extremely on with this behavior and for ten minutes, I can't think of anything else than how you acted in this room.", Kat whispered low but heavy. Connor noticed her aroused manner. Slowly, Kat removed her hand from his mouth.

"So, you liked that, huh?", Connor asked low and straightened himself to his full height.

Kat nodded slowly with a lopsided smirk. She moved her hands up and down his chest but Connor reacted quickly.

He grabbed her wrists and pressed her against the door with his lower body while he shoved her hands above her head. "You like it rough, baby girl?", he asked with a deep voice and dark eyes. Connor watched how she gnawed on her lower lip while she was nodding. Connor lowered his head but stopped inches from her lips to tease her. Kat tried to escape his hands but he just tightened the grip. Only then, he crashed his lips on hers for a hungry kiss.

Kat moaned and arched her back to greet his chest with her breasts. Connor understood the hint and changed his grip around her hands. With one hand, he held both of her wrists while he stroked along her side with his right hand. Teasingly and very slowly, he slid his fingers down her ribcage to her hip. Then, he slipped underneath her shirt and stroked up to her chest. Kat's breath quickened as Connor reached her breast to squeeze it softly. Kat enjoyed it and let her head fall back against the door.

Connor took the chance and bit into her neck with the right amount of pressure to make her moan again.

"Connor…", she whispered raspy with closed eyes.

"Yes? What can I do for you?", he asked but his voice was filled with dominance.

"I- I need you…", she breathed low and Connor released her hands. Kat took the opportunity and dug her fingers into his soft hair. She looked into his eyes. A cheeky smirk played on his lips. Before Kat could say anything, Connor grabbed her ass, raised her up and brought her over to the sink to place her there on top. Kat snaked her legs around his waist, grabbed his tie and pulled him down to kiss him passionately. Both his hands worked his way up and down her body while Kat rolled her hips against him to increase the friction.

Connor dug his fingers into Kat's long, braided hair and pulled her head back to get a good spot on her neck. He kneaded her breast and played with her hardened nipple through the fabric which caused her to moan his name once again. He kissed up and down her neck before he bit down.

"Uh… not that strong…", Kat cried out but her voice was filled with pure lust.

"I just want to make sure that you know that you're mine. And only mine.", Connor whispered husky against her skin.

"I.. I'm just yours, Connor.", Kat admitted raspy.

"Well, that didn't sound very convincing.", Connor said and stepped back from Kat who was already a mess. Her hair was tousled, her lips were swollen and her clothes askew.

As she saw Connor stepping away from her, she was shocked. Kat jumped from the sink and stepped forward to reach him but Connor stepped back until she stopped.

"Turn around.", Connor commanded low. His eyes held an arrogant expression.

"W-what?", Kat asked, confused. She was overwhelmed by the situation. By his dominant way and his strong voice.

"I said, turn around!", he said, more demanding than before.

Kat followed his instructions. She turned around and stood in front of the mirror. She looked at herself and untied her hair because the braided tail was already disheveled. Connor closed up to her from behind. And Kat watched him through the mirror coming closer.

"Look at me!", Connor said deeply into Kat's left ear. Just his voice shot goosebumps down her spine and she shuddered, already filled with lust. Connor towered behind her and stroked over her hips to the button of her jeans to open it. He opened the zipper slowly to slip his right hand inside.

Kat's knees started to wobble as she felt Connor's hand slowly moving forward down her slip. As he touched it, Kat felt how soaked the fabric already was.

"Oh, you're really in this mood, aren't you, baby girl?", Connor whispered.

Kat nodded while she bit down on her lower lip. She squirmed against his chest the longer he teased her over the fabric. As Kat started to roll with her hips to grind her ass against him, Connor moved his hand underneath the fabric of the soaked slip. Kat cried out with relish as she felt Connor's fingers sliding between her folds. He stopped his moves and placed his other hand over her mouth.

"You have to be more quiet or someone will hear us. If you're too loud I fear I have to stop. Got it?", Connor asked and removed his hand slowly to move it down to her neck. His long fingers were laying softly around her throat. "Say it!", he demanded with his lips sliding on the outer rim of Kat's ear.

"I have to be more quiet. Please, continue…", Kat begged desperately what caused Connor to grin.

He waited a few more seconds and concentrated on Kat's rapid heartbeat and her erratic pulse caused by him. Her chest was moving uneven and she was shuddering against him. Very slowly, Connor slipped two of his fingers back into her. Kat's hot core was dripping wet and his fingers were covered in seconds. "You feel that?", Connor whispered as he pushed his fingers a bit deeper inside her.

"Y-yes…", Kat nodded and whimpered low to stay quiet.

Connor looked Kat in the eyes through the mirror. "That's me inside of you, Kat.", he said smirking and pushed deeper. "I know how much you love my hands on your body.", he said low and moved his left hand to her breast to knead it slowly. "And my fingers inside of you like this.", he continued and pumped into her again.

Each time he did that, Kat shuddered more and more. She felt her core tightening.

Connor noticed that she was close, so he removed his hand a bit to extend the moment. "Kat", Connor said to get her attention, "Tell me you're mine.", he demanded, breathing against her ear. She looked him straight in the brown eyes which were sparkling darkly.

"I-I'm yours…", Kat whispered low between two heavy breaths.

"I can't hear you. What did you say, baby girl?", Connor asked innocently. But his dark voice compared with the nickname gave her goosebumps again.

"I'm just yours, Connor.", Kat said more clearly.

"Exactly, you are just mine! No one else is allowed to touch you! Got it?", Connor said as a statement and Kat had to obey.

"I said: got it?", Connor asked again, smirking and slipped his hand back down her slip.

"Yes…", Kat breathed husky as she felt Connor's long, slender fingers deep inside of her.

"Repeat it! I want to hear it from your sweet lips.", Connor commanded and pumped rhythmically into her in the way Kat liked the most.

"I-I'm just yours. No one else is allowed to touch me…", Kat repeated breathless.

"Good, baby girl. Now, would you like me to finish you?", he whispered raspy into her ear. He looked Kat straight into her lust filled eyes with a devilish smirk.

"Yes, please. I- I can't take it anymore.", she begged and watched the lopsided smirk growing bigger on his lips.

Connor adjusted the position of his hand and rubbed along her clit while his fingers were pumping steadily into her.

Kat's breath fastened, she closed her eyes while she leant her head back against his chest.

"Fuck damnit, Connor...", Kat moaned raspy as he pumped to her climax.

"Kiss me!", Connor demanded.

Kat's mind was spinning but she managed to turn her head to the right.

Connor crashed his lips on hers in the same moment Kat cried out because of the orgasm washing over her. He continued his moves to intensify the feeling for her even more.

As she stopped being too loud, he left her lips and watched her amazed how she enjoyed her satisfaction with closed eyes.

Kat was still jerking as he removed his hand from her slowly. She leant against the sink to catch her breath. As she was slowly recovering, her heartbeat slowed down and she straightened herself to smooth her clothes.

"Was it good?", Connor asked and smirked as he watched Kat coming clear.

"You have outdone yourself, babe.", Kat said smiling but still a bit breathless. She walked over to her boyfriend and kissed him lovely while she flung her arms around his neck.

"I had no idea you could be like that."

"Yeah...but if I shall be honest, I would like to keep that in the interrogation room.", Connor admitted.

"Well...but from time to time…", Kat said with a wink and let the sentence unspoken.

Connor chuckled, cupped her chin to raise it so he could meet her lips for another sweet and caring kiss.

"I will see you at home?", Connor asked low. Kat looked into his soft brown eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm already looking forward to it.", Kat answered and checked her appearance in the mirror. She smoothed her hair one last time before she went to the door to step out. "Watch it, dipshit!", Kat snapped as she left the bathroom. She pushed Gavin aside who looked confused at her as he was about to enter the restroom.

"Wrong restroom, you idiot!", Gavin called out and shook his head. Kat's only response to him was showing her middle finger while she went into the kitchen for a coffee. Gavin was about to open the door to the restroom once again as the next person stepped out and almost crashed into him.

"Watch i-", Gavin started but stopped as he noticed Connor in front of him who fixed the knot of his tie while he walked through the door.

"Detective Reed.", Connor said politely with a nod and passed a speechless looking Gavin to go back to his desk.

"But- what the hell.", he muttered, confused before he entered the restroom finally.

#dbh connor #dbh #connor #detroit connor #connor dbh #detroid become human #detroit become human connor #detroit become human #dbh connor x reader #smut #smutday #rough #rk800connor #detroit become human rk800 #rk800 #connor rk800

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barzzal · 4 years ago

Text

close to you

summary: there’s nothing more excruciating than to lose someone you’ve never imagined losing. but what happens when they’ve already left right before you can even acknowledge them leaving? mathew is yet to find out.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: falling out and break ups

↳ genre: angst.

↳ length: imagine; 1.3k

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: close to you by rihanna (listen to this it’s all that there is really)

note: unsolicited barzy angst fic because i was sad and listening to rihanna, (plus you guys know how much i love angst) this is totally unplanned and written in the past hour so im sorry if there’s sum typos bc i didn’t proofread this :<< hope u still like!! feedbacks are very much appreciated! <3

You were slipping away and he knew it.

Mathew’s mind was running wild. His thoughts were coming in one after another and no matter how hard he tried to shut it out of his head — there it was again.

The cyclical pattern of his seemingly endless misery.

The thought of losing you.

Days with you were spent either in total silence, eating lunch with the television on in the hopes of drowning out the numbing noise that was now in every corner of the home you have built with Mathew; or you know, the mandatory screaming match you indulge yourselves with even over the smallest of things.

Things only escalated the more you try to talk about it. Neither of you really knew how and when it started. And neither felt the need to say a word.

All that you and Mathew did was to watch your years crumble before your own eyes. Years that got shattered with each night spent in an ice cold bed, backs facing each other, not bothering to say a word.

“What happened to us?” his voice crisp and clear even when whispering.

You feel his gaze and you begin to resent yourself for staying up so late. You see him in the corner of your eye, patiently waiting — silently pleading that you’d look his way.

You didn’t.

Instead, you close the book you were reading and take your glasses off. You sigh just as you put it on the bedside table. Mat does nothing but watch you silently, all whilst ignoring his chest growing all the more heavy each time you push him away.

You turn to him, still not meeting his eyes before you turn your night light off. You answer with a meek reply, “I’m tired, Mat.”

“Y/N.” he calls you once but it seems like it’s been hundreds of times for him. He wanted nothing else but to reach out to you — to hold you. Maybe then he’d feel less insecure. Maybe then he’d feel less afraid of facing the fact that you’re slowly fading away farther off his reach.

He knows you heard him but he doesn’t get a reply. And you know he’d be grateful to take on crumbs you’d be willing enough to spare. However, just like the other times he’s tried, your mind numbing quietude was all he had to hold onto.

You try to drift away faster into sleep for you did not want to spend the night hearing him pick out on almost every meaningless thing you’ve done for the past couple of weeks. You were just tired. Insanely tired. And Mat had very little, perhaps almost nothing to do with it. You were lost.

“Do you still love me?” you hear a catch in his throat that instantly tugged strings in your chest.

You fall silent, finding it hard to voice the words Mat had wanted to hear.

Do you still love him?

You didn’t know.

“Baby, please talk to me.” he pleads the longer he basks in your silence. Silence that Mat knew well enough to mean just one thing.

“Please.”

Finally, as if it was the nearest he’s gotten to a win, he sees you shift, turning to face him.

To say the least, you weren’t sure of how you feel towards Mathew. Being with him through all these years have been good, yes — but days weren’t always sunshine. It wasn’t always a calming afternoon walk holding each other’s hands, swaying it in the air, whilst you listen to birds chirping beautifully all year ‘round. Being with Mat came with its own sacrifices. Ones you cannot point out no matter how hard you tried and ones that just made him so hard to love.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur. You avert his gaze, keeping your eyes low on the sheets you’ve once shared wrapped around your naked bodies in search of warmth in each other’s embrace.

You never left Mat’s eyes because leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do. He hesitates to take a few strands that went astray to your face just so he could tuck it behind your ears like he always does. When you lean closer, nudging him to do just that, he feels a kindling fire in his chest. An all too familiar feeling he has deeply missed.

His touch did not make you want to pull away nor did it burn you like it used to. A sad smile creeps up his lips once you finally take the leap and look in his eyes.

“I know you are,” he says, clearing his throat. “And it’s okay. I understand.”

Mat wanted to. He truly does. He wanted to be selfish and just think about his own good. Letting you go wasn’t something he pictured doing because he knows that you know it has never crossed his mind.

Mat wanted to do everything against what willed his heart. But he knew too that letting you keep him at bay just to spare his feelings would do more damage than it could fix and he just couldn’t afford having to lose you twice. He could barely walk through this conversation now. Therefore he’s certainly sure he wouldn’t be able to handle losing you more than once.

“I think I need to figure out some things on my own.” you tell him earnestly. A thing that you’ve wanted to let out ever since coming home to Mathew felt more work than it’s worth.

“Are you gonna be gone for long?” he asks, voice thick and impending to break at any moment.

“I don’t know.” you answer with candor, an apologetic tone masking your words.

Nonetheless, no matter how much you did not want to spend the night breaking Mathew’s heart, he lets you rip one final bandage — exposing a long overdue wound that was without a doubt far from healing, “I won’t really know unless I try, right?”

“Okay.” he smiles, eyes softer than it ever was.

“I’ll be exactly where you left me.”

The night grows deeper as the two of you sink in what seems to be the hardest falling-out you’ve yet to go through. A break up that would definitely stick around Mathew’s end for he has never loved someone as much as he loved you. Perhaps, even more to put himself in the most selfless position he would willingly let himself into.

“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice low and on the brink of letting out a thick sob.

Mat takes your hand and entwines it with his. He holds you tight. He lets his forehead rest on yours, breathing out the pain that’s successfully wrenched his heart in seconds.

He pulls himself closer to you — pouring all he has left to give. Slowly, as he finally let himself pull away, he says, “We sleep.”

No matter how much you wanted to say your piece, you just could not find the words that fit. And so, you do the sanest thing you could give him, leaning closer to every bit of his touch as if the clock had only started ticking.

You see Mathew’s eyes glisten from the moonlight shining from across the room. If only you knew how bad you’re going to miss it. If only you’d appreciated it while you had the chance. If only you knew that the last thing Mat wanted was to see you right before he closed his eyes.

“Good night, y/n.” he says, still holding your hand close to his chest.

God, if you had only known those eyes will be gone the moment you open yours, you would’ve held onto his hand a bit longer. Long enough before he emptied his closet the morning after. Long enough before he had the chance to wipe out every single trace he’s left your apartment. Perhaps even long enough for you to change your mind.

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal angst #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #barzzal imagines #letters to barzy

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greenygreenland · 4 years ago

Text

Home: Lloyd Garmadon x Reader

-I LOVE ASKS. plz keep them coming, they make my day -i’m sorry i write slowly, I’m a perfectionist. -it’s also better to have quality over quantity, am I right? -takes place after Tournament of Elements but before Possessed

[REQUESTED BY ANON] Summary/ask: Maybe a reader with a "dark" power (like, not evil, but considered dark), and they were outcasted by it, everyone thinks they are bad and shit but they are just shy and insecure?

WARNING: MENTIONS OF VERBAL ABUSE (VERY BRIEF), BLOOD (BRIEF), INJURIES (ALSO BREIF), ETC.

Isolation. That was all you had ever known for the better half of your life. Most details were things you preferred to keep hidden away, locked up for good in that deep mind of yours.

You never had a whole family, but that was fine by you. Why should that matter when you had a father who loved and cared for you? Growing up, he always told you this: ‘Ninjago is so much more than our tiny home, my dear. Why should we worry about what we don’t have when there’s so much to discover?’

Even now, you held onto his words with your life. Even now when you forgot what his face looked like. Even now when you couldn’t remember his voice, or how warm his hugs were. Everything eventually faded, but not the emotions he made you feel.

Love, warmth, generosity.

Those were the only pieces of baggage you carried. Although heavy, they kept you from the evil strings of bitterness. You kept your chin up, high in the air so you could look to the sky. It was the limit after all, the portion of which you had to reach and reach until you couldn’t anymore. The only problem was getting there.

The alley was rather quiet today, a far cry from the usual bustling citizens looking for a shortcut or a food stand. You loved days like this, where no one would care to stare at you and whisper your name like it were a ball in a game. With your hood up, no one could see your face, and no one could cast you aside like the loner you were.

“What are you doing here?”

You wish you hadn’t heard his voice. As subtle as he tried to be, his snarky tone caused passing stragglers to glance at you. A sigh escapes your lips. What was he doing here? Didn’t he have anything better to do than follow you around and nag? You were cast aside as it was by your mother, forgotten by your so-called friends, and left behind by your ascended father.

He told you to stay away from that speedy idiot, the one your mother took away from you. The one who took after her with the same eyes, nose, and mouth. They had the same grin, too, the one where it looked like they thought they were better than you.

“If it isn’t Griffin Turner,” you grumble out. “What a pleasure.”

His stare isn’t friendly. You know under those red sunglasses that he’s glaring at you. He’s probably thinking about how much of a monster you are too, just like every other Elemental Master you ever faced in your life.

Griffin runs a hand over his oh-so-perfectly cut hairdo. “Oh don’t be a prick.” he spits out. “Have some respect for your older brother.” That grin doesn’t slide off his face no matter how dark your expression gets. He’s always been oblivious. First to your powers, then to your father’s death, and finally, to how terribly he’s been treating you.

It doesn’t matter that he’s your older brother. Bullying does not discriminate, and neither do you, blood ties or not. “Just leave me alone, I’m not in the mood Griffin.” He raises a brow. “Not in the mood? Since when did someone like you have feelings? You’re cold-hearted, just like your dad.”

You frown. “’Your dad’?” you echo. “What, so we’re only related when you choose?” Griffin shrugs absentmindedly. You know he’s trying to provoke you, get a reaction, but you just can’t help it. He was patronising you and your father.

“I’m just glad I lived with mum instead of dad.” he adds. “At least I don’t have to run after the garbage truck with a shopping list.” He snickers to himself and you go rigid. “Take that back.”

“What? Your last braincell?”

“Well--you--you’re a...” You pause. “At least I had someone who loved me and actually payed attention to me! Sure, I inherited dad’s elemental powers, but he taught me something you’ll never get: kindness. You think I don’t know? Look again you pathetic waste of space!” That wasn’t supposed to hit hard and you both knew it. Griffin could have said a million other insults that burned like the sun itself, yet somehow, with your puny words, you hit a nerve. A nerve that wasn’t supposed to be punched in the first place.

Griffin’s grin finally slides off his face. He stuffs a hand in his pocket and uses the other to adjust his bright sunglasses. He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically feel the air thicken between the empty distance. Griffin didn’t have lo self-esteem, but sometimes, his mum called him a waste of space. When you walked by the luxurious apartment, on days the kitchen window was left wide open, you heard what she’d say to Griffin--what she did to him.

Suddenly, you’re taken back to the age of six, when your parents were together and Griffin was more than your only brother. You were best friends. You did everything together. But then your father passed down his elemental powers to you, and it was then that everything changed.

Your father taught you that your powers were a gift passed down all the way from the days the First Spinjitzu Master lived among the people of Ninjago. It was a gift used to protect him when he was in need, a gift that possessed great power and majesty. Your elemental abilities had a double edge to it. Although beautiful, it possessed a great danger.

One slip-up was all it took. One mistake you never meant.

That day, you were practicing control and discipline over your powers. You never meant for it to happen, and if you could go back, you would a million times over. That day, all the control, all the mastery you had over your abilities disappeared in an instant. You swore it was only for a second, but it could have lasted a millennia.

Your element was more than a power. It was a living part of you with its own consciousness you couldn’t quite understand. When you slept, you saw him, the intangible person you never cared to learn the name of. He always sat in a plain of pure darkness, where you couldn’t touch or see him clearly.

You knew he never meant to frighten you, but that day, you only saw a monster. Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was him. You never knew because the moment you lost control, your world went black. From then on, your parents split. Your mother took Griffin away from you, and as time grew, so did the distance between you.

You wish you could change things starting from that day till now. Those forsaken words shouldn’t have left either of your mouths, but the damage had already been done. It cut too deep that not even magic could mend the wounds.

“Griffin I--”

“So that’s how it is.” A bitter laugh escapes his lips and you flinch like you’ve been struck. Griffin walks toward you at a painfully slow pace. The alleyway isn’t part of the city anymore. It’s a battlefield of honour, of pride, of two siblings who have been torn apart. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Here.”

The wad of cash presented to you between his fingers looks more like an insult than a gift. Was he trying to rub in your face how rich his mum was compared to your dead dad? Surely this wasn’t an olive branch to apologise for being a jerk for the past eleven years.

He stares at your incredulous expression and yanks your wrist forward, slapping the bills into your hand and forcing it into your sweater pocket. “Look, I’m not patronising you, okay? Just...go to your friend or whatever and don’t spend that on drugs. Your financial situation sucks, I get it.”

His tone is rather aggressive, but you know that speech pattern. The one where it’s soft and bashful because he’s embarrassed to be talking out loud like that--like an older brother. You run your fingers over the cash in your pocket and stare at Griffin. He looks the other way and begins marching past you, making sure to bump shoulders.

“Griffin, wait.” You make a grab for his arm but he’s already gone at the speed of light. “Thanks,” you whisper to yourself. “I guess.” You aren’t sure how long you stay in the dead alleyway, frozen in your own thoughts. But as soon as you’re ready to make your way to the park, the alleyway fades, the honking of the cars disappear, and you’re completely alone in a surge of darkness.

“That has got to be a least three hundred.”

You heave out a long sigh as the darkness parts. Robes drag across the floor like liquid gold, sparkling and shimmering like the sun. “Such a coward, your brother. He shouldn’t have run away like that.” The man is a living contradiction, much like you. Although he lived in a world of darkness, that never stopped light from blooming in his cold heart. He cared for you as much as he cared for your father and those before him.

The man adjusted the collar of his red robes, yanking the thick fabric into all the right shapes and places. His pale face was like a sheet of paper, but the calm smile made up for that and tinted his cheeks rose. “Here,” he said, waving his arm. The wad of cash drifted out of your pocket, mixing with the mist until it was all but a speck of light. It drifted into one of the man’s pockets, which he patted.

“Honestly,” he says, “could you be more inconspicuous? Someone down the street looked like he wanted to mug you.” You frown and the man huffs. “When you need the money, come back. I’ll keep it here.”

“Thank you.”

“Raijin.” he says. “Call me Raijin.”

The mist began swirling like a whirlpool, twisting and turning until your hood whacked you in the face. The alleyway materialised as soon as your feet hit the pavement. The honking of cars sliced through the air, bombarding your ears in the cityscape sounds. “First Spinjitzu Master...” you grumble, rubbing your ears.

“LOOK OUT!”

You whip around in bewilderment and flatten yourself against the brick wall. A group of four or five fruit-coloured boys fly from the fire escape above. If you hadn’t reacted quickly enough, then you’d be as much of a pancake as the blue one (he was under all of them).

“I’m--gonna--die! Get off me Cole!”

“I...I can’t when Zane’s heavier than a rock!”

“Kai, move your stupid leg!”

“Everyone stop arguing! Lloyd is unconscious!”

The last bit sent the group in a rush of shouting, scrambling, and shoving. You wanted to do something to help, but these boys were the ninja, students of Sensei Wu and partly, Garmadon. In the world of elemental masters, they were known as the OG, the ones who defeated the Great Devourer, Garmadon, and so many more.

The last time you saw them (together, that was) had to be half a year ago on Chen’s forsaken island. You almost died, but Lloyd saved you. He and his friends risked their lives to help everyone off that island. If thy hadn’t been there...

You glance at Lloyd. He lay on the pavement, faintly breathing and coughing as Zane wrapped gauze around his wrist. The blood smeared on his face sent your heart tumbling. Just what had they done this time?

“Hey!” you exclaim. The boys remove their hoods and turn to you. Kai knits his brows together. “Aren’t you--?”

“Do you want help or no?” you gruffly retort. Zane’s bright eyes don’t leave your cold expression as you look between all the ninja. Cole and Jay look uneasy about the offer, but to even the blind, it was clear they had no choice.

“Yes.” Zane says. “We would be grateful for your assistance, (Y/n).” You nod and motion for them to follow you out of the alleyway. Kai carefully lifts Lloyd off the ground and onto his back. “Thank you for your generous offer.”

“Don’t thank me until he’s well.” you quietly reply. As scary as it was inviting people to your tiny apartment, this was the ninja. You owed them this much for being Ninjago’s protectors for so long. “We’re taking the back route because I don’t want to attract unwanted attention. It’s clear you had a run-in, let’s not repeat that.”

Halfway down one of the quieter streets, you heard Jay whisper this, “I heard she’s evil. Are you sure we should trust her?”

You want to be offended, but getting upset would only make everything worse. You re-called your conversation with Griffin, and that look on his face when you called him a waste of space.

He deserved the insult, you told yourself. Why should you feel guilty?

You spot a beat-up door worn with age. The blue paint peeled off the wood, scattering along the doorstep in little piles. As much as you wanted to renovate, you couldn’t afford it. You had to save up for college and rent.

You dig your hand inside your trousers’ pocket and produce a key. The scratches rub against your calloused hands as you stick it in the keyhole and yank open the door. “Bring him in.” No one says a word as you watch the ninja file into your home one by one. Like good guests, they remove their shoes and leave them in a little corner of the hall.

You close the door behind you and lock it, tossing the key in its respective place. “Set him down on the couch. I’ll get a med kit.” When you come back with the med kit and freshly washed hands, you weave past Cole and sit on the floor by Kai’s side. “He’ll be alright.” you calmly state.

Kai sharply meets your gaze. “His wrist is broken.”

“Yes, but bones can be mended. He will be alright.” You ignore the stares, they were background noise, and place your hands around the wound. “Raijin,” you whisper, “I need assistance.”

The last time you had to fix a broken wrist had to be about three months ago. It was a rather draining action, but for Lloyd, you would do anything. He needed you.

Suddenly, your body goes completely rigid. Your hands are cold and you shut your eyes, allowing the icy sensations to wash over your being. A breeze passes over your face and settles around your hands. You imagine Lloyd’s bones mending back into place, connecting painlessly like a puzzle piece would.

“What’s she doing?” you hear Jay whisper.

“I think she’s concentrating.” Cole answers. “Kind of...creepy if I do say so myself.”

You feel the bones clicking together, and once you are sure Lloyd is alright, you open your eyes and heave out a long sigh. “He...he will be...” You can’t finish that sentence. The world spins with dots and mingles in a flurry of colours and blurs. Someone was saying something, but you can’t make out what’s wrong with you.

The world fades to black.

“Here again?”

You frown uncomfortably as Raijin struts out from behind a curtain of shadow. It’s hard to disregard him, so you avert your gaze to the side. “I don’t choose when I come here, you know that.” He chuckles and it’s a low rumble. “You like him.”

“Who?”

“Lloyd. It’s not everyday you let people into your home. When you saw Griffin walk by with a broken leg, you didn’t heal him.” You sigh loudly. “Well, that’s different Raijin.”

“Is it?” There’s a suggestive tone to his voice you don’t like, as if he’s looking inside your head and hearing all your thoughts bouncing around. Raijin probably did hear some of it. He was, after all, a part of you, both soul and body. Silence falls over your shoulders and it sits there like an old pillow: uncomfortable, flat, and irritating.

The silence stretched and you felt small in the presence of Raijin. He had a way with his height and energy that somehow made him appear all the more regal. You can’t meet his eyes as you blurt out the dumbest question you could muster. “Will Lloyd be okay?”

The answer is obvious, but Raijin doesn’t comment on it. He folds his hands together and softly nods, as if he’s afraid of making you shrink further into yourself. “Thanks to your efforts his wrist is healed. Why don’t you see for yourself?” You perk up. “What--?”

The darkness curls under your shoes, stretching like gum and absorbing you in nothing. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s filling you with adrenaline.

You jolt upright.

“I see you and Raijin had quite the conversation.” a crinkly voice states. You rub your pounding head, accepting the steaming cup of tea from Sensei Wu’s hands. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the monastery, much less your old room. Wait, Wu? Your old room from when you were eleven? “Sensei?” He smiles kindly, giving your shoulder a good pat. “If you were wondering, Lloyd has been healed. Actually, he wishes to see you.”

“Me?” you inquire. “Really?” Wu chuckles to himself good-naturedly. He turns his back to you and slides open the door, revealing a red-faced Lloyd. He goes stiff like a board. “Uh--I--sorry--just passing--”

Wu gently guides Lloyd into the room, paying no mind to the stuttering mess his nephew had become. It’s an odd sight to see Lloyd, the Green Ninja, tripping over his own feet, adjusting his sleeves, and picking at loose threads instead of meeting your eyes like he did that day.

Lloyd had been like a gust of wind. He came to your rescue strong and fast, scooping your bloodied body in his arms with a gentle hold. When the time came and you all had to leave the island, you were still too weak to use your elemental powers, so Lloyd let you ride with him. Those crazy few weeks on Chen’s island had been traumatising.

The fact that you weren’t trusted by anyone due to your powers made it worse, until you met Lloyd and his father.

Wu quietly exists the room, gently closing the door behind. You silently thank him for his consideration. “It’s been a while.” you quietly say. Lloyd shuffles toward you with a bright smile, cheeks still tinted red. “I used to see you around Ninjago City a lot, but after a while, it was...I don’t know, like you disappeared.”

It’s your turn to avert your gaze. The truth was, you weren’t sure Lloyd still wanted to be your friend after the Tournament. You saw him less and less with each passing day, only ever giving a small wave here and there whenever he went to Borg Tower. After half a month, Griffin caught you talking with Lloyd. He bullied you about it and told you Lloyd was only acting like your friend.

Stupidly enough, you believed him. Your insecurities about being judged wore down your courage like a bath bomb in water. You couldn’t speak with Lloyd any longer, or give a simple wave that made him smile like the sun. One day, you decided to avoid him completely by taking a different route home. You never saw him again. Not until today.

“I-I’m sorry Lloyd.” you murmur. He blinks, knitting his brows together in confusion. “What do you mean you’re sorry? You didn’t do anything--”

“Yes I d-did.” You curse your wobbly voice. “I started a-avoiding you because I was scared we weren’t...you know...anymore. And a lot happened...and then...” Your eyes are burning with tears you know are filled with ages of stress and worry and anger.

You wanted to blame Griffin for making fun of you that day. You wanted to blame yourself for being so stupid. You wanted to blame Raijin for not talking to you when you needed him most. But you couldn’t. How would any of them know this would happen? That you’d eventually cut Lloyd off altogether until you were in isolation in that tiny apartment by yourself? How could you have known?

The side of your bed dips and gentle arms bring you in tight. It’s warm and reminds you of meadows with flowers, butterflies, and better days. When was the last time you actually hugged someone? Much less allowed them this close in your proximity? You didn’t have friends at school, so you always settled for books as your comfort. Books could not hug like people.

“I should be thanking you.” Lloyd said. “You healed me even though it made you pass out.” You sniffle, hesitantly wrapping your arms around Lloyd’s middle. As soon as you allow your shoulders to relax, warmth spreads through your chest. You recognised the sensation as a mix of comfort and relief.

To know someone else was here with you who cared and would sit with you as you cried your eyes out was new--but it felt good. When your dad died, you promised to never shed another tear. You couldn’t say you were good a keeping promises.

“If you want to tell me more, it’s okay.” Lloyd softly said. You rested your head on his shoulder, savouring the way he smelled like life itself. If you were to describe it, you’d call it grassy, flowery, and fruity all rolled into one.

“Well... You remember my brother Griffin?” you slowly begin. “He isn’t who you think he is. He always tells me things like I’m a monster because of my elemental powers, or that...”

You aren’t sure how long you talk for, but Lloyd’s there, listening to every word and drinking it in like gold. Sometimes he pitched in, other times he sat still in a silent horror you couldn’t fully comprehend. It never occurred to you just how broken your family relationships had been when it was your norm.

When your tears finally dried and you could breathe again, Lloyd took your hands and motioned for you to follow him out of the room. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” You smiled at him, enjoying the company his hand provided.

Wu rounded around the corner and said, “Would you like to stay forever?”

There was no question in that. You still had your old room and memories of when you used to call the monastery home. Why wouldn’t you want to make new ones? “Yes.” you reply. “I’d love that--if it’s fine with you.” Lloyd glanced at Wu, who simply nodded in confirmation.

Lloyd turns to you with a bright grin that you can only shyly match in response.

TIP JAR

Please don’t forget to reblog!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #lloyd x reader #ninjago x reader #x reader #reader insert #xreader #lego #ninjago wu #Sensei Wu

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daddysfangirls-anime · 4 years ago

Text

Recommendation

Warning: language, fluff

Summary: a Shinso x reader where the reader is Aizawa’s little sister? And the reader is the youngest pro hero around so the principal put her 1-a to keep her identity under wraps.. (Maybe the reader puts recommendation after recommendation in for him to be in the hero class? Maybe she puts an internship request in for him?)

Aizawa and (y/n) sighed as they looked up at the door they could hear Mic’s loudmouth. Neither of them wanted to go inside they both wanted to go back home and take a nap. The sibling looked at each other as if they could read each other's minds. They both took one slow step backward.

“There you are,” Mic said as he flung the door open revealing the sibling “ Come we’ve got a meeting to get to,” He said draping his arm over Aizawa shoulder and grabbing the back of (y/n)’s jacket dragging them both along while talking loudly. Everyone had gathered in the meeting room and took their seats (y/n) opted out of the chair and instead curled up under the table next to her brother’s feet. Throughout the meeting, he passed her papers or nudged her when she started to fall asleep.

(y/n) was Aizawa’s little sister born when he was in his mid-teens and before his father left their mother. She was a smart girl so smart in fact that at the age of 15 she had already graduated, became a Pro-Hero, and owned two of her own little businesses. And she was only just improving.

Her quirk was she could eraser other quirks by touch, low telekinesis the ability to moving small things with her mind, and she could not feel pain ( although that was more of a disability thanks to her damaged nerve system).

(y/n) was the youngest licensed hero in existents. She wasn’t known to the public but the pro- hero community was aware of her and knew who she was. She was very good at her job and every hero acknowledged that.

After the U.S.J attack (y/n) was recruited to go undercover into Class 1- A as to further keep an eye on and protect them. To say this task was hard was an understatement. Being a teenager was hard.

“ (y/n), the meeting over.”

“I know, I know, I’m just too tired to move,” she says as her brother nudges here with his foot. He sighs standing up he squats down and scoops her up carrying her to the teachers' lounge where she could get a few more extra minutes of shut-eye. They were up until 2AM patroling and a child needs their sleep.

“Alright, just don’t be late and don’t get caught.”

(y/n) groaned as she rubbed her temple. Despite being a teenager herself she didn’t understand those her age. She had managed to skip the boy crazy, hormonal, immature phase which most girls went through. She didn’t understand most kids her age having more responsibility than they understood or could handle. The only person her age that she could tolerate was Shouto Todoroki and the only person her age she actually liked was Hitoshi Shinso.

Shinso was a very misunderstood person. His outer appearance was a bit intimating to others and he honestly looked like he didn't know what sleep was but under all that he was a really good guy. He was smart, kind (to those he liked and didn’t think ill of him), mischievous, and curious. So curious in fact he figured out that that (y/n) was a pro- hero and Aizawa’s little sister but agreed to keep it a secret after getting threatened by the entire staff.

Shinso wanted to be apart of the hero course and he could have been but he wasn’t recommended at the beginning of the year and the entrance exam put him at a disadvantage with the robots. Which both she and Aizawa agreed was unfair. She could see the potential in him he just needed a bit of polishing and she was happy to do it.

Since after the sports festival (y/n) and Aizawa had both been training Shinso so that he could get into the hero course. It has been over a year and a half since then and they were still training him. While (y/n) thought he was ready to Join class 1-A or 1-B her brother didn’t and insisted he continues training until he thought Shinso was ready as he was one of the Hero courses teachers and the teacher training him. Even with this in mind thins did not stop her from dropping recommendation after recommendation on her brother’s desk.

Aizawa didn’t even look up at his sister when she dropped this recommendation on his desk although he did roll his eyes when he read it.

“LET HIM JOIN YOU GIANT DICK”

(y/n) groaned some more as she pulled out her sleeping bag and made a nice little nest next to Present Mic’ s desk. Usually, she would be under her brother’s desk but he had pissed her off today by pairing her with Mina for the day. She didn’t have anything against the poor girl she was just too energetic for her liking and today (y/n) was really tired. The girl had brought a headache upon her.

“No,” Aizawa said as he slipped the paper in his desk.

“He has potential it would be best to teach him with the rest of the hero course he is on their level now maybe even a bit higher.”

“No, he isn’t ready”

“He is more than ready and you know it... jerk” instead of getting up (y/n) wiggled her way out of the teacher faculty still in her sleeping back. She didn’t care that the other teachers chuckled at her she was pissed. (Y/n) was so mad she didn’t realize how far she had wiggled or where she had wiggled too. She stopped when she heard footsteps coming the way she watched as they stopped in front of her she looked up.

“Why are you squirming down the hall a caterpillar?” he asked standing above her in his training clothes.

“I’m upset but I’m also tired... I don’t know how I came up with this compromise but I don’t like it anymore” Shinso sighed picking her up and carried her to the training hall. She smiled a bit a year go Shinso couldn’t even lift her let alone carry her now he lifted and carried her effortlessly. Arriving at the jump he paces her in her usual spot against the wall and went to train.

“ I wrote another “ (y/n) said he knew what she was talking about another recommend.

“and he said no. Don’t you get tired of writing those”

“don’t you get tired of getting rejected.”

“no actually” (y/n) sat up looking at him strangely because well that was a strange response. “ Before people didn’t reject me I already had a label as a Villian and I never really act to try and change that. I mean I told them to stop but nothing else. Now I’m acting I’m working to be a hero. He can keep rejecting me but I know he believes in me just like you. That’s why both of them keep training me and why you keep throwing recommendations in your brother’s face.”

“I’ll get there someone day and when I do I’ll be ten times better than the rest of those Class A-1 best believe,” Shinso said winking at her as he grabs his scarf for practice.

“Who are you and what have you done with Shinso?” this amount of positivity was very unusual for him.

“I just had a good day and hearing what you did for me made it better.” walking over he squats down and kissed her forehead. “Thanks”

“aw, what are best friends for” (y/n) giggled. She laid back down and watched as Shinso trained with his scarf. She slowly drifted off to the sound of his training.

#my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #shinso x reader #hitoshi x reader #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! Fic request please. Okay, so TK and Carlos never got together. During the Boba date, TK let Carlos know that they should be friends and Carlos understood. So they became good friends but TK just self sabotages a lot so he loved Carlos then but didn't want to let Carlos in so he thought it better to just let him go and settle for a friendship. So one day, they decide to check out this new place for lunch. TK excuses himself for the bathroom and he hears this huge explosion and feels the impact. When he gets out, it's a fiery mess. All that is on his mind: I have to find Carlos. Even when the 126 respond to the explosion, TK refuses to leave until he has found Carlos. Carlos is found unconscious, injured and with severe smoke inhalation. 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 13: couldn't utter my love when it counted

thank you! you've given me such wonderful prompts and it's been a pleasure to write every single one of them! 💚😊

ao3 | 3k | canon divergence, explosions, major character injury, angst with a happy ending, love declarations

TK has made a lot of mistakes in his life, but undoubtedly one of the biggest was letting Carlos Reyes go. He hates the person he was back then, the one who was too blind to see that what he needed—what he wanted—was right in front of him, in a very literal sense.

“How long are you going to avoid talking about it TK?”

“Us?”

“What are we? Are we even a ‘we’?”

TK wants to say yes. He looks at Carlos with his soulful brown eyes and kind tilt to his mouth and he just knows that this is someone he could let in. He’s already seen some of TK’s darkest depths, and yet he’s still here, still asking, still wanting to be with him.

Then again, Carlos isn’t the only one who has been with him despite, and the last person who did that ended up growing tired of him. Carlos would promise against it if he knew what TK was thinking, but it’s an impossible promise to make, far easier said than done. He isn’t that kind of person, TK knows this—but then, neither was Alex, until he was.

He can’t risk it. Besides, he barely recognises his life anymore, and he can’t ask Carlos to hang around indefinitely until he can get his head in order again. If there’s one thing TK is certain of, it’s that Carlos is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to have to deal with all of TK’s bullshit, however much TK may want it.

So. That’s it.

“I like you, Carlos. I want to get to know you better. But as friends. I’m not in a place for a relationship—I don’t know if this is where I belong, or even if I can be a firefighter anymore. And I just. I just think that I have to work out who I am before I can let someone else in on that, you know? So… Can we? Be friends, I mean?”

Carlos would be well within his rights to say no, after all. But instead he smiles, a little sad, but still as gentle as ever, and says, “Sure. I’d love that.”

TK realised three things pretty quickly after that moment.

One: Austin is his home.

Two: He belongs at the firehouse—but as a paramedic.

And three: He is in love with Carlos Reyes.

But his moment has come and gone. That conversation is the kind that can’t be taken back; the damage has been done, and now TK has to live with the consequences. It’s not all bad—he still has Carlos in his life, and things are… Things are good. They hang out regularly, they have an ongoing text thread, there’s no awkwardness or resentment between them. All things considered, they’re in a better place than they were back during their pseudo-dating phase.

But still, TK misses him.

It’s a strange feeling, missing someone who’s right there beside him. TK hadn’t realised how much he would lose when they became ‘just friends’ for real, but now he finds himself noticing more and more the absence of a flirty twinkle in Carlos’s eye or the suggestive lilt to his words. There’s still an air around them, a sense that, if he just pushed a little, they could easily tip over into more. Into whatever they were on their way to becoming before TK drew his line in the sand.

He won’t, though. It wouldn’t be fair—Carlos has already put up with so much from him that it’s a miracle he’s even still around at all—and TK is not willing to risk what is now the best friendship of his life. If having Carlos in his life means keeping his hands to himself and forever refusing the urge to kiss him senseless, then it’s a small price to pay.

“You’re such an ass!” TK shoves Carlos lightly as they walk down the street, rolling his eyes at the smirk sent his way. “Why can’t you just suck it up and accept that maybe you don’t know Austin as well as you think you do?”

Carlos raises a solitary eyebrow. “Because I’ve lived here my entire life?”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Besides,” he cuts in, before Carlos can come back with some other stupid, logical argument, “this place only popped up a few months back so there’s no way you’ve had enough time to make a proper judgement.”

“And you have?”

“Shut up.”

Carlos laughs and, though TK tries to glare at him, he can’t help but be drawn into it. He shakes his head and looks down to avoid Carlos’s eyes, only for his gaze to catch on their hands, swinging in sync mere centimetres apart. How he aches to close that distance and thread their fingers together; to tell Carlos everything he’s been pushing down for months—

Carlos lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair, and the moment is broken. If he noticed TK’s lapse, then he doesn’t show it, instead turning to him with an amused smile. “Alright,” he says, “how about this? You take me wherever this is, and next time, I’ll take you to the actual best pizza place in Austin; then we’ll see who’s right.”

TK wishes he could kiss that self-satisfied smirk off his face. See how smug he is then.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Prepare to eat your words, Reyes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

God, TK hates him.

Carlos is being infuriatingly quiet as they eat, and it’s grating on TK’s every nerve. TK is well aware he’s doing it for that exact purpose, but he’s never been known for his patience—a fact which Carlos knows all too well and is rudely taking advantage of.

“So?” TK demands, folding his arms on the tabletop. “Was I right, or was I right?”

Carlos hums, pretending to consider the slice in his hand with great care. Then, he meets TK’s eyes and drops it back on the plate, re-settling in his seat with a shit-eating grin. “It was okay.”

TK’s mouth drops open. He blinks at Carlos for a good few seconds, then snaps his jaw shut with a click, shaking his head and sighing. “I hate you,” he grumbles, refusing to look Carlos in the eye.

Carlos has the audacity to actually laugh. “No, you don’t,” he says, and he doesn’t know quite how true that is. TK feels a blush start to rise on his cheeks, which cannot happen, so he clears his throat and slides out of his seat.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says. “Maybe you’ll have reconsidered by the time I come back.”

TK can’t stop a grin from forming the second he turns his back, his heart doing a stupid little dance in his chest. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his face is bright red, and he’s going to have to splash a significant amount of water over him before he can even think about facing Carlos again.

He takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken.

For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

He’s floating.

He’s… He doesn’t… Something’s not right. Something…

Underwater. He can’t hear anything and he’s floating and he’s underwater, except he can’t be because he was just in a restaurant with Carlos and they were talking and—and—

The world slams back into him with the force of a freight train and TK coughs as he instantly feels like his entire body is being compressed, his airways closing up. It takes a few seconds to realise his eyes are closed and several more before he can open them, only to be met with even more darkness.

He blinks—so he definitely has opened them—but he still can’t see a damn thing. Is he… He can’t be blind. He can’t.

TK’s chest tightens even further and the panic causes his limbs to twitch, to scrabble at the ground, and the movements must be enough to dislodge something because suddenly there’s light streaming into his eyes. He slams his eyelids shut instinctively, and it’s a long moment before he can crack them open again.

His surroundings come to him in bits and pieces. To his left, a pile of cracked porcelain—the sink, he realises. The floor glitters with a material TK can’t identify until he catches sight of his reflection in a shard of glass just in front of him. And on top of him, something heavy, rough—wood?

The door!

Slowly, agonisingly, he manages to shift to all fours, then to his knees, then finally staggers to his feet. He sways in place, watching the bathroom door hit the floor, and—that’s strange. It doesn’t make a sound.

He can’t hear anything, actually, aside from a faint, high-pitched ringing. The paramedic in him tells him that this is a bad thing, but he feels separate from both his brain and his body; he’s floating somewhere outside his body, this whole situation feeling like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.

A thought drifts through his mind then. No, not a thought, a name.

Carlos.

He was with Carlos. He has to find Carlos.

TK stumbles forward, grabbing onto anything within reach as the battle to stay upright gets harder with each second that passes. An intense heat hits him as he makes it into what he thinks is the main seating area and the change in atmosphere is instant—thick, black smoke invades his lungs, sending him back to his knees, body heaving with coughs.

The restaurant is on fire and TK can barely keep his eyes open as he searches for any sign of Carlos. He forces his aching body further, any pain taking a back-seat as the need to find Carlos grows. He’s still not sure what’s happening or how they got in this mess, but he knows that Carlos is in danger, and TK isn’t going to let him die. Not now. Not ever, if he can help it.

He crawls through the restaurant, blind and deaf to where he’s going, but he’ll know it’s Carlos when he finds him. He knows he will. There’s nothing that could stop him from recognising Carlos.

TK doesn’t know what’s happening when he suddenly feels himself being lifted, something bulky being placed over his face. It’s a shock, the sensation of being able to breathe clean oxygen, and it goes to his head for a moment, the dizziness growing even as his vision begins to clear up.

He catches sight of 126 emblazoned on a helmet and familiar, worried eyes looking down at him, and that’s when it connects. His family are here, they’re here, but Carlos is still somewhere and TK is not leaving without him. He struggles in his father’s grasp, managing to squirm and flail enough to get his feet on the floor and for his dad’s grip on him to falter.

But the relief is momentary; no sooner is he standing than the vertigo and nausea takes over, and he crumbles.

This time, when the world goes black, it stays that way.

They tell him it was a gas explosion in the restaurant’s kitchen. They say he’s lucky to be alive, that his trip to the bathroom saved him. They say he needs plenty of rest and time to heal.

They don’t tell him anything about Carlos.

TK asks, he’s been asking since the moment he woke up in the hospital. But the team knows nothing and the doctors keep saying to focus on his own injuries rather than worrying about someone else.

Someone else, as if that’s all Carlos is. He’s the love of TK’s fucking life, but they might never get the chance to be anything more than friends; TK has seen the news. His dad had switched it off the second he caught him watching it, but he’d seen enough to know that survivors are few, and, of those, most of them weren’t as lucky as TK.

His injuries were serious, but they’ll heal. He’ll probably have scars from the shrapnel from when the explosion first went off and from the burns he acquired looking for Carlos, and he’s going to have one hell of a tinnitus case for a while, but it’s nothing. Less than nothing.

He’s alive, which, if Carlos is dead or dying, is far more than he deserves.

On his fifth day in hospital, they tell him he can go home later. He should be grateful, but it just feels like another thing that’s happened to him in a long line of things. He’s waiting for his dad to come back from picking his prescription up when there’s a knock at the door, and TK looks up to see an older Latino couple, the woman looking at him with a deep sadness in her eyes.

“I… Are you TK?” she asks haltingly.

TK frowns and nods, surprised by the relief that floods her face when he does. He doesn’t have to wonder for long, though.

“I’m Andrea. Carlos’s mother. This is his father, Gabriel.” She gestures to the man next to her, who nods at TK, his mouth pinched. TK swallows nervously, terror building in him at the thought of what Carlos’s parents could be doing here. “The doctors tell us you’ve been asking about our son,” Andrea continues. “We wanted to come and talk to you and give you the news ourselves.”

TK swears his heart stops in his chest. “Is he…”

He can’t get the words out, can’t put the idea into existence, but Andrea clearly picks up on what he’s thinking as she crosses the room, taking his hands in hers.

“He’s alive,” she says. “He… He lost a leg in the explosion and his lungs were damaged from the smoke, but the doctors have told us that the worst danger has passed. We’re just waiting for him to wake up now.” Andrea pauses, biting her lip. She looks at Gabriel, then back to TK, releasing his hands. “How do you know our son? Are you…”

“We’re friends,” TK says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “He’s the best friend I’ve got. Thank you for telling me.”

He leaves his number with Andrea and Gabriel, and they promise to keep him updated on Carlos’s condition.

Four days after TK goes home, he gets a phone call to say that Carlos is awake. He’s back at the hospital within the hour, racing as fast as he can (which, infuriatingly, isn’t very fast right now) to the room number they gave him.

The sight he’s greeted with just about takes his breath away.

Carlos smiles at him, and he’s covered in bandages and scrapes and he’s clearly exhausted, but he’s smiling, and TK swears he’s never looked more beautiful. He stands in the doorway for a long time, just staring at Carlos for the first time in nine days, so captivated by him that he doesn’t notice the knowing look that passes between Andrea and Gabriel.

“We’ll give you boys some time to catch up,” Gabriel says. He pats TK’s shoulder when they walk past him, and it’s enough to spur him back into action.

TK crosses the room in three quick strides, reaching for Carlos’s hand the second he’s settled in the chair. He almost sobs when he feels Carlos squeeze his hand back; it’s weak, more just a twitch of the fingers, but it feels like everything.

“Hi,” Carlos says, his voice quiet and raspy.

TK sniffs, opens his mouth to say hi back, but maybe the explosion knocked him about more than he realised, because what comes out instead is, “I love you.”

Their eyes widen at the same time, a flush rising on TK’s face as he processes what he just did. “I—I’m so sorry, Carlos, I—” He shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Carlos’s grip tightens, keeping him firmly in place.

“Say it again,” he demands.

TK blinks. “What?”

“Say it again.”

He hesitates another second, but the slight uptick to Carlos’s lips gives him the confidence he needs to look Carlos in the eyes.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for the longest time and I’m so sorry that I couldn’t see it before. I was scared, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle a relationship, and I figured it would be easier to let you down than risk hurting us both when we inevitably realised it couldn’t work out.

“But I was so wrong, Carlos. Back at the restaurant, after the explosion, all I cared about was finding you and making sure that you were okay. I couldn’t stand the thought that anything might have happened to you, and I’ve been going out of my mind since it happened because I didn’t know how you were. I—I can’t lose you, Carlos.”

He takes a deep breath and blinks away the tears beginning to gather in his eyes, attempting a trembling smile to match Carlos’s own. “I love you,” he whispers. “If it’s too late, then I understand. I just. I need you in my life. I need you, Carlos. However you’ll have me.”

Carlos holds his gaze for a long time after TK has finished speaking, and it feels like he’s seeing right through him. Eventually, after so long that TK’s lost all sense of time, he slowly raises his hand, brushing his knuckles across TK’s cheek, then coming to rest on the back of his neck.

“I love you, too.”

And the light pressure from Carlos’s hand is all the invitation TK needs to close the distance between them, his heart pounding as he kisses Carlos for what feels like the first time.

Hopefully, it’s the first of many, and the first of the rest of their lives.

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alderaani · 4 years ago

Text

Embers

summary: After Umbara, Boil learns how to endure, and how to reclaim pieces of his brothers marching on | AO3 | series

warnings: canonical character death, grief, animal injury + mentions of animal death (completely not explicit, on the level of canon-typical violence).

a/n: finally another part of my 100 clone prompts - the rest of the series is linked above! i know there’s not much in canon to support Waxer being an animal lover, but i wanted to give Gree a friend to nerd out with and it’s cute. also gotta pay homage to @nibeul’s wonderful art here - while I wasn’t consciously inspired by it, it hits on v similar themes and is just beautiful like...that image of waxer holding up numa lives in my head rent free.

Insects swirled in a halo around his helmet. They swarmed around the seams of his blacks, too, attracted to the small beads of sweat there, to the tiny strips of flesh he couldn’t quite cover. The rising bites itched, rubbing where the edge of his vambraces met fabric, and the buzzing was enough to drive a man mad. Boil sighed, brushing them off half-heartedly and watching them billow angrily away. They’d be back. They always were.

In the reprieve, he fumbled at his belt for the viewfinders hooked there and brought them to his visor. As he spun the dial to within half a klik so that he could search the undergrowth, his thumb settled in the comforting groove where Waxer had dropped them and chipped the plastoid. He worried at it with his nail while he scanned, frowning.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Had been in his head for weeks now, verging on a month, and he was still waiting to feel something other than crippling emptiness. There weren’t any dreams any more, none except for the oldest one they all pretended not to have; levelling a blaster against Kenobi’s head and pulling the trigger. Even that didn’t feel like the nightmare it used to.

Eventually he lowered the viewfinder, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the stifled sound of his own breath in the dense air. A faint, humid breeze stirred the leaves, sending a cloud of thick yellow pollen up towards the canopy. Boil blinked to bring up the filter diagnostic on his HUD, keeping his belly low to the ground to avoid the stuff as it drifted lazily overhead.

“Kid, you doin’ alright out there?”

He listened to the static hum of the comm line for a few moments, biting back the panic that crawled up the back of his throat when it dragged on just a beat too long.

“Apart from gettin’ gnawed on by the bugs? Just grand, Sir.”

Potshot sounded a little winded, but that was probably just the heat. Blacks self-regulated temperature, but only to the extent that they made sure you sweated evenly. It never used to be quite so bad; that had been the one thing Phase 1 armour had going for it, for all it was bulkier and less adaptable to varied terrain. He supposed the Republic had had to cut costs somewhere. Waxer would’ve been whining by now that his ass was so hot they could light a flare off it. Potshot was young enough that he’d never known any different.

“Good, you see anything?” Boil grunted, pinging his location anyway. There was no real reason for it; Potshot might’ve still been green but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d done well to keep up so far. Boil could stand being self aware enough to acknowledge that he hadn’t been the most welcoming, or the most patient with the new partner he’d never wanted. He wouldn’t have had any right to be overbearing now, but it was for his own comfort, however small and bittersweet.

“Nothin’ at all. That seem odd to you too?” Potshot said, as the surveillance holos he’d taken popped up. Boil flipped through them, earmarking a couple to show him how to improve the angle later. The important shit was all there - enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. No birds, no creatures, no fresh droppings.

Just the bugs, and the trees, and them.

“Yeah, it’s odd alright. Think we’ve found what the general’s looking for.”

Boil felt pressure around his right boot and turned, vibroblade in hand, to stab into the fleshy vine knotting round it. It writhed and retreated, leaving behind pitted, smoking trails where acid had started eating into the plastoid. He registered the damage with a dull sort of annoyance. It was something else to take care of later, a way to look busy and shape the silence. It would fend off the others and their offers of company, made out of pity he couldn’t bear to look at.

“Really? What’re you seein’, boss?” Potshot asked.

Boil glanced upwards to track the position of the sun; high, almost directly overhead. At the peak of the day this place should have been teeming. Instead the only tracks he’d found had been baked solid, and this wasn’t the shocked quiet that followed a stampede. It was stagnant, aging.

“This forest is in the centre of an old super-volcanic crater, right?” he asked, not waiting for a response. It had been in the mission dossier, alongside profiles of the flesh eating plants, the deadly pollen and the venomous creatures, all of it fenced into the sloped, unforgiving bowl of the terrain. It was the kind of forest that stuck in the mind. “And we know that something has driven the wildlife away.”

Potshot hummed, the comm muffling for a second as he shifted. It took a moment of bitter disappointment coiling in Boil’s belly for him to realise that he’d been waiting for a sharp quip that wasn’t coming. He swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible to feel so wrongfooted while lying down. If he’d ever find his balance again. If he ever wanted to feel whole now that such a fundamental piece was missing.

Potshot groaned suddenly. “Kriff it, the factories we’re looking for are underground, aren’t they?”

Boil forced a chuckle, choking past the self hatred clawing up through his lungs. The kid deserved better, deserved a superior who didn’t constantly treat him like a ghost.

“That’s it, kid. Just like the simulations, eh?”

Potshot laughed, the easy sound making Boil’s throat seize in longing so strong his teeth ached. Waxer would’ve loved him, and that made it all the worse.

“Hardly. What do we do next?”

“Alright,” Boil said, lifting the viewfinder for one last look at where he could see slight fog rising through the trees. “You get your ass back to forward command and debrief the General, I’m heading in for a closer look.”

“ What? But - Sir! We’re supposed to be working as a team. I can’t leave you -”

“Sometimes working as a team means you do your duty and trust the others to do theirs.” He cut in, keeping his voice steady by force of will. Sometimes, it meant carrying on alone. Boil clipped the viewfinder back into place and prepared to move, even as Potshot continued protesting. Boil didn’t answer for long enough that silence fell on the line.

“...am I not performing to the standard expected, Sir?”

Potshot’s voice was soft, all vulnerable underbelly. Still so shiny, and Boil remembered feeling like that, like there was still a scorecard constantly on his forehead.

“No - kid -” Boil sighed, dropping his head forward. He’d never learned how to be gentle - it hadn’t ever come naturally, and there had been no reason to lose his sharp edges when Waxer had always been there to foil them for him. He felt sharper now than ever, full of shards that didn’t sit right, and fished among the pieces for something his brother might have said. “I trust you to have my back. You’re doing everything right. But...sometimes we’ve gotta think of the mission. We need more proof before we can move in, but the two of us get caught, command loses what we already know.”

“Can’t we just send a comm?” Potshot asked, his voice still tight and hurt sounding and he was fucking this up, shouldn’t have been trusted to try to fix himself without breaking everyone else wide open in the process.

“Don’t trust it not to get intercepted,” Boil said, which was only half a lie, and would have made Cody scoff at the back to front over-caution. “And it don’t all fit in a comm. They’ll need everything you can remember to plan the advance.”

Potshot sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was looser. “...Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Boil said, feeling his own chest lighten. “If you don’t hear from me by 1100 then raise me on the priority channel.”

He listened until Potshot had stated a reluctant affirmative and clicked off the line, then bellied out of the undergrowth and headed further in, to the epicentre of the unnatural quiet. He liked the way his mind went silent on recon, how everything else fell away. It wasn’t quite the same, tilted just a little off axis, but similar enough to when it had been Waxer at his six that if he didn’t think about it, he could almost trick himself into believing nothing had changed.

Plus, the space was good, just for a few minutes, where he didn't have to pretend for anyone.

It was a quiet journey, for the most part, punctuated only by the steps he couldn’t quite muffle. His thoughts were broken some time later when he suddenly heard it; the distant mechanical boom of something deep underground. He quickened his pace, following the vibrations until the earth under his feet grew hot, the air shimmering unnaturally in front of him. It had been like this at Point Rain, when the sand baked and glinted, glass-like, under the blaze of the overhead sun. If he hadn’t known the super-volcano was very thoroughly extinct, he could have kidded himself that it was just the geothermal energy of magma moving close to the surface. A clever disguise. But not clever enough.

The ground sloped ever downwards the further into the bowl he got. He watched where he placed his feet as it grew rockier, stones and small craters acting like pitfall traps concealed by the moss. Boil pinged his scanner every minute, searching for Seppie probes as the terrain tapered, falling away into a green-rimmed yawning abyss. Set into the centre of it was a huge grate, the source of the searing air. Here were the factories they’d been looking for, exactly where he’d suspected. It was a muted sort of satisfaction.

He crouched at the edge of the drop, taking holos and transmitting them directly to the Commander’s HUD. Then he checked his chrono and sent an unapologetic follow up that he’d be late to rendezvous, seeing that 1100 was about to come and go. Then he minimised the comms on his HUD to flash for priority only; he’d get bollocked for being late sooner or later, but he figured it would be novel to have it fully in person.

Finally he turned, ready to start the rapid scale back towards the 212th's forward camp, when he registered a low, keening whine.

His blaster was in his hands within a moment, trained at the knee-high leaves. The sound came again, higher this time, followed by laboured panting.

He gently brushed aside some of the foliage with his blaster barrel. Dark eyes stared at him from between the leaves. They both froze. It was some sort of animal, obviously; a mammal, probably a predator. It was small too, with paws too large for its scrawny body and a dark, downy fur that rippled with every laboured breath.

Sharp teeth. A narrow muzzle. A long, whip-like tail.

A vornskr, Boil thought, and hated how readily the identification came, how readily he tensed in anticipation of the inevitable Boil can you see - do you know how rare -

He shook the memories away, of Waxer leaning precariously over the top bunk to wave some manual Commander Gree had sent him in his face, bleating about some animal or species that Boil couldn’t pronounce. In the present the vornskr pup cowered away from him, pushing backwards on thin, spindly legs. Deceptively powerful though, he’d bet.

The creature let out another whine and stumbled, an odd abortive movement. Boil pressed more of the leaves away to get a better look and swore when he saw the brutal metal trap closed around one of its small hind legs, paring down to bone. His blaster was up and trained on the thing before he thought much about it. Better to shoot it, put it out of its misery, than prolong its suffering. It was what they did as part of the cleanup sometimes; wildlife was usually pretty good at getting out of the active battlefronts, but there were always stragglers. The too old or the too young, mostly.

Creatures like this one.

The vornskr stilled, staring at him with those big, wide eyes as if it knew exactly what he was thinking. Boil swallowed. Waxer wouldn’t have let him shoot it. Waxer also wasn’t here now to stop him, but Boil felt his arm lower all the same, just a few inches before he pulled the trigger. The vornskr yelped as the trap hinges came apart in two neat halves and immediately tried to run. It didn’t get very far before it collapsed, panting again.

Boil sighed and shook his head, holstering his blaster across his back.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he tsked, shuffling closer.

He kept half an eye on the tail, remembering something about it being venomous. While being high off his ass on some unknown substance had the potential to make Cody’s dressing down more interesting, it might also kill him before he got there.

The vornskr growled as he leaned over it, baring needle sharp teeth, and made a snap at him when Boil reached out.

“Ah, give over,” he muttered, batting the attempt away. The little body was light in his hands as he lifted it, careful to let the injured leg hang out as he folded it into his chest. The vornskr made an odd, throaty sound and shifted, almost experimental. Then it huffed, and after a pause laid its head across his vambrace.

Boil rolled his eyes at the display, setting off towards forward command as soon as he was halfway sure he wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.

It was...nice, to have that little body cradled to him, reminiscent of better occasions when Waxer just had to stick his nose into every curious happening and inevitably adopted some struggling lifeform. However much Boil had complained, it had never steered them wrong.

When he got back to command it was to find Cody pacing the perimeter, Potshot perched on a crate nearby. The Commander’s bucket was under his arm. Boil winced. With Cody that was never an accident - usually so he could get the full weight of a glare in, the excavating kind he’d learned from Kenobi and then weaponised so that it pierced straight down to bone.

“Boss!” Potshot exclaimed, pushing off his seat. “You made it!”

“What time d’you call this?” Cody demanded, stalking over. “I was about to -”

Cody stopped short, gaze dropping to the furry bundle against Boil’s breastplate. Something in his expression softened and Boil felt in his heart, panicking as a lump rose in his throat.

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

Boil let his gaze slide downwards to a point far beyond, where two troopers were fighting over a tarp.

“Found it in a trap,” he said, his voice ragged. “Couldn’t - couldn’t let it die.”

He flicked his eyes back to Cody’s face and breathed through the grief and understanding he found there. Cody stepped forward and clasped Boil’s elbow.

“I’m sure Tranq will be able to do something for it.” A little upturn crept into the line of Cody’s lips. “Debrief in fifteen.”

Boil nodded and broke away, tipping his head to Potshot before clearing his throat roughly and popping his bucket off one-handed as he made his way to the medtent. The sun was warm on his face here, the air lighter. A butterfly flew lazily past and the vornskr lifted its head, tracking the motion with large, interested eyes.

Boil smiled, hoisting his bucket under one arm and daring to touch the creature's head with his freed hand. It wouldn’t ever bring Waxer back, but it meant something that this little life continued, because of the choices his brother would have made and all that he had been. Like the phantom touch of the sun still lingering in cooling earth.

It wouldn’t ever be enough. But, perhaps, it was just the right amount to cling onto.

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @battletales @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @lussyyung @whatanoof // join here

#clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #original clone characters #clone oc potshot #commander cody #212th attack battalion #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fanfiction #alderwrites

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 31

chapter list / previous / next

It took very little time for Talltail to get completely lost. Frankly he had been so focused on the act of leaving his clan, he hadn’t given a lot of thought to his immediate course of action after the fact. He was not at all accustomed to navigating under heavy woodland, so he just kept going in what he assumed was roughly the correct direction of the twoleg place without thinking much about it. It was difficult to “think” clearly at all right then.

Talltail had found himself walking nonstop throughout the night, in such a state of shock that he’d actually done it. He was no longer a WindClan cat. He was a rogue. Rogue. He repeated it in his mind but it didn’t quite sound real. I suppose it doesn’t matter who I am. I am no one. Just a wanderer.

What did wanderers do? What was his day supposed to be without a clan to wake up to hunt for? Without duties? Without anyone to share news with? Unwelcome feelings of loneliness were already pricking at his pads. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, he had been going out of his way to be alone for moons. But the possibility was still there at least, cats always came to greet him anyway, even if it was often halfhearted. Now there was no one to look out for him, and no one he had to look out for. What a strange feeling it was.

Where in StarClan’s name was he now anyway? He’d turned east, where he hoped the twoleg town he’d heard about would be. Reena once said that’s where they were going to head to first, right? The best course of action was to avoid any clan territory on the way there but...he wasn’t sure what clan territory looked like beyond his own and the immediate borders. Past the gathering place...it was just a lot of stupid trees that all looked the same to him.

Talltail decided he would cross Fourtrees and follow the Thunderpath--at a safe distance. Surely it would lead to more twolegs. To his right was rich deciduous forest. That was...probably ThunderClan?

But eventually the Thunderpath stopped. The hard stone spread out in a small gravely clearing and went no further. He didn’t know where to go from there, so he just kept going forward. His head was somewhere else as he walked, still not quite comprehending that he was really doing this.

Talltail was only snapped back to focus when he realized the forest he walked in was too dark for the time of day. The sun had started to rise and the sky should have been getting lighter, but instead, shadows enveloped him. The air felt wet and moisture soaked into his fur from the damp earth. He looked around. Where was the path he’d left behind?

An unfortunately familiar sharp musky scent like a bog-drowned fox hit his tongue, making his lips curl. He couldn’t really have gotten turned onto ShadowClan territory, surely? Fur started to rise along his spine. He never wanted to be in this dark muggy forest, with or without enemy warriors. The undergrowth around him was so thick and disorienting, he could almost believe the kit stories of ShadowClan’s territory cursing trespassers to be lost forever in the thick of it.

Then there were voices. Talltail looked around desperately and thought about climbing a tree, but he had no experience with scaling trees at all. The dark scraggly bark looked daunting, and he feared the noise he’d make trying to scramble up it. Instead, he leaped into the bushes as pawsteps made their way through the dark.

“You think he came through here?” a rough voice growled. Stonetooth’s voice sent a mixture of anger and fear through his body. Had they scented him already?

“He said he was going hunting with Clawface. I saw him leave with Ashheart and Tanglepaw, and I know they’ve been coming this way.” That was Raggedpelt.

“This is far past where they should be taking hunting parties.”

“I’m sure they just got carried away--wait,” Raggedpelt paused. “Do you hear that?”

Talltail’s tail had lashed just once. He hadn’t laid eyes closely on Stonetooth since the day Brackenwing was killed.

It was foolish what he was thinking of doing. Unbelievably foolish. But in that moment he was so overcome with emotion remembering Brackenwing, limp and slowly bleeding out, all he wanted was to tear the old deputy apart. The violent urge surprised him. I wonder if this is how Shrewclaw felt all the time. No wonder he was so restless. He pondered on the feeling almost thoughtfully, and then Stonetooth caught his scent.

“That’s WindClan. I know it is.”

“Those scrawny tail-chasers wouldn’t dare come this far,” Raggedpelt growled. “Who’s there? Don’t think you can hide in our forest.”

They can’t think I was sent from WindClan to invade! Who knows how ShadowClan will retaliate against them for that?

Talltail couldn’t believe what he did next, but what choice was there?

“I’m not hiding," he said, surprised at how steady his voice was. “And I’m not WindClan either. My actions are my own.”

Raggedpelt blinked at him almost surprised, and Stonetooth snarled, “and your actions have been a grave mistake. No cat trespasses in our forest. I know who you are, if Heatherstar thinks sending you to spy--”

“No one sent me. I’ve left WindClan. They can attest to that themselves.” Talltail, for all his anger, knew he had to make sure they believed that. “If you're a rogue,” Raggedpelt sneared, “then I guess that means there’s no law protecting you, is there?” He looked to his deputy asking permission, Stonetooth nodded.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment. Raggedpelt crouched to spring. Talltail didn’t look at him, not breaking Stonetooth’s glare. He bounded over Raggedpelt, who yowled in surprise. Stonetooth seemingly hadn’t expected the pounce as Talltail piled into him and rolled the bony gray tom to the ground, spitting fury as he swiped hard at his face. He caught Stonetooth on the eye, who howled in rage and alarm as blood spurted from the open wound. Talltail’s claws were blunter than theirs, but that just made the puncture that much messier. He didn’t get more than one good swipe in before Raggedpelt’s claws were in his back, shoving him off balance, and teeth dug into his neck. Stonetooth struggled out from underneath him and snapped at his muzzle, gripping it hard in his teeth, his long front teeth leaving gashes down the side of his mouth. Talltail couldn’t manage more than a stifled yowl, as Raggedpelt continued tearing at his back.

But Stonetooth’s eye was bloody and useless. There was some dull pleasure in that. He felt like he was being torn at all sides, and remembered blearily that day the ShadowClan apprentices had pummeled him, and a similar wave of panic washed over him. These were trained warriors and their claws dug all the deeper. No one would help him this time. Shrewclaw had better at least appreciate me taking his eye.

He thought he heard Stonetooth growl something, and Raggedpelt’s grip suddenly loosened. Talltail sprang upward, taking the scarred warrior by surprise. With one last clumsy slash at Stonetooth’s muzzle, which the deputy dodged easily, Talltail tore away from them and ran. Even as he did so, even though he knew a moment longer and their longer needle sharp teeth would have pierced him through deep enough to be a killing blow, he regretted it. Maybe he should have fought to the end, for Brackenwing’s sake. But it wouldn’t have done any good. He was too weak on his own.

Adrenaline pressed Talltail forward, allowing him to ignore the wounds covering his face and neck and the warm feeling of blood soaking quickly through his short fur. He heard the two ShadowClan cats hard at his heels, snapping at his tail. If the ground was more open he would have outpaced them in a heartbeat, but he clumsily stumbled and scrambled over thick bushes and fallen logs that they had the agility to weave around with ease.

Eventually, somehow, the steps behind him died away. The trees thinned out. The forest he was in now was brighter, more open, and a sharp sour scent hung in the air, reminiscent of the Thunderpath stench. Maybe they let him go? He didn’t have time to ponder it.

Only when he stopped did he realize how hard it was to breathe. He was bleeding more than he thought and the warmth spread over his chest fur, stark crimson red against the white. Dirt and plant matter stung his wounds, but he was too exhausted and sore to bother with them right now. The sun had lightened the sky to a pale gray and the last stars were fading. It was a relief to see the sky again.

Talltail limped onward, his thoughts raging. He knew Stonetooth was not the cat he’d sought out to punish. StarClan could see and judge him. He felt a bit queasy at the memory of the deputy's eye under his claw, but at the same time a surge of satisfaction. It was less damage than Stonetooth himself had done, and Talltail didn’t regret it.

Wandering blindly through the woodland, the air was less humid and muggy in this part of the forest and he was at last confident that ShadowClan land had been behind. Talltail made his way up a shallow hill and then down into a ravine of fallen branches and dry scratchy undergrowth. It was uncomfortable, but maybe he could shelter here for a moment. The pain was getting the better of him and he hadn’t even stopped to lick his wounds. Just a short nap and then he’d continue…

He was already drifting the moment his eyes closed, and his hazy dreams began before he was fully asleep. He imagined he could hear growling under the earth and had the sudden feeling he was falling into it. In the dark of his subconscious, something whispered, You shouldn’t be here. A low, ominous creaking echoed in his ears, and he was overcome with a horrible desire to flee. Instantly Talltail forced himself awake with a gasp before the nightmare could go any deeper. He rolled himself to his paws, wincing as he forgot about the sharp dead sticks and thistles above him. The creaking came again from bony branches far above his head. Most of the trees here looked dead, some were unnaturally cut flat at the base, clearly altered by twolegs. Their branches looked like they could break and fall at any moment, but he’d been too exhausted to notice. Talltail had heard of ThunderClan and ShadowClan cats being killed by falling branches. It wasn’t just underground that a cat could be suddenly crushed.

The brief nightmare was still rattling through him, filling him with the desperate urge to run before something happened. He’d clearly gotten more skittish since setting out on his own. But for once, he was actually able to obey the voices he heard in his dreams, and get far away from this ravine. No rest. Not now.

How in StarClan’s name could any cat be content to live under so many trees, prone to breaking and falling in storms? Talltail thought. He missed the clear sky. He missed the unfettered fresh breeze.

Stars, he’d barely been gone a day and he already wanted to go back.

But you can’t, so stop whining! he hissed at himself.

As he continued to walk, pushing through thistles and tripping over dried bracken, his morose mood turned more sour by the minute. Would he be tormented with these dreams forever? I’m trying to do something, is it still not enough? Why, even when he was away from the ruined tunnels of the moor, did he still feel this sensation that angry dark eyes were glaring at his every move?

For a moment his tired frustration made him think, still better this then to actually have him following me and telling me what a disappointment I am out loud. Talltail winced at that little indignant voice, and quickly snuffed it out. How could he think that? How could that thought have even entered his head? It wasn’t better at all. What kind of cat was he to even have that thought in the first place?

Who cares what kind of cat I am anymore…? Yes, I’m certainly not good, I always knew that, and so did Sandstone. Now that he was away from camp, away from trying to keep up this charade, it was surprisingly easier to just settle into the resigned bitterness that he was a rather bad cat. A cat who was always going to fail his kin, and thank StarClan he’d at least had the sense to leave when he did. That was the last thing WindClan needed. He thought briefly of his dream at the Moonstone, of some creature built of rotting earth, tainting what it touched. Stumbling blindly around camp and leaving a mess where it went no matter what. A cat built of rot couldn’t simply...un-rot itself, right? That sickness was too deeply embedded.

Thankfully, it didn’t matter how he felt or what he thought anymore. A bad cat could still do something. Talltail imagined Dawnstripe would disapprove of him hungrily chasing after a fight. It wasn’t in line with how she’d taught him the warrior code. At least she wouldn’t have to know about it. The farther he got from home, the more distant he felt from the cat he’d once seen himself as.

But...What do I actually do when I find Sparrow? Should he just scare him? Attack him? Frightening him within an inch of his life and leaving some physical scars behind to make up for the ones he apparently lacked on his conscience might do it. But Talltail didn’t really know for sure what he was meant to do. It was hard to imagine that far ahead.

He expected his paws would guide him, and when the moment arrived, he would feel this clinging presence hanging over him tell him what to do. And this time, he would listen.

Ahead was straight edged structures, similar to the barn back home. For better or for worse, Talltail had arrived at what he could only imagine was twoleg territory. He limped onward, focusing on the burning anger rolling around inside rather than the horrible pain in his body.

Though he was relieved to have found something other than the aimless woods behind him, Talltail wondered blearily how much longer he could make himself walk. There was a flat stone area on the outskirts of a twoleg structure. Without the tree cover, the sun beat down mercilessly and burned the stone under his paws. The heat reminded him that he had nothing to drink for some time, and his throat was painfully dry enough to make him wheeze.

To his luck, along the edge of the Thunderpath stone, there seemed to be a puddle. Talltail almost jumped when he saw a dull, rusty monster some fox- lengths away. It was still, with no lights in its eyes. Maybe it was dead, or asleep. He crept as quietly as he could around it and sniffed at the smudgy stream of water that ran down the black stone, seeping into the dusty soil on the edge of the path. It was unlike any water or puddle he’d ever scented, acrid with monster stench but also strangely sickly sweet. If he wasn’t so desperate he’d look for something cleaner, but with no other option, he lapped up what he could stomach and continued towards the twoleg dens.

***

As the day went on, Talltail wandered hoping he might come across a helpful scent. He tried to shove himself through a prickly bunch of bushes and hissed in pain when the thick tendrils got caught on his fur and scraped at his injuries.

“Stupid bushes,” he snarled “let go!” He yanked himself free, taking a couple thorns and a new scratch along with him, but he was in no state of mind to pay attention. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy, although his instincts hadn’t taken him out of fight mode yet. It may have been the only thing keeping him upright.

The twoleg place smelled awful. Their large straight edged structures of what he assumed must be their dens were blocked off behind rows and rows of wood barriers. Dead trees by the smell of it, but he’d never known trees to die so neatly aligned and so flat. The twolegs really did have unfathomable ways of shaping things in their unnatural territory.

He sniffed the air in vain hope of seeking some familiar scents. As he stalked down the row of wood, cursing and probably leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake, he was aware of something watching him. Cat scent. Kittypets perhaps? There didn't seem to be anyone around. I don’t have time to deal with kittypets, he thought, and hoped the stories of them being too lazy to attack trespassers were true. Let them try to touch me, they’ll see what happens when they attack a warr...er, a cat trained to fight. The confidence of his thoughts made him feel a bit better, and let him ignore the fact he was really in no state to attack so much as a mouse.

Suddenly, there were voices whispering from above his head.

“I told you I wasn’t making it up, look at it!”

“You woke me up to look at a dog’s half eaten dinner? What is that?”

“It’s a cat isn’t it?”

“I thought it was a tall weasel.”

“Whatever it is, it’s hideous.”

“You don’t think it’s one of those monster cats that lives in the woods do you?”

Talltail glared upwards, and sure enough there were two pairs of curious amber eyes peeking over the edge of the wooden barrier. “It’s looking at us,” said a tortoiseshell.

“No it isn’t--oh it is,” said a pudgy brown tom with a disdainful sneer. “Hey! Stop looking into my garden. No strays allowed. Go bleed on someone else’s grass!”

“Excuse me?” Talltail felt himself growl. Who did this pet think he was?

“Tyr! Don’t get its attention, you moron!” hissed the tortoiseshell.

“I’m not afraid of common strays, if this even is a proper cat. If I yowl, the housefolk will come out and then he’ll be sorry.”

Is that supposed to be a threat? Talltail shouldn’t be bothering with kittypets, but this brat was getting under his skin really fast.

“Do you think he has a name? Do strays have names?”

“Of course I have a name mouse-brain,” Talltail spat. “It’s Tal…” for a moment he paused. His name was given to him by his clan, a mark of his becoming a warrior. But when he betrayed them... Was it right to keep anything that would mark him as a former clan cat?

“What kind of name is Tal?” the brown tom huffed. “Whatever or whoever you are, just don’t scratch up my fence!”

Talltail had had enough of this kittypets' attitude. “Worried about the fence are you? I’d worry more about keeping your whiskers!"

Fast as hare, he leapt forward and jumped up at the fence. He wasn’t going to actually climb up onto it, which he easily could have if he was in a better state, but the kittypets didn’t know that. He slammed against it, reaching up his claws so they glinted in the faint morning light and the two cats screeched and scampered off their perch. The one apparently called Tyr made good on his "threat" of yowling back to his twolegs. Talltail couldn’t help feel a glimmer of satisfaction as he dropped back down. It was too easy.

When he hit the ground again however, he wobbled on his paws and his vision became blurry for a moment. Why did that keep happening? He winced painfully as he tested his leg. There was a small smear of blood on the fence. That had been a really stupid thing to do, and a scabbed over cut was oozing blood again. He bit back a hiss of pain as he crouched to lick the wound. It was so frustrating.

“I don’t have time to bleed out like this. I have...to find...that awful rogue!” he wheezed.

Talltail was weak and bloody and still limping painfully. Where was he even going? He felt more nauseous by the second, and was aware of the blood that dripped from his chest fur. He recalled faintly something Briarpaw had told him once, that a cat could become sick and pass out if they lost too much blood. By the time that happened, it was unlikely that they could be saved. And that’s with a medicine cats care. Was he really bleeding that much, or was it simply exhaustion? He hadn’t eaten or drank anything other than that filthy sweet smelling water after all.

If he was thinking more clearly, perhaps he would have been terribly afraid. What happened to rogue cats when they died? Would anyone from home come looking for him? Would they find him like that, instantly dead after mere days on his own, fallen in filthy twoleg territory? Talltail growled as he stumbled on, as if he could simply will himself back to health. At last there was a gap in the tall wooden barrier, and he squeezed between the boards.

I might find it inside. I just have to find...I have to find it... Whatever he was trying to say to himself wasn’t clear. His thoughts were lost in a dense fog. Why was this happening? He sank to the ground, a sharp pain in his shoulders and legs shooting through him with every step. He tasted blood. Some cut in his mouth was bleeding heavily and he choked and sputtered as if he was sick. Then he really was sick, coughing up vile liquid and spit on the grass. There was nothing solid in his belly to throw up, but he heaved anyway, and colorful spots started dancing in his vision as he lost his sense of balance and found himself tumbled sideways onto the grass. What a pathetic way to die. You barely traveled for more than a day.

There was another voice from somewhere, but Talltail was in such a dreadful state he couldn’t tell if it was in his head or not.

He thought it might have said, “By all the stars! What happened to you?”

Briefly one thought calmly surfaced in his mind, Huh...That’s strange, it sounds so familiar but I can’t quite place it….

Then, he blacked out.

chapter list / previous / next

#cw violence #canon typical violence #FRU31 #chapter 31 #MA theres a weird lookin stray cat outside

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

Text

Short Stack -- Part 2

Here we go

Pro Hero! KiriBaku x Pro Hero! Fem! Reader

**18+ Fic**

Warnings: Angst, fluff, alcohol, swearing from obvious sources, biting kink, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, the boys being great at aftercare

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Still not great at smut, but fuck it (pun very much intended). Fight scenes are hard to write, but oh well, I’ll get better with practice. Love you guys ~

Part 1 - Part 3

Enjoy!

You didn’t think accepting Bakugou’s challenge would get you in such deep shit. You regret challenging him. He’s terrifying. But here you are, and there’s no getting out of it.

The three of you were in the agency’s separate training facilities, an arena with different training spaces, much like UA High’s USJ, only the spaces were designed to take on quirks of all kinds without taking much damage, the buildings were solid blocks of concrete with fake painted windows. You were standing in the middle of a clearing, facing off against Bakugou in an all-out spar using your quirks. Kirishima was standing a few dozen feet away, watching the unfortunate turn of events.

All of you were in your hero costumes. While Bakugou had his gauntlets to help him enhance the usage of his quirk, you and Kirishima couldn’t really use support items to help you, because your quirks just weren’t combat-oriented quirks. So your costume was relatively simple, allowing as much movement as possible for hand-to-hand combat. Black leggings, black halter tank top, black combat boots, and a black domino mask a lot like the one Bakugou wears, minus the extra spikes. On patrol when you weren’t fighting, you wore a black corset that had a cape flowing out from the bottom, and when you needed to jump into action you’d store it away with your quirk. Why? Because you’d been advised to make your costume more recognizeable and distinguishable from civilian clothing.

Now, you hadn’t even bothered putting on the corset, and were waiting to start facing off against pro hero Ground Zero. This almost definitely won’t end very well for you, but you can’t just let him win, so you drop into your stance and wait, staring at the towering figure a few yards away, ready to take whatever he throws at you. You need to keep as far away from his palms as possible, because if you get caught by that quirk it’s all over. So you just wait for him to move so he can’t read your movements as easily, and you know it’ll work, because Bakugou Katsuki is NOT a patient man.

Without warning he throws his hands behind him and fires off his quirk, propelling himself forward with impossible speed. But you’re still faster. You charge and duck under him as he throws a punch, immediately standing and sprinting away. He uses a blast from his palm to redirect his momentum with pinpoint accuracy, and propels after you. Thanks to his noisy quirk, you know how far and how fast he’s coming at you, and this time instead of ducking, you materialize a capture weapon much like the now retired Eraserhead used to use.

Quickly, you spin around and face Ground Zero, and as he swings you wrap his wrist with the material and dig your feet into the ground. Using his already insane momentum, you swing him around and slam him into the nearest building. He sets off a blast from his palms as he collides with the concrete, bracing himself and attempting to soften the impact. It worked. He was perfectly fine. Pissed off, but fine. Pro hero Ground Zero is absolutely terrifying.

The capture weapon vanished, and you braced for another round. There was no way he’d launch at you again. You’d already dodged him twice, managing to take advantage of his offensive tactics. This time, he charged without the use of his quirk, and you read his movements like the words on a book. When he planted his left foot to jump and flip over your head, you dropped to the floor on your knees, your back flattening on the ground and your feet just outside your hips. Just as he reached down to set off a blast at your face, you latched a quirk-cancelling cuff onto his wrist. As he tumbled, not prepared to lose his quirk, you materialized the capture weapon again, and wrapped up Ground Zero before he could regain his balance, completely immobilizing him.

After a few long seconds of silence and heavy breathing, Kirishima burst into laughter, “OH MY GOD IT’S JUST LIKE AIZAWA-SENSEI!! DO YOU REMEMBER BAKUGOU?!” At that, Bakugou snapped out of his shocked state and bellowed out a yell rivaling his quirk’s blasts. Kirishima just laughed harder. After a few minutes of Bakugou yelling and Kirishima dying of laughter, everything calmed. You unwrapped Bakugou and when you uncuffed him, he lifted his hand and popped off his quirk uncomfortably close to your face. It made you tense a little, but didn’t scare you like he probably intended to.

When you returned to sit with Kirishima, he asked how you learned to use the weapon the famed Eraserhead would use. “Actually, I learned from Aizawa-Sensei himself. Because of my quirk, I need to focus on close combat. I needed to learn as many different fighting styles and methods of restraining as possible. I actually approached a friend of mine that went to UA like you two, and he said he wouldn’t teach me because he was still learning, so we both learned from Eraserhead.”

“You know Shinsou?” Kirishima asked. “Yeah, I’ve known him since middle school.” His response was absolutely ridiculous. “Wow, he knew a cutie like you and didn’t tell anyone? How greedy.” You dropped your eyes to the ground and blushed hard at what just came out of the redhead’s mouth. “Anyway, we should get going. The sun’s gonna set soon and I think we’ve all gotta patrol tomorrow,” you quickly changed the subject. Bakugou agreed that it was time to pack up and go, so you went your separate ways.

The next few weeks passed pretty similarly. A few low-level villains popping up on patrol, hitting the gym whenever you could, running into either Kirishima or Bakugou en route, and occasionally going over to drink with the duo. There was shift change and the three of you all had Sundays off, and you’d go drink at their place on Saturdays, stay the night, and spend the day doing whatever the three of you felt like doing.

It was fun having people in your life. But soon enough you were spiraling again. You were just waiting for them to betray you and leave you lonely again. So when they began to get a little more physical with you, and you liked it, your paranoia screamed at you to run before they did. And there was another emotion swirling around inside you. Something that rivaled the paranoia and fear.

You really liked being around Bakugou and Kirishima. In fact, you were always sad to part ways with them. You ended up thinking about them way more often than you felt you should, and that scared you. You knew you were getting attached, but you didn’t know just how far you’d fallen until the day you were forced to either face your feelings and let them run free, or drown in your paranoid, lonely life.

It’s been a couple months now that you’ve got to know the duo that is Ground Zero and Red Riot. It’s Saturday, and the three of you were drinking and talking. Kirishima learned a while ago to drink a lot slower just to be able to talk more instead of passing out a couple hours in. The atmosphere in the apartment was strange, though, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. After being around the two, it became obvious that they were a little more than just roommates, seeing as they’d kiss around you now. Well, it was more Kirishima kissing Bakugou’s cheek and the blonde getting flustered. It was quite cute.

But that wasn’t the reason for the weird tension in the air tonight. But you couldn’t quite place it. The two were being flirty. Like, really REALLY flirty. Ever since you met them Kirishima was flirty, and Bakugou eventually threw in compliments that your outfit wasn’t terrible that day. Tonight though, as you all sat on the carpeted floor, Kirishima was laying it on thick, saying how beautiful you were and he always looked forward to seeing you, and a buzzed Bakugou was playing with your hair. At least, you thought he was buzzed. You couldn’t really tell.

You didn’t entirely mind the attention, you were extremely touch starved after all. But you were still wary about their intentions, your trust issues and paranoia preventing you from enjoying much of anything. Of course, the alcohol in your system brought down your defenses a little, and the part of you that was afraid of being abandoned dwindled down and drifted to the back of your mind.

After Kirishima was done gushing over you, he spread out and rested his head in your lap, and Bakugou put his head on your shoulder, still playing with your hair as his other hand wrapped around your waist from behind. A comfortable silence fell, and you closed your eyes to enjoy the warmth from the two bodies. You opened your eyes and looked down, expecting Kirishima to have fallen asleep, but his ruby eyes were looking straight back up at you.

Suddenly a gruff voice rumbled in your ear. “We really like you (y/l/n). And that’s saying a lot. I don’t like anybody.” Kirishima nodded his head in your lap, agreeing wholeheartedly with the blonde. Your walls came right back up, the paranoia coming back to bite you in the ass, and you let out a nervous chuckle. “I...I don’t think-” you were cut off by Bakugou shifting behind you, moving so he pressed your back into his chest and wrapped both his strong arms around your waist. “I know how you feel about people getting close, (y/l/n),” the blonde growled softly in your ear, “And we don’t expect you to just accept us out of the blue like this. But know that we’re willing to wait until you trust us with your heart.”

Bakugou shifted again and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck and whispering the confession. “We’ll wait, princess.” “We’ve been waiting, little pebble,” Kirishima chimed. You tilted your head in confusion, and Kirishima answered the silent question. “We’ve liked you since a little bit after we met you. At first we just liked hanging around you cause you were fun. But then…” he trailed off, knowing he didn’t have to say the rest.

You’d always prided yourself on your ability to read people. But now you were cursing your ability. Because you could read these two from the beginning, and you knew they’d never lie or deceive anyone. You knew from the second Bakugou judged your tiny figure aloud and Kirishima rolled over laughing at his partner’s defeat that they were good people. People you wanted in your life. People you could be safe with. You knew you could let your walls down around them, and they wouldn’t dream of hurting you. You knew, from the start, you’d fall madly in love with them.

And they fell for you too.

And you were terrified.

Unrealistic and idiotic thoughts swirled in your head. What if they stop liking me later? What if I actually read them wrong? What if I end up hurting them? What-

Your thoughts were cut short. You had started to spiral, and you’d already zoned out and didn’t notice the two move around you. But now you were all on the couch, you were straddling Bakugou’s lap, face in his chest, and Kirishima was behind you, his arms hooked around both you and the blonde. What snapped you from your thoughts wasn’t the movement, but the lips that took purchase on either side of your neck.

The two men were peppering soft, gentle, comforting kisses along your neck and shoulders. Bakugou’s voice rumbled in your left ear, “It’s okay, princess. We’d never hurt you,” Kirishima’s voice in your right, “It’ll be okay little pebble, we can keep you safe.” You melted in their arms, and the fear you felt began to ebb away with each touch from the males. They made you feel so safe. Secure. Loved. You really could let your walls fall around them. They’d take your broken and abandoned brick house and build it into a castle. And for the first time in a long time, you let people in.

You nodded against Bakugou’s chest, beginning to tear up at the thought of finally getting close to someone and knowing you wouldn’t regret it. “I...I like you too. Both of you.” Suddenly their movements stopped. Bakugou sat up and looked at you, and Kirishima leaned around to look at you, both of them wide-eyed and frozen, like deer in headlights. “Are you serious little pebble? You really like us?” You nodded quickly at the redhead, who beamed with a wide smile, and Bakugou just dove back into your neck, placing quick pecks on every inch of skin he could find. You giggled at the sensation. “Bakugou it tickles!” He froze, and slowly rose from your neck with a devious and mischievous smirk on his lips. Your eyes grew wide, “Don’t even think about it!” Too late. Kirishima jumped backward and pulled you down on the couch, pinning your arms next to your head, your legs trapped under your thighs so you couldn’t kick.

Bakugou immediately attacked your belly with his fingers, making you squeal and squirm. After relentless torture, he paused his attack, and you breathed a little bit, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you struggled to get oxygen back into your lungs. The peace didn’t last, though. Bakugou pulled up your shirt, exposing your belly, leaned down, and blew raspberries into your stomach, making you erupt in giggles and squeals all over again.

When you finally had enough and desperately needed to breathe, you materialized your wallet above Bakugou’s head and it dropped, making him jump and freeze. In between giggles you said, “That was me. I need to breathe. Give me a minute.” The two ceased their attack and let you go so you could get comfortable and breathe. Bakugou kept looking at you in confusion, and Kirishima asked the question that was probably on his mind. “How’d you drop your wallet on his head? Your hands were pinned! I had them pinned!” You giggled a little, realizing that they thought you could only materialize things into your hands. “I can materialize anything that I store anywhere I look. It doesn’t need to be in my hand,” you say with a small smile.

“But at the bar, you had your hand out.” Kirishima pointed out. “Yes, I did. Just to get your attention in the right place. Cause who would notice another set of keys suddenly appearing in the middle of the table if nobody was looking?” Kirishima nodded at your explanation. Then his eyes went wide, “So can you look at something and store it?” Again, you giggled, but this time it was from his slightly surprised, slightly excited expression.

You turned your head to the coffee table, two pairs of red eyes following your gaze. A coaster vanished from the table, and you looked above Bakugou’s head. Again their eyes followed, but as Bakugou looked up, it materialized and sat flat on his forehead. Before he could react, it vanished again, and appeared in your hand, before vanishing again and reappearing back on the coffee table.

“I try to keep from using it too much, because if it ever becomes useful in battle I’d like to keep it from being figured out. That, and I used to get accused a lot for stealing, so I just kinda stopped using it like that.” Kirishima had the biggest grin on his face. “That’s so freaking cool! Right Bakugou?” The blonde only shrugged with a small ‘eh’. Which, you learned, meant he agreed. After a couple minutes of talking about how you could use your quirk, you leaned back on the couch, took a deep breath, and glanced at the clock. It was currently 2am. That was fine, though, since you were all off and you could sleep in.

As you closed your eyes and relaxed, a nice silence filled the air. Though that silence was soon filled by the sound of fabric shifting and the couch dipping. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that the two were now sitting much closer to you. You could feel their body heat at your sides. So it didn’t scare you and you didn’t jump when you felt two large hands come down on each of your thighs. It did, however, surprise you when you felt their weight shift again and felt their mouths on the sides of your neck again, this time their tongues lapping at your skin.

It made you gasp as your eyes shot open, your body reacting instantly to the feeling. Your chest heaved as they sucked marks onto your neck, your legs squeezing together involuntarily. The two pulled away from you, their pupils blown wide with lust taking in your pleasured expression. You were thankful to whatever deity was looking out for you, because you knew exactly what they wanted, and you wanted it just as bad. You had rid yourself of your clothing so fast the two men were confused for a second before they realized you’d used your quirk.

Without another second, you’d taken off both their shirts and jeans and dropped them in the corner of the room with your quirk, and this time they just raked their eyes down your body, taking in every bit of exposed skin. It didn’t take long for them to reposition. Now you were straddling Kirishima, and Bakugou was behind you, returning to the task of leaving marks on your body. Bakugou was moving down your back, sucking bruises down your spine and Kirishima was nipping at the plush skin on your chest, just under your collarbone.

Soon you were a whimpering mess, gasping and mewling with every kiss they placed against your skin. When Kirishima got more intense with the bites, you only got louder, and he took notice. He latched his mouth onto your shoulder and bit down, slowly increasing the pressure, making you let out a soft moan. His eyes widened a little when you told him to bite harder. He obliged and bit down, just barely breaking the skin on your shoulder, and you moaned out loud. Bakugou stopped behind you and came up to whisper in your ear.

“You like biting princess?” he growled and nipped the shell of your ear. You nodded, desperate to feel the pain again. You brought your hand up and tapped the junction between your neck and shoulder, right at the top of your back where you could feel a muscle twitch. “Right here. Please,” you whined, knowing that was the most sensitive spot on your neck. Kirishima leaned over and licked where you tapped, “Here pebble?” You nodded furiously, and before you could open your mouth to beg again, his sharp teeth sank into your neck. You nearly screamed out a moan, your voice mixed with pain and pleasure as you felt drops of blood glide down your back.

As quickly as he was there, Kirishima let go and licked at the wound he’d inflicted, soothing it gently. You didn’t notice Bakugou’s absence until he came back and wiped the blood away with a damp cloth and kissed the skin around the bite. You were delirious with pleasure, just from that one bite, and you could feel your arousal soaking your panties. Bakugou took no time at all to make that discovery, trailing his thick fingers over your clothed pussy. “Fuck, Ei, she’s soaked. So wet for us already little princess.”

You couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening as you were carried to a bed. You didn’t register whose bed, but that didn’t really matter. You were put down on your back, two undeniably stunning men looking at you like you were the last meal on the planet. You were so out of it you didn’t quite realize they’d already stripped you of your bra and panties, and Bakugou was flat on his stomach, blowing hot breaths onto your exposed folds. The sensation made you jolt, and you whined wanting more. Kirishima kneaded your breasts, pulling a pert nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it before releasing it with a ‘pop’ and moving to repeat with the other, occasionally moving to your collarbone and leaving bites along your shoulders.

Bakugou lapped at your entrance, groaning from your sweet taste. He slipped the pink muscle into you, making you squirm at the feeling as he moved it around. He moved up, placing kitten licks over your clit as he slipped a thick finger into your heated core. You let out a soft moan as he slipped a second finger into you, curling them up to strike at the spongy spot inside you. It made you gasp sharply, and he smirked, knowing he’d just found what he was looking for.

He moved his fingers faster inside you, plunging them deeper and curling them up harder and faster, making you clench around him. A coil built up in your belly, tightening the more Bakugou moved his fingers. “I can feel you gripping me, princess. Cum for me,” he said, and attached his mouth to your clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle. That was all you needed for that coil to snap, and your back arched off the bed, your legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

Bakugou kept his ministrations, letting you ride out your high. Once you were panting back down on the bed, the two shifted positions once again. Bakugou behind you, holding you up against his solid chest, and Kirishima in front of you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lined up his cock with your entrance. You didn’t even know when they’d gotten naked themselves. But as you got a good look at his cock, your eyes widened and your breath hitched. He was huge. Thick and long, a prominent vein running underneath from the base all the way up to his head, already dripping precum.

“Like what you see pebble? Don’t worry I’ll go slow, I know I’m not small. You ready?” he asked gently, and you nodded. He slid into you, hissing at how your walls clenched around him. “Fuck, baby you’re so tight,” he said as he slowly sheathed his cock, inching his way all the way inside you. You were mewling and moaning, loving the way he’s stretching you, your hands reaching up and looping around Bakugou’s neck behind you to keep you anchored. When Kirishima finally bottomed out, you were both panting hard, and he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re doing so well baby. I’m gonna start moving okay?” You nodded, unable to form coherent words.

As he pulled out, you let out a high pitched moan, and he began to pump in and out of your dripping pussy. It felt amazing, but you desperately needed more. “Ki-Kiri- please, I n-need -- hah~” “It’s Eijiro, baby. Call me Eijiro,” he smiled softly before setting a brutal pace, making you moan out his name. A familiar coil tugged inside you, and you wanted so bad to be sent over the edge. Sensing your need, Bakugou traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, sucking and licking at his fingers. He pulls them out and reaches down to rub tight, precise circles on your clit. The tension in your belly snaps and you’re falling apart on Eijiro’s cock, mewling out his name while he keeps slamming into you.

As you’re coming down from your second orgasm, he slows and stills inside you, and pulls you off Bakugou into his chest. You feel the bed dip as the blonde repositions behind you. You turn your head to watch as he brings his fingers into his mouth, lubricating them with his saliva, and reaches down to prod at your puckered hole. His gruff voice reaches your ear in a whisper, “Relax for me princess.” He pushes one thick finger past the tight ring of muscle, and you mewl at the weird feeling, and as he pushes another in, you’re hissing at the sting.

He’s scissoring and curling his fingers in your ass, stretching you out to prepare you for his own cock. It takes a minute for the sting to subside. When he feels you relax, he spits on his cock and strokes with his other hand, making sure to slick his entire length. He removes his fingers and pushes the head of his cock into you, and you let out a whine from both the pain and the need for him to fill you up. Slowly, he’s sinking further into you with shallow thrusts, inching his way in until he bottoms out inside you. Eijiro moves inside you again and you’re gasping and clawing at his back.

As Eijiro slides his cock back into your pussy, Bakugou pulls out, and they’re moving back and forth in sync at a steady pace. You throw your head back against the blonde’s shoulder and let your moans and mewls slip out of you incoherently. “KATSUKI!!” you scream out when he suddenly snaps his hips up, slamming his cock into you. Eijiro follows suit, and the two set a bruising pace, rutting their hips up into you. You don’t even notice the pressure building in your abdomen until you’re spraying clear liquid over both of them, your body shaking from your third orgasm and overstimulation, and their hips begin to sputter, their pace becoming more erratic.

Eijiro is grunting into your ear, “I need to cum baby, where do you want me?”. You lace your fingers into each man’s hair, pulling them so you’re sure both can hear you. “Fill me up, fill me with your cum! Please fill me up!” At that, both men clamp their teeth down on your shoulders, pounding into you, and you’re screaming their names as they pump you full, painting your insides white.

All three of you are panting hard, trying to catch your breaths. Their cocks are still inside you, softening slowly, their seed dripping out of your holes. Katsuki is the first to move. He grabs the wet cloth from earlier as Eijiro puts you down on the bed. The blonde begins to clean your aching body, wiping down your legs and shoulders, cleaning off the cum and any blood that spilled from the bites they gave you. Katsuki finishes, tossing the cloth to the corner of the room, and Eijiro returns with a glass of water. He pulls you up to sit and sip from the glass as he holds it up to your mouth.

They take sips of the water themselves, and Katsuki leaves the room. Eijiro pulls you and tells you to sit up, and he lays down on his stomach next to you, laying his head on your lap. The position gives you a good look at his back, and your eyes widened at the sight. His upper back was marred with welts, little droplets of blood just barely seeping out, and you realized you did that, though you didn’t think you’d been scratching him all that hard. Soon Katsuki came back and cleaned up Eijiro’s back and spread ointment on both his scratches and your bites.

Once he was done, he put the ointment on the bedside table and the three of you curled up in bed with you squished between them once again. Your eyelids feel heavy, and as you feel sleep tugging at your mind, you let out a small chuckle, “If I can’t walk when I wake up, I’m gonna kill both of you,” and you drift into a deep sleep.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro #kirishima bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou bnha #kiribaku x reader

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orsuliya · 4 years ago

Note

What’s your headcanon on XQ and Awu first night after they reunited, do you think it goes hot ripping apart clothes of each other or soft tender love making ? Do u see Awu checking every new scars XQ had after ep.50 and maybe kiss all the boo-boo away ?

YES.

It is most unfortunate that the world does not stop even for the most dramatic of reunions. It certainly doesn’t do so for Awu and Xiao Qi, however dearly they might have wished for a moment to simply be, to breathe, to count treasured heartbeats and rediscover the meaning of safety in each other’s arms. Alas! Once inside the fortress, they both get swept into a whirlwind of pressing matters and urgent concerns. Someone has to take care of dispossessed civilians, someone has to instill a sense of purpose into his men, someone has to reassure the children, someone has to think of a plan on what to do next; the list of tasks to be done is never-ending. Even reorienting themselves in this new political reality – and much has changed in Cheng during their absence – takes time and energy both, especially as it turns out that the land they’ve finally stepped onto after long months of drifting in limbo might be less of a land and more of a quagmire.

Awu manages to complete her self-appointed duties first and experiences a moment of stark realization when it comes to her that until now she has never actually seen her husband’s bedroom in the closest thing he has to a real home. It’s startling to say the least, but our Awu is not a woman who would allow herself to wallow over lost opportunities; she throws off any vestiges of encroaching fugue and orders the maids – in a perfectly even voice, thank you – to lay out the bed and fill a bathtub, if there is one to be found anywhere in the whole province, that is. And you know what, there actually is one! Right there in Xiao Qi’s rooms and equal to any of those found in the capital. This causes some amount of confusion, but the maids are quick to explain that Dawang had ordered it right before he went to war against Prince Jianning. They also explain something that Awu hasn’t even wondered about – although Xiao Qi will, later on – namely how come the new commander hasn’t taken those rooms for himself. That one is actually easy: Tang Jing never moved in, thinking it a futile point with Dawang still alive somewhere out there and the new commander mistook Tang Jing’s bedroom for the lord’s, nobody finding it necessary to disabuse him of this notion.

As the maids flitter around, carrying out their lady’s commands, she pulls one of them aside to help her with all those tight Hulan braids. Hulan things and especially Hulan memories should stay in Hulan, you know. What about the dress, you’ll ask. Don’t worry, that blasted piece of wedding couture will get its due!

Xiao Qi was planning to take a moment to himself, perhaps change his clothes – should any of his things still be lying around - and then go join his wife. What he was definitely not expecting was to find his rooms full of laughter and light, his bright-eyed princess presiding over the commotion with her unbraided hair in a storm of tiny waves. If he was a lesser man, he would have needed to lean against the wall; and perhaps there is a reason why he puts his palm on a doorframe as he takes in the view, feeling the tension of the last six months drain from him with every passing second.

Let’s establish one thing: Ningshuo is home to some very astute maids. The moment the Princess notices the Prince, they make quick work of their remaining tasks and slither out in the most discreet manner possible. Which they needn’t have bothered with, because it’s not like either of the Yuzhangs would have minded… or even noticed.

It’s been the longest six months imaginable and perhaps there are words that need to be said, but some things matter more than words. The moment Awu moves, meaning to go to her husband, Xiao Qi springs into action, catching her hands in mid-air and pulling her up, up, but most importantly close to himself. He would be perfectly content just standing there with his lips pressed to the crown of her head and perhaps her crinkled hair smells nothing like the perfumed oils she used in the capital, but how could he mind that when she’s right in his arms, breathing, trembling and wondrously, miraculously alive. It’s Awu who moves away – which may or may not tear a quiet whine of protest from her husband’s throat – but she doesn’t go far; only as far as she needs to reach up and cradle Xiao Qi’s face in her narrow palms, slender fingers moving in tender exploration over those beloved features, reaffirming what she had already known. This is her husband, her mate in life and death, back in her arms once more. The grave cannot have him, nobody can but her! Every single laughter-line in the corner of his dark eyes, the painfully sharpened slope of his cheekbone, even this new beard of his – and that shall require careful examination, but later, later! - all of this is hers and only hers.

Soon she deems touch is not enough and goes in for a taste, the first touch of her lips breaking him out of his self-imposed stillness. There are hungry lips, teeth and tongues, shared breaths and perhaps a salty tear, nobody knows whose, desperate hands seeking anchor in loose hair and beneath it all an ember of passion suddenly bursts into an unquenchable flame.

Now, you need to remember one thing: Xiao Qi is a well-trained husband, one who never forgets a lesson his wife teaches him and once upon a time she taught him a lesson alright! A lesson on how, no matter the urgency, damaging her clothes in entirely out of question and it’s become so ingrained into him that he still refrains from taking any radical actions even now, when the unfamiliarity and unexpected complexity of her clothing poses a certain problem. Awu, getting progressively more frustrated over every second she has to spend entangled in fabric – Hulan fabric no less! - instead of her husband’s arms, tries to take the matters into her own hands. When that fails and how could it not, what with her so very distracted, she swiftly moves to plan B. At first Xiao Qi is not certain he heard her right as “Tear it off me!” is not something he’s ever heard from his wife, much less in such an insistent tone. It’s only after she assures him that she doesn’t mind, no, not at all, rip it to shreds for all that she cares, that he makes quick work of those confusing overlayers. Incidentally, come morning he will pick this tortured garment up from the floor, as if admiring his handiwork, and look askance at his half-conscious spouse, who will then mumble something about dreaming of destroying the blasted thing herself. It might or might not end up as a pile of ashes, who knows.

Awu shrugs off her top and then, as befits a great believer in marital equality, finds it only right to dive right beneath Xiao Qi’s hanfu with her increasingly insistent hands and itching fingers. Kissing is all good and well, but during the course of their marriage she has discovered many things, one of them being that skinship is even better. What Awu wants, Awu gets. And so in quick order they’re pressed against each other, bare skin to bare skin, so close that one could hardly fit a blade between their joined bodies.

And just like that, in a space between two breaths, Awu suddenly freezes, heart hammering wildly in her chest as her roaming hands still on Xiao Qi’s back. See, there are many things in which Princess Yuzhang takes pride: her birth, her name, her deeds, her husband and her household, but there is one particular point of pride she delights in most of all and that is her secret knowledge of Xiao Qi’s body. She has made a detailed study of every single mark on her husband’s skin, she had her fingers and lips on every single of his scars, she knows their stories, both those told in whispers late into the night and those shared amidst bouts of laughter, but here, beneath her hands are two scars she knows not. Even a fool could tell how close those wounds came to ending his life and Awu is no fool. It’s not like she didn’t expect it, exactly. After all there must have been a reason why he didn’t come for her for six whole months and there was no way he would have escaped unscathed from a battlefield that claimed so many of his dearest comrades. And yet…

And yet this is the straw that breaks her. After six months of being the bravest woman under the sun, of keeping her back unbent and head unbowed even as her heart kept bleeding into the dust of unfamiliar land, she finally cries. It’s not pretty. It’s not dignified. It’s ugly crying at its finest, the kind of crying when your every vein trembles uncontrollably and you throat clenches in pain as if encircled by a garrote of thorns. And so they stand there like two perfect fools, half-naked and crying. At first Xiao Qi tries to dam Awu’s tears in any way he knows how, with a gentle swipe of thumb, with soothing lips and words of love, yet nothing works and then, as the first inhuman wail tears free from her mouth, he breaks as well, unable to do anything but to clutch her desperately, his own hot tears soaking into her dark tresses.

When they calm down – and how could they not, finally together and safe in the heart of Ningshuo – there is little left from their previous fiery lust except for the smallest steady flame, safely banked behind an overwhelming tenderness of heart. Ever so gentle, they finish stripping each other and finally enter that bathtub, big enough for two. Limbs and hair get washed, fears soothed and scars most diligently inspected… before Xiao Qi experiences a startling realization of his own. Just as Awu knows his body in the smallest detail, he knows hers. It’s a husband’s right, nay, a husband’s duty to measure the swell of his wife’s breasts with his palms, to follow the slope of her belly with inquisitive lips and be ever mindful of the delicate skin on the inside of her thighs. Now this hard-won knowledge is like a knife to the heart as it allows him to read the story of those six long months from her body loud and clear; all that stress, fear and grief suddenly made tangible in the alarmingly sharp jut of her clavicles. He hates how fragile she feels in his arms, even as he loves feeling her in his arms at all. A stray impulse makes him try to turn it into a joke about her Aunt’s imminent anger. It doesn’t work, he’s way too emotional for that and so is she, but it disperses the silence, dislodging the last remains of tension born of old, ever-present fear.

There is no more silence as – after some very perfunctory towelling off – he carries her to bed, her too-thin thighs wrapped around his waist. The Princess can be very demanding when she chooses to be and right now she chooses to be very demanding indeed. So demanding that she’s not content to simply wait for her husband to join her in bed, oh no. Her shoulder-blades barely touch the linens before she rises back up on her knees and pulls Xiao Qi down to a sitting position. From there it takes only one expertly executed maneuver to straddle his knees; a god of war or not, he never stood a chance when faced with an opponent this determined.

It’s not like he minds following her orders, he never has, and certainly not when she communicates them in a series of delicious, breathy moans, stopping only to express her displeasure the moment he tries to unwind his arms from around her slender form. She needs to be held, dammit, and she will be held, and she will hold him in turn, never, ever letting him go again, that’s the command of Princess Yuzhang! Any other time he might have smiled at her commanding tone, but not now, not when it’s so deadly serious and when he would like nothing better than to comply and keep complying to the end of his days. Yet he knows his wife as only a husband who keeps to one bed can and there is no way she will be satisfied with simply rubbing off against him, especially when she still hasn’t come once and when in a night this heavy with tension she can easily get off two or three times more.

Awu cries out in protest when Xiao Qi bucks underneath her, somehow turning them around without ever letting her out of his arms and then presses her down onto the bed, effectively trapping her with his weight. She cries out again – for a very different reason – once he gets his hand between her invitingly open legs. But he’s not after her cries, oh no, he’s a much more discerning hunter than that. What he’s chasing are those gentle keens she tends to let out once she’s close to the edge but not yet on it. This time his fingers can’t quite do the trick fast enough for his liking; it’s not an exact science, pulling sweet whimpers out of your wife’s lovely lips, more of an art.

Even Awu can’t exactly protest – not that she doesn’t try – when her husband slithers down her body, much less when he gets his head between her thighs. She still holds him tight, just in case, only this time it’s by his hair. She can, however, protest, when in the aftermath he tries to take himself in hand, head pillowed on the inside of her knee – and isn’t it a marvel how good that beard feels on her skin? He’s hers, thank you very much, so she’ll take responsibility. Which she then proceeds to do to great effect and mutual satisfaction.

If after lying and breathing together for a few minutes he detects the tiniest shiver in her countenance, well, what are those handy white sleeping robes for. Surely, she won’t begrudge him a moment of separation, if it’s for the sake of her health. She does, by the way, she absolutely does and the frown that makes guest on her beautiful face never quite goes away as they resume their embrace, wordly concerns entering their bedchamber against their will. It’s been the longest six months imaginable, not only for them, but for the country as well, and there are words that need to be said.

Once all the necessary words are said, pressing matters of national importance dealt with, promises made and fears assuaged, there is little that will stop Awu from trying to chase away the shadow lying between Xiao Qi’s brows with determined, yet soft lips; and even less that would ban her from taking her due as Princess Yuzhang until the very dawn.

#ask and answer #the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #so I wrote that oh dear oh dear #not sure how coherent it actually is #coherence was not my first concern as you might imagine #that dress needed to die #and this way it dies for a good cause #episode 60

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mymothershumility · 4 years ago

Text

neverflownwithme asked: “Princes bleed just like other men.”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ Part 6 } & { Part 7 } & { Part 8 } & { Part 9 } & { Part 10 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

Though the room about them is small in size, it is packed to near bursting with all manner of items. Leather bound tomes are piled upon shelves, scrolls arranged atop desks, and trunks stacked along the stone walls. For then, such items pale in comparison to the painting that had drawn her eye when the room had been flooded with light.

Eyes drift over the portrait, gaze flickering across the seven figures painted upon the canvas. She knows them all save for one. The youngest of the seven is little more than an infant with her dark mahogany curls and shining amethyst eyes. She is swaddled in deep grey and white silks and cradled in the crook of her mother’s arm.

Saera.

Laira recalls the name as if it is an extension of herself... as if it is a part of her. As she ponders the state of her dreams of late --looks upon the physical manifestation of them-- she cannot help but think such a thing might be true. Her visions have been too detailed --have felt far too real-- for there to be another explanation.

And, now, there is all of this.

“There has never been a recorded recount of the Targaryens and the Starks marrying,” Hal says, eyes still trained on the painting.

His voice surprises Laira, has her own gaze turning to look at him. He has been quiet since their discovery, focus devoted to the portrait before them. Still, there is no disbelief or confusion in his voice. As Laira looks to him, he seems almost relieved by what they have stumbled across hidden within the walls of her solar.

“None before the two of us,” Laira offers, pausing as she considers her next question. She is hesitant to voice it aloud.

‘Ask him if he knows,’ something whispers to her. ‘Tell him what you have seen while you have slumbered.’

It is not the taunting voice from King’s Landing that speaks to her. Instead, it is the comforting one that had soothed her when she had first woken upon Dragonstone. Again, fear seems to slither its way down the column of her spine. Is she losing herself to grief and anger once again?

Has the damage already been done?

Is she going mad?

Has she already slipped into the abyss?

“It is Visenya Targaryen,” Laira begins, her voice hesitant, “and Tor...”

“I know,” he interrupts, eyes still trained upon the portrait. “I know who they are.”

His words shock her, make her body go rigid as she reaches for him. Her hand sets itself upon his arm, fingers practically trembling as she holds on to him. “How?” Laira asks, fearing what he may say to her. Has she told him of her dreams in some past conversation? Has she confided in him and forgotten it?

When he reaches and sets his hand over the top of her own, thumb ghosting across the bumps of her knuckles, some of her fears abandon her. She feels as though his coming answer is not so dire... that, perhaps, her fears are unwarranted. All the same, he seems hesitant himself to speak after her inquiry… if only for a moment.

“I’ve had dreams about them,” Hal finally admits, the words low. His brow has pinched together in thought again, a look of practical relief fluttering across his face the longer he gazes upon the portrait before them. “All of them,” he goes on, giving a nod towards the portrait.

Laira cannot keep herself from clinging to him all the tighter, relief bleeding through the press of her fingers and the gaze that she casts across to him. “I have seen them as well,” she admits aloud. There is something freeing about the admission, something that lifts the weight that has been settled over her shoulders since she had awakened screaming not so long ago. “I have been dreaming of them since arriving here.”

“So have I,” Hal returns. He lets his gaze linger a moment or two longer on the portrait before he turns to look at her. “I thought, perhaps, all the trials and the losses we have faced might have been to blame for it. Some sort of wishful thinking on my part.”

He pauses in his explanation once more, a sigh working its way from him. When he does, Laira speaks before he can continue on. “I do not believe that our dreams are so simple in their origins,” she admits. Not now. Not after the bloodstained stones within her solar. Not after the portrait that seems more mirror than painting to her. “Do you?” she asks him.

“No more than you do.”

They keep their positions just on the outskirts of the room, neither wishing to breach the threshold and pass through the open doorway before them. Too much uncertainty lingers ahead of them. Far too many questions are brewing. Though Laira wishes to find some sort of answer to all that has been occurring in the capital and there among Dragonstone’s ancient walls, there is also a part of her that worries what she may discover.

“It’s late,” Hal murmurs over to her, arm moving so that he can set it across the plain of her back. His hand finds a home at her waist, fingers dipping into the fabric of her robe. “We can investigate matters further when morning comes. You need to rest,” he reminds. His statement is punctuated by a brief kiss to her temple and the press of his cheek to the crown of her head. “We will find the answers to our questions.”

She cannot deny his observation, does not even think to try. Her body is sore in all the ways that she anticipated it would be from their lovemaking mere hours before. And, though her nightmare has faded away to nothing more than a passing discomfort, her head now aches and throbs because of it. Rest would be wonderful, yet Laira is uncertain how much she will be granted now.

The Queen allows her husband to draw her away from the room and back towards the main living area of their apartments. She allows her magic to slip, watching over the line of her own shoulder as the sconces upon the walls flicker before extinguishing all together.

Returned to their bed, there is little rest to be found despite the exhaustion that clings just at the back of her mind. Buried beneath the sheets and the heavy duvet atop their bed, back pressed to Hal’s chest, Laira attempts to let the calming hammer of her husband’s heartbeat and the grumbling roar of thunder sooth her back to slumber. Disquiet awaits her each time her eyes slipped closed. She sees the portrait in the back of the hidden room within her solar at times. But, mostly, she sees Shiera Seastar, gasping and dying among a pool of blood in ruined silver and pearl silks.

If Hal sleeps, she cannot be certain. Too many times she feels his breathing change, feels his muscles bunch as if in anticipation of some sort of strike. He keeps still despite all of that, holding her to him as they both attempt to rest. It is a hopeless attempt, in the end; however, Laira welcomes the comfort he gives to her all the same.

When dawn begins to break, casting a hazy gray light through the windows of their apartments, Laira slips out of Hal’s hold to go in search of clothing to change into. She has fresh dresses and gowns available to her, all of them hanging pristinely within her armoire. She sees very little use in donning them, though. With all that she is planning to do that day, it seems senseless to ruin a dress or a gown among the dust of the hidden room. She pulls out a pair of soft riding leathers and one of Hal’s worn tunics, slipping on both in relative quiet. Taking up her abandoned pair of silvered hair pins, she sweeps her hair up into a tangled nest of curls atop her head before securing the hair in place.

Feet bare, but dressed otherwise, she steps back into her solar. The doors are left ajar as she enters, the sconces upon the wall bursting to life with flame. Those within the hidden room do the same, yellow light reflecting off the dark stone within it and casting dancing shadows across the space.

Everything is as it was those few short hours before. Leathered journals, tomes, and heavy trunks are stacked in every available space. There is another Myrish carpet set along the floor, one that stretches from wall to wall in all directions.

Pausing for only a moment at the threshold Laira steps into the small room, breath momentarily hitching in her chest. She anticipates something. What, she cannot say. A vision, perhaps. Or some other oddity. When none manifest, her breath leaves her in a relieved sounding sigh.

Stale air still lingers in the space, clinging to the walls and carpet beneath her feet. Everything seems to loom about her as she stands just inside the doorway. It’s near overwhelming, the stacks of tomes, scrolls, and sealed trunks. The portrait at the end of the space, lit by the dim rays of dawn breaking through the windows of her solar, is all the more striking.

Turning, she reaches and begins sorting through the stacks of leather bound journals and scrolls that are piled upon a desk near the doorway. She does not know how else to begin, does not know if there is even a correct place to start. Among the stacks, one journal above all the others draws her attention. She recognizes the Lyseni craftsmanship, the deep amethyst leather impeccable. Moreover, the three headed dragon of House Targaryen is emblazoned in silver along the front cover.

Flipping through the pages, she finds them filled in their entirety in a foreign --yet strangely familiar-- hand. The pages are filled with various journal entries, recounts from as far back as 193 AC. Laira begins reading from the first entry, eyes traveling across the page and the carefully penned words that are written upon it.

The first several entries are short, snippets of encounters and happenings. Some of the entries contain notes, reminders for the recorder. Others contain desires or wishes. Some, even, list grievances and fears. It is not until a quarter way through the journal that the entries seem to shift. They become longer, more detailed. It is easy for Laira to pinpoint the cause of the change. By then, she has seated herself in the middle of the room, legs drawn up so she is sitting cross-legged upon the Myrish carpet. The journal is resting in her lap, fingers ghosting along the silvered edges of the bound parchment as she devours the words.

She does not start when two familiar presences join her. The first comes to rest against her side, black fur brushing against her legs and the exposed skin of her arms. Moone whines for attention, going quiet only when she is granted the sweep of Laira’s hand over the top of her head. The second presence comes but a moment later. Hal slips up behind her, bending until he is sliding into place behind her with a tired sounding sigh. She recognizes the exhaustion all too well… feels it herself bearing down upon her shoulders.

Still, she slides back to sit between his legs at the press of his hand to the crook of her elbow, her own legs uncrossing to help push herself back. She folds them underneath one of his own when she settles, toes momentarily curling against the carpet.

“You did not sleep,” Hal speaks, leaning over her shoulder to see what she is reading.

“Neither did you,” Laira returns, mouth quirking when she feels him press a kiss down onto the bare line of her shoulder. “I hope that it was no fault of mine.”

“You know better.”

“Perhaps,” Laira concedes. Another smile lifts the corners of her mouth when a porcelain cup is passed over her shoulder to her. The porcelain is warm under her fingers when she takes it from Hal. The contents swirling within it smell heavily of orange and ginger. “Thank you.”

His initial answer comes in the form of a quiet grunt, arms moving until they are wrapped around her. The flats of his palms rest against the plain of her stomach, fingers intertwining until they are steepled together over her. “Mira gave me a rather scandalized look when I granted her entry.”

“I pray you were clothed,” Laira murmurs. When she sips from her cup, she releases a quick sigh of approval. Her tea is sweetened perfectly with honey. There is a hint of lemon lingering in the background of the brew as well. Her husband’s doing, she knows. Laira holds the cup back to Hal in offer, keeping hold of it until she feels one of his hands rise to take it from her hand.

“Partially,” he admits, drinking from the cup himself. His sip is more careful than his wife’s, not wishing to scald his tongue or the roof of his mouth. “My tunics have begun disappearing once again.”

“A curious mystery.”

Laira welcomes the ease of the conversation, welcomes the way that they are able to converse in such a manner despite what they have stumbled upon just hours before and what surrounds them even now. There is some sort of unspoken vow there between them, Laira thinks. A vow that they will find the answers that they so desperately hope to, yet will not allow anything to sway what they already are to one another. They cannot allow a desire for answers to ruin what is already there between them.

And, they shall not.

“What have you found?” Hal finally asks her, taking another drink from the cup before passing it back to Laira. “A maester’s recount of something?”

“A personal journal,” Laira answers, fingers plucking the cup back from him. She takes her own sip and then sets it aside on the carpet beside them. “It belonged to Shiera Seastar.” As for all of the other items within the room, Laira cannot say. “Aegon IV’s final mistress, Lady Serenei of Lys, has been mentioned among the pages I have read a number of times. Queen Naerys and the Dragonknight have been as well.” She goes quiet. Then, she admits, “I dreamt of her last night. Shiera, that is. She was in my nightmare.”

There is little known about the Star of the Sea. That, Laira already knows too well. Yet, Laira can recall the various dates that surrounded Aegon IV’s last Great Bastard. Those recorded, thus far, within the journal intersect perfectly with the life that Shiera Seastar would have lived. What baffles her most, though, is the mystery surrounding the latter portions of her life.

Why was there such secrecy? Why was there so little known of her?

As she ponders such a thing, additional questions spring to mind. Why was Visenya Targaryen surrounded in mystery? Why was Rhaena of Pentos?

“This entry,” she begins, fingers lightly tapping the edges of the pages, “is of particular interest.”

“What does it say?” Hal asks. Some of the script he can read over his wife’s shoulder.

Laira lifts the journal from her lap, holding it closer to her so that she may read from it while allowing Hal the opportunity to follow along with her if he wishes. “The Wolves have journeyed to the capital at Daeron’s request. More have come in tow than originally anticipated. I encountered the Heir of Winterfell earlier in the day out among the gardens. Having listened to my good-sister speak of him, I had expected him to be older than he was and not of my own age…”

The Queen’s private gardens are her favorite. Here, she can sit and read without being bothered by the stares and the whispers of others. The Queen and the King are always kind to her -- have always been kind to her. The King calls her little sister and dotes upon her in a way that her father never had in the few short years that she had known him. And, the Queen is as near a mother to her as she can desire.

All the same, the King and Queen’s pleasantries cannot undo the gossip and the sneers that members of their court give to her when she walks among them. Even at the age of five-and-ten, she has garnered a reputation for herself. It is a reputation fanned into flame by slander and misunderstanding, yet it is a reputation all the same.

It is such a reason that she prefers the solitude of the gardens to the chattering halls of court.

Silver skirts bunched beneath her knees, Shiera bends forward to snip pieces of lavender from the bush in front of her. The trimmings join the others in her basket. She has found all manner of things in her trek among Queen Myriah’s gardens that day. There are pieces of lemon thyme, lavender, and mint in her basket. There are also pieces of tansy, basil, wormwood, and pennyroyal among half a dozen other plants and herbs. And, Shiera has use for all of them.

Some, she will use in medicines and tonics. Others, for cures that some ladies of the court dare not speak of aloud.

Humming softly, she is leaning to snip pieces of rosemary from a nearby plant when a shadow falls over her. She feels the presence clawing faintly at the back of her mind before the voice comes.

Both are uninvited. Both are unwelcome.

“Shiera.”

The young girl scowls, focus devoted to the rosemary plant that she now cuts. She drops the sprigs into her basket alongside all the others, refusing to acknowledge the presence that still hovers just behind her. She hates Bloodraven and everything that he brings forth with him in his wake.

How someone as kind as Lady Melissa Blackwood could birth a son such as Bloodraven truly baffled her.

“Don’t be cold,” Bloodraven says.

There is a hint of a growl to his words. Shiera hears it as well as the birds chirping in the trees all about her. The growl sends a shiver up her spine… or, perhaps that is Bloodraven’s tampering once again. She feels the clawing at the back of her mind once more, a desperate attempt by something dark and incredibly dangerous to gain access to her in some forsaken manner.

Shiera refuses to yield, has long since proven to be a host that Bloodraven cannot gain access to. The daughter of Serenei of Lys would never be one to be so easily controlled. Her defiance only serves in fanning Bloodraven’s temper. Such a feat seems to be a more common one as of late. There is a great deal of pride in that for Shiera.

Let him know that he has met his match in her. Let him know a girl five years his junior already holds more power than he does.

When the shadow above her moves, and Shiera sees a hand stretching out for her, she whirls and slaps the hand away from her. Her gardening shears are dropped, another blade snatched up from the amethyst belt at her waist and thrust in Bloodraven’s direction. The dagger in her hand had once belonged to her mother, had been an heirloom of Serenei’s Lyseni family for generations. Forged from Valyrian steel, Shiera grasps the handle of it tightly in her palm, the blade gleaming smoke gray in the early afternoon sun.

Bloodraven stares at her, having stopped in his advance. He stares. And then, all at once, he begins to laugh. The sound makes Shiera’s skin crawl.

“What are you going to do, Shiera?” Bloodraven taunts. “Kill me? Our dear brother will have your head for such a thing.”

He moves again and, when he does, Shiera slashes with merciless intent. The blade drives home, slashing deep across the other’s untainted cheek. There is nothing that has ever sounded so sweet as the surprised yell that Bloodraven gives in answer to her strike.

Her victory --no matter how small-- is short lived. In the next moment, Bloodraven’s hand is connecting with her own cheek. The force of the slap sends her stumbling to the ground, body upsetting the contents of her basket in her fall as her dagger jolts out of her grasp and scitters across the brick pathway winding through the garden. She attempts to scream when Bloodraven’s weight falls atop her, finds that the sound is muffled, though, by the press of his palm over her mouth and nose. She can’t breathe. She thrashes and shrieks behind his hand, screams louder and louder when she feels his free hand attempting to yank the bottom of her skirts up.

Just as quickly as Bloodraven’s attack starts, it stops.

Shiera feels the other’s weight leave her, hand torn away from her mouth and nose. She gasps for breath, half screaming in the process. Over the sound of her panicked gasps, she hears the sound of flesh connecting against flesh. The sound of snapping bone comes and then Bloodraven is howling and cursing. Shiera looks about her at the sound, searching for her dagger. She spots it only a second later, shining just across the garden pathway. She nearly trips twice over the length of her silver skirts as she bolts to retrieve it.

“You bitch!”

Shiera hears it screamed at her, turns just as she is snatching up her dagger to see Bloodraven making another bolt for her. His cheek is still bleeding from the strike she dealt him. But now, there is additional injury. His nose looks crooked. There is blood pouring openly from it. Broken, Shiera realizes. She cannot temper the fluttering satisfaction that rises within her at the sight. She anticipates another slap from the man, braces herself as she clutches her dagger tighter in her hand. Another body is stepping between her and Bloodraven in the next moment, an unmoving shield between her and her demented half-brother.

“Northern dog!” Bloodraven yells.

Bloodraven never advances beyond the man standing before her. When he tries to bull through him, the man --a Northman, Shiera gathers-- takes hold of Bloodraven’s doublet and throws him back onto the brick pathway. The Northman’s arm extends back while Bloodraven attempts to collect himself upon the ground, urging her to remain hidden behind him. Shiera makes no move to depart from the safety of her spot. She does not move to relinquish the hold upon her dagger, either.

Stumbling back onto his feet, Bloodraven growls low in his throat, glaring over to where Shiera still hides behind the safety of her rescuer. He spits blood at the two of them, wiping his bloodied nose upon the now ruined sleeve of his doublet. A finger is jabbed in Shiera’s before he skulks away, a threat growled out as he retreats.

“I will have you.”

The words send fear cascading down the column of her spine. She takes half a step closer to her rescuer, her free hand touching at his shoulder to steady herself. She’s surprised when she feels his own hand set itself against her arm. She flinches --unwillingly-- with the contact, but does not shrug away from it.

Neither she nor her rescuer make an attempt to move, not until Bloodraven is retreating down the garden pathway in a near whirlwind of black and crimson silks. Each and every step that he takes is framed with a loud curse. It isn’t until he is out of sight that Shiera finds herself willing to move. She steps away from the remaining man, hurrying back across the pathway to where her herbs now lay scattered among the grass. Half of them are bruised and flattened. She will be able to find some purpose for them, she knows, but it will not be what she originally anticipated using them for.

With a sigh, Shiera bends and sets her knees back into the soft grass, skirts bunched up around her again. Her basket is righted before she begins collecting all that has been scattered in Bloodraven’s strike. She keeps her dagger in hand, working slowly. When a presence settles down beside her in the grass --the Northman, she realizes a moment after--, Shiera pauses in her gathering to watch him out of the corner of her eye. He has short-cropped dark brown hair and eyes that are a near match. As she watched him, she thinks his eyes are actually a shade darker than his hair.

“Are you all right?”

Shiera nearly laughs at such a question. This is not the first time that Bloodraven has acted in such a way. She knows that it shall not be the last as well. This is the first time, though, that he has come as close as he did in succeeding in his attack. He is becoming bolder each time.

“Would you like me to find a maester for you?” the Northman asks, a bundle of herbs placed back into the young woman’s basket. “Or one of the Queen’s guards?”

Shiera immediately shakes her head, gathering another fistful of herbs. “They do not need to know,” she tells him. And, then, “You should not have done that. He will be angry now…”

“Princes bleed just like other men,” the Northman tells her. “I should have done worse for what he was attempting to do, Princess.”

She smiles at his response, less from his reasoning and more from what he calls her. “I am not a princess.” To many there at court, she was barely even a lady. The Westerosi courts had little favor for bastard born daughters and sons… even those of royal and noble birth. “And Bloodraven is no prince.”

The thought occurs to her, just a moment later, that the Northman assumed such about Lady Melissa’s son… that he’d defended her in such a physical manner against a man he thought to be a royal.

“He’s not even a man.”

That makes Shiera smile. There have never been truer words spoken. “No, he is not.”

At times, Shiera thinks he is something entirely inhuman. She had thought so since the very moment she met him.

With her herbs back in her basket, Shiera gathers her shears and begins to stand. She’s surprised when her basket is taken up ahead of her. She is even more surprised at the hand that the Northman offers down to her in aid. There’s a moment of hesitation before Shiera reaches to take hold of it and climbs back to her feet. Shiera expects him to relinquish her basket back to her and be on his way. Instead, he keeps his hold on it and offers his free arm to her.

Shiera watches him for a time before slipping her dagger in her hand back into the belt at her waist. Then, she reaches to slip her arm through the other’s own.

“Do Northmen make a habit of defending ladies from unwanted advances and then acting as their escorts?” she asks him, walking with him as he leads her back to the garden pathway. He turns them back towards the Red Keep as they begin walking side-by-side. “Or is it merely a personal code for some?”

“My father would be angered if he discovered I had left a lady to journey anywhere on her own after such a harrowing encounter.”

Shiera makes a sound of understanding. Then, she asks, “And, what would he say to not formally introducing yourself to the lady you aided?”

He laughs at her question. “He would likely be angered all the same,” he admits. “My name is Donnor.”

“Donnor,” Shiera repeats. “Thank you for coming to my aid,” she tells him. Most of the men visiting court would not have… would have been turned away by the reputation that followed her about the court.

“You owe me no thanks for that.”

“That does not mean it is not owed to you.”

It’s Donnor’s turn to hum in understanding. He follows it with a question of his own. “Would my lady grant me her own name?”

“Shiera,” she tells him. When she turns to look at him, she finds him already watching her. “My name is Shiera.”

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @xcoatlicuex & @thequeenmaker & @ialwayswasthebest & @viperparamour & @hisvipereyes & @nolongerhispawn & @adornishviper & @shewhoisironborn & @anunfailingkindness & @therosesofhighgarden & @aladyofwinterfell & @fairytalesandstars & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @zaldrizo & @arisiarrxb & @alionessroars }

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #;drabble #otp; you are the light in the dark #tw: assault

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hyucks-archive · 4 years ago

Text

love, my heart.

word count: 5,456

genre: angst

member(s): bestfriend!donghyuck & boyfriend!mark

warning(s): nothing much

author’s note: @haeloce has spoken once more - ask & you shall be given (again)! i really hope it manages to satisfy your craving for angst in someway

“Two?” the cashier asks. Donghyuck nods his head to confirm. The part-timer ushers the both of you to your designated karaoke room, shutting the door as he takes his leave. You immediately plonk yourself down on the couch, resting your head against the backrest. Donghyuck shifts to sit beside you.

“Give me the remote,” you say, reaching a hand out. Donghyuck does as told, placing the remote in your hand. At this point, he doesn’t even need to ask or guess, to know what song you were going to sing. It’s been six months, a whole half of a year, and nothing much has changed. You still spent at least five out of seven nights intoxicated, singing your lungs out at the karaoke room, and Donghyuck has been around every step of the way.

The familiar tune of the beginning of Kim Bum Soo’s I Miss You begins to play. You grab the microphone, tapping on it gently as you wait for the cue to sing.

Donghyuck wouldn’t have thought that you’d be like this back then.

Six months ago.

It’s the fifth week in a row now.

Usually, he’d visit every weekend. It was a routine that the both of you had become accustomed to ever since the beginning of university.

If it were a choice, the both of you would’ve opted to attend the same university. But you both have different interests and aims in life, and so you mutually agreed that you’d support each other, and embrace the distance, for the sake of a better future. Everything has been going well so far. The both of you had managed to survive the first year of university, without drifting apart; you were even able to introduce him into your new friend group. Everything was going so well.

“You’re thinking about Mark again?” Donghyuck asks, claiming the seat beside you. He places his bag down on the ground, before leaning his left cheek on the surface of the table, mirroring your position. You purse your lips, your right cheek numb from having been in this position for a good thirty minutes already.

“I haven’t seen him in five weeks,” you mumble, letting your eyes settle on the Carhartt logo on Donghyuck’s t-shirt.

“Didn’t he tell you that he’s busy?”

“He did. But the most we have gone without seeing each other, is two weeks, never five. And he’s hardly been answering my calls these days,” you sulk, knitting your brows. Donghyuck chuckles, reaching a hand out to ruffle your hair, “Are you trying to say you miss him?” he teases.

“Of course not,” you defend, finally lifting your head up. “I don’t ever miss anybody,” you declare, folding your arms.

“Considering that you’ve been with Mark for three years now, shouldn’t you be more expressive with your feelings?” Donghyuck lifts his head up too, turning his body towards you. You raise a brow, shrugging as you reply, “He’s never complained.”

“It doesn’t mean he’s okay with it,” Donghyuck retorts.

“Whatever,” you say, brushing him off. “I hope he comes by this weekend. Otherwise, it’d mark six weeks of not seeing each other.”

“Why don’t you just go down to his university instead?”

You deadpan, rolling your eyes at Donghyuck.

“Let’s go, I’m hungry,” you say, changing the topic. Donghyuck shakes his head as he picks up his bag, following after you. He takes brisk footsteps, finally catching with you. “You really need to learn to wai-”

Before he’s able to finish his sentence, he sees the way your eyes light up, practically sparkling as your folded arms come loose. “Mark!” you exclaim, running forward. Donghyuck’s eyes follows your movements, briefly making eye contact with your boyfriend. Donghyuck dips his head slightly, acknowledging Mark’s presence. Mark gives a small smile.

You reach a hand out as per usual – it’s just the way that you and Mark have always greeted each other. He’d pull you in for a side hug, press a kiss to your forehead, and rub gentle circles on the small of your back.

But today, all he does, is give a little wave, coupled with a faint smile. Your hand is left hanging in the air awkwardly; Mark doesn’t notice, but Donghyuck definitely notices. Donghyuck raises a brow, his eyes immediately shooting up towards Mark, wondering why he didn’t react to your obvious gesture for a hug. After all, it’s been five weeks. And Donghyuck knows how your relationship works; if anything, Mark has the most dedicated, undying, unconditional love for you. But it doesn’t seem to show through today.

You purse your lips, retracting your hand to prevent from any further embarrassment.

“I’m so glad you finally managed to find time to come,” you say excitedly, bouncing lightly on your feet. Mark’s faint smile doesn’t widen, nor does it disappear. It remains plastered, as though he’s forcing it to stay on his face. Your brows twitch in confusion for a mere millisecond, but you choose to ignore it. Maybe the stress from school has really gotten to him.

“Me too,” he replies, gesturing towards Donghyuck with his chin. “Does your friend want to join us?”

You turn around to take a look at Donghyuck, before turning back to face Mark. “We haven’t seen each other in five weeks,” you say, trusting that Donghyuck would understand. He’s sociable, so he’d definitely have other friends that he can have lunch with. “Let’s just eat together,” you suggest, taking Mark’s hand in yours.

Mark allows you to hold his hand, but it remains limp. He counts to two, then gently pushes your hand off with his thumb. It’s natural, so he hopes you don’t pick it up. But you do.

“Let’s go then,” he says, turning around to lead the way.

You turn back towards Donghyuck, “See you tonight?” you offer.

“See you,” Donghyuck replies, shooing you away. He watches as you scurry forward, linking your arm with Mark’s.

Donghyuck’s gut tells him that something isn’t right.

You’ve been sitting opposite Mark for ten minutes now, and all he’s done, is eat in silence. He hasn’t said a word, which is completely out of character for him. Usually, he’d excitedly ask about your day, your week, what you’ve been up to, etcetera. His eyes would glimmer with interest as you shared your little anecdotes, yet he hasn’t asked you a single question today. It’s been five weeks, you have so much to share. Why isn’t he asking you anything?

Deciding that it only makes sense to ask Mark upfront, you put your cutlery down, pulling your chair toward the table.

“Is something wrong?” you question.

Mark finally looks up at you, his chest visibly moving up and down. It’s his body’s way of telling you he has something to say.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” you affirm, reaching a hand out to hold his, but Mark pulls away too quickly. You feel a light sting in your heart. What exactly is going on?

He places his cutlery down on the table, straightening his back. You’re absolutely confused at this point – did you do something wrong? Why is Mark being so uncharacteristically cold towards you? It’s been five weeks with minimal contact; what could you have possibly done that would’ve upset him like this?

Mark’s eyes shift restlessly, as though he’s searching for the right words to use, and the right sentences that would communicate his thoughts and feelings accurately. He wants to minimise the damage as much as possible, but this conversation that he’s been putting off and avoiding for so long, it has to happen someday. He was already able to take the first step in coming to see you, now all he has to do, is complete the conversation he’s been rehearsing endlessly back in the dormitory.

“Did you miss me?” he starts off, avoiding eye contact. You’re taken aback by his question – Mark was never one to ask you something like this. You’ve always been on the inexpressive side of the spectrum, and Mark knows that very well.

“Why are you asking me that?” you probe, trying to look him in the eyes, but failing miserably.

Mark scoffs, causing you to frown in reaction.

“Have you realised every weekend that goes by, we see each other less and less?” is his next question. You think back upon what has been happening the past few months – from weekly weekends of visits from Mark, it slowly became a fortnightly affair, and then it’d be irregular visits that ranged from anywhere between one to three weeks, and most recently, five weeks between his visits. You have noticed it, definitely. How can you not?

Mark takes your silence as consent, so he goes on with his third question, “Have you ever wondered why that’s happening?”

You ponder for a moment. Have you?

“Babe, what are you talking about?” you let out a breathy, awkward smile. “You were busy, so we couldn’t meet.” At least, that’s what he always told you when the weekend came. He’d tell you that he’s busy for the week, that he has club meetings, or other social gatherings that he didn’t want to miss out on. Sometimes, it’d be because he had to study, or had assignments to do. So naturally, you took these reasons for what they were. Should you have not done that?

“Were you busy?” Mark asks, looking up to meet eyes with you. Your smile that’s telling of how awkward you feel, only widens. “What do you mean?”

With the coldest tone you’ve ever heard from Mark, he states, “Yeah, I was busy. Maybe you were busy for a weekend or two, but not every single weekend that we didn’t meet. On those weekends, you’d go hang out with your friends, or you’d laze around in your studio, watching Netflix.”

You furrow your brows, “What are you trying to say? Are you trying to blame me for the weeks that we didn’t manage to meet?”

Mark sighs, his brows furrowing in annoyance. It’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed such an expression from him.

“That’s the problem,” he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? In those weeks, instead of just staying in bed, you could’ve travelled to my university to see me.”

“But you said you were busy, so I-”

“Don’t use that as an excuse,” he cuts you off, expression stoic. You feel a second squeeze to your heart. “Name me one time in the past year and a half where you came down to my university.”

You gulp. You’re trying to search your brain for some memory of having done that, but you’re not able to recall anything.

Mark doesn’t show any reaction to this. It’s as though he already expected you to tense up, to not be able to reply him. He continues with his next probe, “Name me one friend that I’ve made ever since I started university.”

You blink a few times, trying your best to recall the name that Mark has mentioned a few times in the passing. “Jacky?” your answer ending in a higher tone, signifying your hesitance and the fact you’re not even sure if it is the correct answer.

“You’re close friends with Lee Donghyuck, born in year 2000, has a birthday in June. He majors in Business Management, and you met him during one of your electives in your first semester.” You open your mouth to say something, but Mark continues with what he has to say. “And yet, you can’t even remember Johnny’s name,” he finishes, coupled with a scoff at the end.

“Do you get it now?” Mark asks.

You swallow, feeling the sting in your nose.

“I accepted things the way they were, even though half the time I wasn’t feeling loved,” Mark continues, successfully managing to pierce a few more needles into your heart. “But I’m not happy anymore, y/n. I don’t think I can ever be, if I remain in this relationship.” The rest were needles, but this time, it’s definitely a knife.

“You came here today to break up with me?” you manage to say, your voice relatively stable, your eyes just barely moist.

Mark smiles bitterly, hanging his head low. “You’re not even going to hold me back?” he asks.

“Why should I?” you respond, immediately regretting what you said. But that’s just who you are; your mouth likes to say the most rude and hurtful things, but your heart has other wants and needs. You always thought Mark understood that. Clearly, you were being idealistic on your own.

Mark scoffs, taking in a deep breath.

“Thank you for the past three years, y/n,” he says, looking you in the eyes one last time.

“Ditto,” you reply, getting up to take your leave.

You can hear the way your phone continues to furiously vibrate on the bedside table, but you don’t have the energy, nor the brain space, to tend to it.

You have your face stuffed into your pillow, the last conversation you had with Mark earlier, playing like a broken record in your head. To be honest, you thought that you’d be bawling your eyes out, or at the very least, you’d be struggling to keep yourself from calling him.

And yet, all you’ve done, is lie in bed, your face stuffed into the pillow, your brain continuously replaying the conversation, but your heart pretty much whole, and your tear ducts practically closed. You don’t understand why you’re reacting like this. This isn’t how break ups should go. You wonder if Mark is okay. He didn’t show any signs of a breakdown earlier.

“Open the door!” you hear the familiar voice of your best friend calling into your room. He begins to knock on the door, refusing to stop until you open up. You groan, dragging yourself off your bed, trudging towards the door. You open it, to be greeted by a panting Donghyuck. “What are you doing here?” you ask, turning to make your way back to your bed.

Donghyuck closes the door, following behind you.

“You said to meet tonight,” he states, eyeing you up and down. He can already tell something’s amiss, but you don’t keep him guessing. You get straight to the point.

“Mark and I broke up,” you say so nonchalantly, that Donghyuck almost doubts his ears. You can tell he wants to ask if you’re sure that the two of you broke up just from the way he has his brows furrowed, with one brow up. “Yes, we really broke up,” you reconfirm, waiting for his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t fully mean it. 90% of him is upset for you, because even though you didn’t hang it at the side of your lips all the time, he knows how much you love Mark, and vice versa. Still, 10% is happy you’re single again. It’s selfish of him, he knows. But he’s still human after all, and it’s the humanly response to feel this way. It was wrong of him to fall for someone who was attached to begin with, but he justifies it with the fact that he never made any advancements. He was satisfied just being able to be by your side, as a friend.

“Don’t be,” you state, shrugging. “Surprisingly, I’m okay with it. I guess it just worked out for the better.”

There’s a minute of silence between the both of you, so you tilt your head, directing a question at Donghyuck. “Aren’t you going to ask why we broke up?”

He shrugs, “You’d tell me if you want to.”

“He got tired of me,” you say with a smile. Donghyuck knows you’re just pushing yourself.

“Should we get a pizza?” you suggest, grabbing your phone.

“Sure,” Donghyuck replies.

Two weeks later.

Donghyuck frowns, running a hand through his hair as he shuts his eyes, trying to hold in his anger. He takes a second look at you – beer bottles sprawled all over the ground, bags of chips left opened, your tear-stained face, and your lifeless figure that rests in the midst of it all. He lets out a frustrated sigh, bending to grab the bottles and bags of chips to get them out of the way.

Once he’s done with cleaning up the mess, he grabs a wet tissue, kneeling beside you as he delicately cups your cheek. Gently, he wipes away the streams of tears that had dried from whenever you were letting out your emotions.

Donghyuck doesn’t understand why you didn’t just call him.

Swiftly, he lifts your body up bridal-style, setting you down on the bed. He pulls the comforter over your body, tucking you in. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand out to caress your face, only to leave it hanging mid-air, deciding against it.

He knows you’re suffering because of the break up. He knows there’s so much more to it that you’re not opening up to him about. He knows it’s just in your personality to bottle everything up, to put up a façade that you’re tougher than you really are. He just wishes you didn’t have to pretend around him.

Donghyuck knows the only thing he can do, is be patient, to wait until you’re ready to talk to him.

Five weeks later.

Coming by your room to clean up the mess and to tuck you into bed has become a routine to Donghyuck. As twisted as it might sound, you’re lucky it’s semester break, so whatever you were doing to ruin yourself, it wasn’t affecting your grades.

He takes a seat by your bed, staring at your resting face. You’re breathing calmly, making soft, whimpering noises in your slumber. Are you really hurting that much? The last time Donghyuck had checked up on Mark, he was doing fine. In fact, in Mark’s words, he’s “doing better than he was” when he was in a relationship with you. Donghyuck wanted to punch him when he heard that. But he wasn’t the one in the relationship. He wouldn’t know.

You begin to stir in your sleep, making a groaning noise as you shift in your bed. Donghyuck immediately leans forward.

“Hey,” he calls softly, resting a hand on your arm.

You lift an eyelid, managing to focus on Donghyuck’s face. “Hyuck?” you croak.

“You vomited three times tonight,” he says, “That’s a record.”

You let out a small smile, “Sorry that you have to deal with me in this state,” you say, voice still groggy from your sleep.

“What are friends for?” he replies, reaching for a glass of water. He waits for you to lift yourself up into a sitting position, before passing the glass to you. You take two big gulps.

“Why don’t you ever ask me anything?” you question, your voice soft, barely coming out as a squeak. Donghyuck still catches your question, though. He musters the most encouraging smile he can imagine, “Like I said, you’d tell me if you want to.”

You see the sincerity in Donghyuck’s eyes.

You’re thankful for having him around.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” you say. Donghyuck nods his head, a sign for you to go ahead.

“Bring me to the karaoke joint tomorrow.”

A look of confusion flashes across his face briefly, but he agrees to your request.

“Sure,” he says.

That marked the beginning of the almost-daily karaoke sessions you’d insist on having.

Two months later.

“How about I key in the song for you?” Donghyuck suggests, reaching for the remote. “No!” you insist, reaching both hands out to stop him. “Come on, don’t be stubborn,” you chime, struggling to get the remote out of Donghyuck’s hands. Eventually, he gives in, but not without a disapproving shake of the head.

It’s the tipsiest you’ve ever been in the past two months, and yet, you were still persistent on coming to the karaoke joint to sing your usual song. At least, that was what Donghyuck had thought.

He watches the screen as you key in a different set of numbers today. Instead of your favourite I Miss You, the melodic piano of Damsonegongbang’s Loving With All Your Heart begins to play. He frowns, turning towards you.

You had gotten up, and you are now standing in the middle of the room, swaying unstably from side to side, the microphone secure in the grip of your two hands. As the countdown begins, Donghyuck looks back at the screen, reading the lyrics as you begin to sing the song that you’ve chosen for the night.

“Loving someone with all your heart

How, and what kind of person is able to do that?

I’m so jealous

I’m too scared to get hurt

So I’m only stepping backwards”

Donghyuck looks back towards you. He can see the way your lips are quivering, and the way your eyes are welling with tears. As the melodic piano continues, you close your eyes, and for the first time, Donghyuck witnesses you crying.

He has seen the aftermath of the tear-stained cheeks countless of times, but never the actual process of the crying. Did you pick this song, because of its lyrics? Is this how you’re actually feeling inside?

Donghyuck feels his heart soften at your state.

“When meeting someone

I don’t like getting my heart hurt

So I’m always standing one step behind

Unfortunately

Giving someone your heart

Why is it so hard for me?

Someone like me is also able to be in love

It’s so strange

Loving someone with all your heart

How, and what kind of person is able to do that?

It’s really not easy for me

Just like you did back then

I want that kind of love”

Your voice was beginning to waver, to crack from the emotions. Donghyuck feels the squeeze in his heart – how is he so useless? You were feeling like this the whole time, and yet, he isn’t able to do anything for you, because the sad reality is, he’s not Mark. And he never will be.

You continue on with the last chorus, practically sobbing as you sing,

“Loving someone with all your heart

How, and what kind of person is able to do that?

It’s really not easy for me

Just like you did back then”

Your voice trails off, before you manage out between sobs, “I want that kind of love,” you end off, allowing the emotions to rush out.

Donghyuck gets up from his seat, moving towards you. He grabs your arm, and almost instinctively, you push yourself into his embrace, a tight grasp on the sleeve of his shirt. You allow yourself to sob, to let out all the bottled emotions you’ve been trying to supress. You tell yourself it’s okay, that Donghyuck wouldn’t judge you for being so weak.

Donghyuck runs a soothing hand down your back; feeling the way you’re literally shaking in his arms, and listening to the way you’re crying with so much pain and pent up emotions, he feels himself tearing up.

At the very least, he managed to learn something new about you tonight.

You regret not being able to love Mark with your entire heart, the way he loved you with all of his heart.

“I love you,” you mumble, crying out even harder than before.

Donghyuck wishes it was directed at him.

Three days later.

“No karaoke tonight?” Donghyuck questions, removing his baseball cap to put it on your head, sheltering you from the drizzle of the night sky.

It’s an insignificant gesture, but it’s becoming increasingly significant, as the days go by.

You wish you could remain oblivious to it all, but that’s just your wishful thinking. That can never be the case.

“I wanted to have some hot chocolate for a change,” you reply, stuffing your hands into your pockets. Donghyuck nods his head, “Where to?”

You lead Donghyuck to a quaint little coffee shop that you had discovered a week or two before, when you were roaming the streets aimlessly, revisiting the places that you’ve visited with Mark. That isn’t exactly the healthiest thing to do when you’re trying to get over somebody, but a part of you has come to accept that as much as you’d hate to admit it, Mark Lee was a lot more to you, than you thought he was.

You merely just took him for granted.

“I’m ready,” you say, as Donghyuck places the cup of hot chocolate in front of you. He sits in the lounge chair opposite you, picking up his glass of hot chocolate. “For what?” he asks, taking a sip.

“Mark didn’t break up with me because he got tired of me,” you begin. It’s five months due, but you feel the need to let Donghyuck know. Maybe he’ll understand the underlying intention behind this conversation by the end of it. Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, so you take it as the signal to continue with whatever you had to say.

“After thinking about the conversation we had leading up to the break up for the past few months, I’ve come to realise something,” you smile, genuinely, this time. “I made no effort to go to Mark’s university despite living on a different campus, and I made no effort to ask about his life, or to get to know his friends.”

“Every conversation we had, he was always asking me about my life, my friends, what I was doing, if I was happy. I was always the centre of our conversations. I always talked about myself, but I never realised, that I never asked about him, or let him do the talking.”

Donghyuck raises both brows, but allows you to continue.

“Mark made the effort to travel back and forth between our campuses, just to see me.” There’s an endearing smile tugging at your lips, and Donghyuck sees it, in all its clarity. He can see the amount of love you still have for Mark, just from the way you talk and reminisce about him.

“Now that I look back, and I see his stories on Instagram from time to time, I realise Johnny,” it’s so disgustingly sad that it took you so long just to remember his name, “Is like an actual big brother to Mark. That’s how important Johnny was, and is, to him. Yet, I couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name.”

Donghyuck takes another sip of his hot chocolate.

“If I had made the effort to care about him, to ask about his new life, to meet his friends,” you take a pause, vision dropping to the adidas logo on Donghyuck’s shirt. “Things would’ve probably turned out differently.”

“I took him for granted, and assumed he’d be here for me forever. But look where I am right now,” you laugh, looking back up to meet eyes with Donghyuck.

“Did you tell him that?” he asks.

“I did. I told him I loved him to death, and I still do, very much. He was loyal, and he was amazing. I only want the best for him.”

All Donghyuck picked up was ‘I still do, very much’. Your heart was, and is, still with Mark Lee.

Donghyuck never hoped for much.

But at the very least, he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to deal with heartbreak.

Present.

You put the microphone down on the table, heaving a sigh of relief.

Previously, you were never able to get through the song without ending off with a heavy heart. But now, you feel like you’ve gotten better at it. In fact, you might even be well on the road to getting over Mark. Maybe, just maybe.

You grab a glass of water, downing it in one shot.

Donghyuck notices how you haven’t said much to him today. You had skipped out on three nights of karaoke, and tonight, when you called him, it made him feel excited and fluttery on the inside. It’s silly, he knows. But he didn’t expect to be met with a semi-cold shoulder from you.

“Tonight’s the last night that I’ll be indulging in this lifestyle,” you declare, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“You’re no longer going to karaoke?” Donghyuck asks.

You nod your head. “I’m allowing you to reclaim your nightly freedom.”

Donghyuck wants to say something in response to that, but he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not as if he can just tell you that he’d miss being able to hang out with you every night, even though all he did was make sure you get home safe. Still, it allowed his feelings to manifest, and it’s been the best six months he’s ever had. Because he was able to spend every night with you.

“Thank you for the past six months, Donghyuck. I honestly have no idea how I would’ve survived if it weren’t for you,” you say, smiling for the first time tonight. Donghyuck doesn’t like what his brain is interpreting from the situation.

“It’s time for you to pursue other things, Hyuck,” you say, looking at him with the most serious expression.

“You know?” he asks.

You smile, “Well, I’m not stupid.”

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, so you take it as the sign. It’s better now than never, right?

“I genuinely appreciate you, Hyuck,” you tell him as you pick up your bag, slinging it on your shoulder.

Donghyuck immediately gets up, grabbing your wrist. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but the slew of words just escape his mouth before he’s able to process anything. “I want to be next to you, whatever it takes. Please, know this,” he says, searching your eyes for some form of acknowledgement, or affirmation. He sees the way you look at him, and it’s different from how you’ve always, and still, look at Mark. He always knew he wasn’t a choice. He had just hoped, that maybe, just maybe, he’d have even the littlest bit of a chance.

“I’m always going to be here, ready to take all of your pain and scars,” he says, pulling you a little closer. “I’ll take them all, so you won’t be tired or sad,” he continues. “If you give me half the chance, if you let me be closer to you, I kn-”

“That’s sweet of you, and I know you’ll definitely live up to your words,” you cut in, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “But it should just stay at that. You should just remain by my side, as a best friend.”

Donghyuck isn’t able to just accept this.

“Actually, I can wait. I can wait more than I’ve already waited, just as long as you’re willing to open up, and to come to me,” he tells you, his eyes oozing with sincerity.

You’re lucky. For someone like you, who has never learned what it means to love someone, and to give your heart to someone, you were granted the opportunity to meet two boys, who know exactly how to love with all of their heart. Unfortunately, as sad as it might sound, you’re not worthy of that kind of love. At least, not until you learn how to give, and not just receive.

For some reason, from your gaze, and from your lack of response, Donghyuck feels it in his gut.

It feels like this is the last time.

“You’ll always be my best friend,” you reassure.

Donghyuck is patient, he’s capable of waiting even more than he’s already waited.

But for some reason, it genuinely feels like it’s all coming to an end. That in the realest way possible, this is the last time.

Epilogue: Six years later.

You open up the newspaper, only to see the name ‘Lee Donghyuck’ printed as the headline. Once again, he has made a business move that managed to triple the profit for his company.

Every time you see him pop up on the news, you can’t help but think back to when the both of you were still in university. Why exactly were you so foolish? You really have no idea. Twenty-year old you not only lost the man you loved so much, because you were too young and stupid to realise it before you lost him; but you also lost the only man you loved platonically, because you thought that that was the only possible way you could feel less guilty about not being able to give him a chance.

You close the paper, settling it down on your lap. It’s nice to see that Donghyuck is living a life without any regrets.

You just wish you could say the same for yourself.

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