#current title is 'and my voice becomes the driving force'

[thats-the-teen-spirit]

Falling In Reverse - Popular Monster EXTREMELY subjective review

I usually post a review here if I'm excited or anticipating an album and I'm curious how it turns out. This one I was not excited for at all, in fact I was ready to shit on it very hard when I first saw the Ronnie Radke mugshot album cover. Hearing reviewers, media and obviously the vocal minority on Twitter calling it one of, if not the worst album of all time just made me more curious.

Ronnie Radke is a very divisive personality. Love him or hate him, he is very successful at his thing. Very popular (as the title suggests), but very much a jerk. To pretty much everyone who doesn't agree with him on something. His overly inflated ego is the driving force in this record. Songs like Bad Guy. Ronald and the titular Popular Monster are all ego trips, walking the listener through what's going on in his brain while obviously being very narcissistic and self-centered about it. These songs are all acknowledging the fact that he loves AND hates himself most of the time, he still sings about being the savior of the scene, he is still a self-proclaimed messiah who went through so much shit in his life that now he deserves all the attention he gets, so he can sing (or scream) about being the necessary evil that he considers himself. The lyrical content of the album is more or less about this very same topic, which means it becomes tiresome by the half of the record.

In the second half of the album there are songs like Zombified and Trigger Warning which are more about the current state of cancel culture and politics. The former is more of how the aforementioned vocal minority cancels everyone in an instant even if they made a mistake 10 or so years ago. According to them, people are incapable of changing, which is sadly very true. The latter is about "freedom of speech being taken away" specifically in the US. Trigger Warning sounds like it would be played at Trump rallies, while Zombified is just another funnel for Ronnie to give his opinion about people trying to cancel him. His cause in these songs is fair, but the intention is still from his ego.

The song Popular Monster came out in 2018. Life was very different back then and I have to admit, in 2019 that song was one of my most played ones for that year, from musically speaking deservedly so. It's very catchy and the chorus and the pitch shifted breakdown got stuck in my head for weeks. But 6 years passed, and in these 6 years we got all of the singles one by one: Voices In My Head, Watch The World Burn, Zombified, All My Life. And these songs share an eerily similar thing: that "duuuun dududun" breakdown of Popular Monster. It worked once in that song, so Ronnie milks the ever loving shit out of it over and over again. Just like his narcissistic lyrics, this also gets very boring after the 4th song.

Purely from a musical standpoint this album is not that bad however. Actually it's pretty decent when it comes to changing subgenres many times in a song. Watch The World Burn illustrates it very much, we can have a very heavy metal part, a rap verse and a Queen-like choir in the same songs in Ronnie's universe. Which I admit is executed, not very tastefully but pretty well compared to other bands that try to do the same. The intro song is well produced, the instrumentals are very epic sounding, just like in the closure which is Ronnie's rendition of Last Resort by Papa Roach. These huge sounding instrumentals make Ronnie's vocal abilities sounding try-hard and at some points he sounds like he's struggling to catch up, even though he never sounded this good while belting his vocals, rapping his fastest or screams his lowest. I especially like the buildup of Tech-N9ne in Ronald (the "devil's right here" verse).

There are some unnecessary things that piss me off about this record though so I'm just gonna list them here:

Zombified blatantly ripping of the riff of One Step Closer by Linkin Park

The constant building up and letting down of Prequel, very weird pacing for an intro song (the climax is very epic, which I liked though)

The whole lyrics of the song Bad Guy... seriously... stop

Ronnie's annoying mumble rapping in No Fear. It sounds dated and obnoxious. That song is probably the worst of all.

In conclusion I hear what people hear, but I still don't think this record is that bad. Ronnie can be a dick sometimes but he's still a very talented composer and his vision about the sound of the band is very creative and absolutely deserves the success. Still, there are some cringy and obnoxious parts that I wanted to tear off my own face to so I wouldn't say it's a good record either. I would give it a 5/10 maximum.

[the-least-undefinable-ordinal]

for the music ask game. 11, 25, and one of your choice!

11. A song that you never get tired of.

Dividing By Zero/Slim Pickens Does The Right Thing And Rides The Bomb To Hell by The Offspring.

They are strictly speaking two different songs, but they are next to each other in their release album and they are both part of the same official music video.

My favourite interpretation of these songs is that they portray a group of heroic soldiers waging a just and necessary war against an unabashedly evil force (whether this enemy is actually evil or just demonized by propaganda is, I think, intentionally ambiguous), this would be the first song of the two, Dividing By Zero, I think the title is meant to say "doing the impossible".

The second song seems to portray the heroic veterans of the first war as useless remnants of a golden past (there's the line "Cause there's nothing left for us to be, so give it up for the champions of greed"), their only current purpose seems to be entertainment for the masses who wish to sate their thirst for violence in a socially acceptable way (it's always right to kill fascists).

The music video ends with the veterans of the just war becoming the evil force for some other heroic country, starting the same process under different names.

25. A song by an artist no longer living.

Uncle Arthur by David Bowie. I wouldn't know exactly what I love about this song, he just has such a gorgeous voice and this song is so distinct from anything else I've listened to.

It also has a certain nostalgic value for me, I started listening to his albums while playing Euro Truck Simulator 2 and I just associate him with driving through empty highways at 3 in the morning. He's great company.

4. A song that reminds you of someone you'd rather forget about.

I think it's a tie between Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel and jar of hearts by christina perri (she seems to prefer lowercase on all her songs).

It was an amicable split (though entirely one sided) and I hold no ill will against her, so I don't really relate to the whole "you're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul" part of jar of hearts (though it is a great line imo) but the lines "I've learned to live half alive" and the whole section:

It took so long just to feel alright Remember how to put back the light In my eyes I wish I had missed the first time that We kissed

are just verbatim how I feel and I can't help how emotional I get every time I listen to this song, christina's voice is perfect here too.

Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel is sort of the opposite song in every way (different language, sexes reversed), it also has a part about how resentful he is against his former partner (which I also don't relate to), but it's a really upbeat song to hype oneself up to move on.

(Sorry this took a depressing turn, to be fair though, it has become an inseparable part of myself; having played disco elysium months after the breakup didn't help either lol)

[leam1983]

Tinnitus

One of the silent killers of the IT industry's workers (OK, it doesn't actually kill anyone but it makes things difficult) is tinnitus. Spend long enough huddled in a Screaming Data Cabinet with or without ear protection and you're pretty much guaranteed to eventually wake up on a particularly shitty morning with a pair of demented little devils singing constant half-tones in your ears. In my case, tinnitus abates when I sleep well and acts up when I don't, seemingly drawing power from my sometimes following a day spent with headphones on for work with - several more hours wearing headphones to play. That's even with the volume put down to where my current game is nearly unplayable due to lack of audio feedback.

So I'm nearing the yearly point where I'll have to take a day off to let my poor sound-holes recover. I'm glad that it's happening now, with Walt being my boss, and with Sarah now being trained enough to be able to pick up on basic operations in my stead.

My game plan for tomorrow is simple: no TV, no music, no headphones - just ambient stuff, for as long as possible. If gaming becomes tolerable, I'll use my dinky little Logitech speakers instead of a headset.

What always bothers me is that in some ways, the coil whine I'm perceiving deep in both ears is the sound of specific frequencies dying. I'm in for a few days of that constant ringing, then followed by abatement - then release. Release, knowing that on some tiny level I won't perceive for years, I'm just slightly less aware of what's going on in my auditive spectrum.

What's even worse is the notion that I've over-stimulated my ears. I'll lie in bed and have the sense that I'm having auditory ADHD if Walt isn't snoring or if Sarah's purring breaths aren't full-on in my other ear. My mind fills the void with whatever it is it can make up, which is usually more coil whine. I've reached the point where I'll fall asleep to phantom voices, AC noises that don't exist or imprecise music that feels more half-remembered than conjured up, all because my brain is so used to a constant barrage of stuff that it feels forced to hallucinate actively.

At this point, I have a bit of a bone to pick with game designers that sort of have their Audio team balance everything for gamers with headsets cranked way the Hell up. Pacific Drive went for the smarter solution of making distinct sounds mean different things, whereas Nightingale is so far its own John William Waterhouse-smelling ass that every broken twig, every enemy, every whistling pine and even environmental noise is all entirely positioned in 3D space, unlike real life where a lot of nature's aural backdrop gets tuned out by your sense of focus. Great for Survival Crafting nerds, not so great for ears that are pleading for mercy...

As for Helldivers 2 - as much as I'd like to do my part for Verhoeven-flavored Democracy, I'm physiologically averse to a game that has me raining hot napalm death on bug-shaped enemies within hearing range. Playing with audio levels within more sedate ranges takes away a ton of positional info, and lowering things down to comfortable levels more or less makes you blind to every Terminid or Automaton grouping that decides to either flank you or attack you from behind.

I'll still eventually pen impressions for all of these; they're all quality titles in their own right - but Pacific Drive wins by virtue of being easier on the ears than a lot of recent releases, which is a bit of a weird thing to say about a game focusing on a battered Station Wagon from the seventies being tossed into a Roadside Picnic-esque hellscape...

[fushipurro]

Red Lights Red Flags

Chapter 3 - Shadows

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, ronin!toji, courtesan!reader, jjk historical au, mentions of murder, past non-con, forced prostitution, degradation (not by toji), pet names, trauma, angst, mutual pining

☆ Word Count: 2k

A week has passed since the rumors began and yet, still no sign of Toji. Not just him either, no member of the Zenin Clan has stepped foot in the brothel and it was beginning to drive you crazy.

You sat there at your window, eyes wandering the streets below for anyone that looks remotely similar to Toji. All the while in your head, thoughts ran rampant over whether he was safe or worse, if he grew bore of idle chatter with you.

There really isn’t much reason for you to think that, but we can’t control our intrusive thoughts. The longer this goes on, the worse it’ll get. All you can hope is that your answer will come soon enough.

Among the many words in your head, you can’t help but remember Shion’s words.

“Are you falling in love?”

Your body melts into the windowsill, head buried in your arms. “Oh Shion, I think I already am…”

Toji on the other hand has a perfect view of your form from where he stands, watching you long from your window like a princess locked in her tower. It hurts him to see you like this, so he keeps his presence hidden.

But why?

Toji knows he wants to see you again, hear your voice, know if you’re okay. He’s been wanting it more than you can possibly imagine, but what if you knew the truth?

Sure, he told you he’d kill those men for you, but words are words. What would you think when you find out about the blood on his hands, beyond those four torturing souls?

You.

The woman who has bared witness to the horrors man are capable of; hurt one too many times and still trying to live. He doesn’t want to add to your suffering so he finds himself questioning if protecting you from the shadows is the path he should take to ensure your survival.

Since acquiring the title of Marigold, you’ve become more respected in the brothel, no longer the low-ranking fledgling from before. The quality of your clientele now is a plus, and with Shion vouching for you, life isn’t so bad.

While admiring the moon from your window seat, the doors to your room slide open with a shrill voice filling the air, “So let me get this straight… you stole my favorite customer, and then chased him away? Is that it?”

Begrudgingly, you bow to the woman. “Botan.”

“Save the pleasantries,” she spits. “Don’t think you’re special now that you were given a name on your collar. You’re just a glorified weed.”

Her insult is rich considering she’s the one who told you to “remember your place,” and the fact that she has a flower title as well.

“I’m willing to bet you couldn’t even please him properly with a body like yours so he had to run off to some other brothel.”

Instead of picking a fight after what happened last time, you held your ground with as best a calm expression as you could. Toji’s resting face, in all its glory.

She scoffs, “Nothing to say? No matter. You won’t make it far anyways with that witch watching over you.” A sadistic smile tugs at her lips. “I’ll have the joys of plucking your sorry ass out of here when the time comes.”

In that moment, you swear you could hear the cawing of crows outside your window, much to Botan’s dismay at such… unusual timing. She huffs out of annoyance before storming out of the room.

Later in the night, you had a brand-new client. A young, inexperienced guy with a fresh paycheck to splurge who thought a brothel was the perfect place to go.

Don’t need a trained eye to see that much.

He currently sits upright on a floor cushion, eyes trained to the floor with his cheeks red as could be. You wonder if he’s here on a dare or coercion since he did arrive with a few other most likely coworkers.

“S-so uh– what… happens now?”

Inexperienced and timid. Better than most clients, that’s for sure.

“What would you like to do? I can feed you, sing, dance, whatever you’d like for the allotted time.”

An audible gulp can be heard from the man, and you can’t help but feel reminded to how you were the first dozen times you’ve had to deal with clients. Going through the whole spiel has gotten easier in time, even if you’re just auto-piloting it while your brain shuts down.

…Maybe this can work in your favor?

“Master?” You move closer, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Y-y-y-yes?” He gulps again.

“I was wondering… could you tell me about the outside? Any rumors you might’ve heard?” You tap your finger against your chin, offering a salacious smile. “It might help in getting you to relax.”

He’s taken aback, brows knitting in confusion. “Huh? Rumors?”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s someone going around murdering people. It’s so frightening,” you say all nice and coy. You feel bad teasing him like this, but if this is how you get your up-to-date information, then so be it.

“Oh… right, those rumors.” His expression morphs away from nervousness to that of awkwardness. “They haven’t caught the guy yet, but now they’re saying the men killed were troublemakers around here. Only four have been found though, all killed in the same night and in the same exact way.”

You’re nearly certain this was in fact Toji’s doing, but that doesn’t answer the question of why he hasn’t shown up yet. Sure, it’s scary to think how capable of a killer he is, but what do you expect from a samurai? He hasn’t done you any harm. There has been plenty of chances to do so, anyways.

The rest of the time with the stranger is thankfully uneventful. He calmed down a lot but ended up chickening out of anything sexual in favor of a nice meal and chitchat. Unlucky for him, but better for you.

At least now you have the chance to gaze out the window once more before your shift comes to an end and sleep can consume you. Something draws your eyes to an alleyway across the street, and you find a moonlit shadow fading to black before you’re able to even register what you saw. Your first thought is if that was Toji, and that alone causes you to sigh and sink into the wooden frame.

From the darkness of your mind, Botan’s words come back to haunt you. Was it you? Are you the reason he won’t come by anymore? You used to never be conscious of yourself until the day you became a courtesan.

It’s plausible there’s some other explanation for everything. Toji found you at your weakest and took away something that hurt you. Maybe he just treated it as contract like any other samurai for their master. Maybe you’re just overthinking it given your trauma.

Your father didn’t love you enough, why else would he choose to sell you to an awful way of living where every day you’re degraded for every little thing. Every detail about yourself, everything you do wrong. At the end of the day, are you worth enough to be loved?

You pull away from the window as the sun peaks over the horizon, shutting it closed before wrapping yourself up in your futon. If these sheets could act as your chrysalis, then maybe there’s hope for you to one day blossom into a beautiful butterfly.

…

“You’re in some deep shit now, Zenin.”

“Fuck off, Shiu. They deserve worse than what I did to ‘em.”

The brown-haired man sighs, taking a drag from his pipe. “Maybe you’ll regret it when you hear what your clan has decided.”

“I don’t give a shit what they have to say,” he growls in response.

“You could’ve at least tried to make it look like someone else. It’s obvious to anyone who knows you.”

Toji ponders for a moment, ultimately sighing as well out of frustration rather than empathy. “Yeah, well this would’ve happened sooner or later. I’d rather it now.”

When evening rolls around, you had already been notified to prepare yourself and Shion for the guests of honor.

The Zenin Clan.

Shion’s already good to go, but she’s requested to do your hair for you. It’s as if she knows it’s just what you need to help keep you relaxed.

“Hey Shion?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you know anything about those men who were killed?”

She closes her eyes and hums, her pace with the brush not faltering once. “I believe you already understand everything there is to know.”

“So it was them…” you sigh, “Do you think Toji will be here with them tonight?”

“I do not,” she replies, tucking a few stray pieces of hair back. “Do not let it distraught you, my little Marigold. If I were you, I wouldn’t let worry consume you.”

Little late for that one, you think to yourself.

After everything’s done and ready, you and the other members of Shion’s garden follow closely behind, posturing yourselves before the esteemed clan of samurais. “Welcome, Masters,” you all chant in unison.

The men take their respective seats, and while there’s no sign of Toji, your stomach flips at the sight of Botan and her garden. Every courtesan had their place, and sadly you were relegated to a new face from the clan, a child.

Who even brings a kid to a brothel?

The Zenins spend their time drowning in liquor, chatting away over typical nonsense and goals for the future. Eventually, the atmosphere settles to an uncomfortable silence. So silent you could hear a pin drop.

One of the lanky men clears his throat, “We’re really going through with this, aren’t we?”

“Of course, we can finally be rid of that stain for good,” replies a man triple the size. Your eyes widen at the incoming threat, knowing full well who they’re discussing.

“Seems like a waste of money to set up a bounty on his head when we could just do it ourselves.”

“We’ve tried that before and it didn’t work,” an older man speaks up. “This is the right way to avoid any questions towards the power we hold over the people. We don’t need to dirty our hands dealing with him.”

“Toji cannot be allowed to spit on our family name as he pleases. Should’ve had him killed before he came of age.”

The bottle you hold slips in your grasp, spilling a few drops near the child at your side.

“Watch it, whore,” he spits, surprisingly more venomous than you’d expect for a child. “This robe costs more than your pathetic self.”

You drop yourself into a bow, “I’m terribly sorry, Master!”

The other Zenins shoot you a cold glare for interrupting them, all while Botan can barely contain her cruel self from laughing. Shion redirects the attention of the clan head, and the rest settle in time. For the rest of the night, your thoughts are an unrelenting blur, covering up the voices of the room until all it is just noise.

Does Toji even know about this? His own family wants him dead and is putting a bounty on him? Where the hell are you, Toji!?

You felt more nauseous than ever, practically sprinting back to your room the moment you could. You slam the door shut, falling to the floor, and tucking your knees to your chest. No longer are you able to hold back your tears from freely falling.

It doesn’t matter to you anymore why he stopped showing up, if anything, you just want the chance to warn him so he can escape and live.

A cold breeze picks up throughout the room, drawing your eyes to the wide-open window and the snow-covered ledge. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, walking over to shut the opening.

Darkness fills the room in the absence of light, but as you turn away, a shadow creeps forward that causes your heart to leap from your chest until a familiar voice calls out your name.

“Did you miss me?”

☆ Notes: slow burn pining :) next chapter gonna have a little spice to it

☆ Taglist: @fandomtrash5092 @catmania-choco

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

lmao i wrote my kataang week fic for the “quiet moments” prompt but i was editing it today and realized it also fits the alternate prompt for that day, “healing techniques”

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

talking abt wigfrid and critisism but the further you go the less coherent it becomes. no i will NOT simplify it. read my flop analysis boy.

Something very interesting about Wigfrid that I don't really see in characterizations a lot is the concept of her having... I don't really know what to call it. Not 'a thinner skin', but I suppose the concept of her being wary of how people perceive her.

A lot of interpretations of Wig that I see tend not to go beyond the surface of her persona, that being a confident and overzealous warrior. And to an extent, that is what she is. But I also feel as though it's very important to her character to consider how she got to embracing that persona the way she has to begin with.

'Wigfrid' the actress- whoever she may have been- was clearly incredibly concerned with how she was perceived by others... Most of them being complete strangers to her- people who she'll never meet or get to know, who will never know her in turn. Hell, the opinions of those strangers were the driving force to her accepting Maxwell's deal to begin with! Yes, she wanted her popularity back, but were it not for the people who tore her down with their words alone, she never would have lost it to begin with!

I think the snake motif in Curtain Calls was a very interesting choice for Klei, if only because to me it feels deliberate. The giant serpent she fought within her fantasies manifested itself from her newspapers... The term 'snake' is frequently used to describe individuals who are deceitful and dishonest. To me it doesn't really feel like a coincidence that- of all the beasts, that is the one they choose. A creature who's very title is a double meaning, used to represent the critics who so viciously tear her down, fangs dripping with venomous lies that she can only fight against within the safety of her mind.

"Oh, Savvy-" I can hear you cry, "-Savvy, I think you're reaching a little bit here". Normally I would be inclined to agree. Very frequently I find myself grasping for straws to prop up Klei's otherwise sparse characterizations. However, if the snakes = liars = critics theory isn't enough on its own, I would also like to remind you of what happens after Wigfrid defeats the snake in Curtain Calls. She falls back into reality at the sound of a disembodied voice, and from the newspapers manifests a silhouette of Maxwell. A direct parallel to her fantasy, the news has yet again taken the image of a 'snake'... Of a deceiver. To me, that seems incredibly intentional.

NOT TO MENTION that if the theory is true that MAXWELL MADE UP THE NEWSPAPERS TO BEGIN WITH in an attempt to emotionally manipulate her, then the snake metaphor would make EVEN MORE SENSE because he is LITERALLY making himself tangible out of HIS OWN lies. but i'm NOT GETTING INTO THAT RABBIT HOLE right now because i'm ALREADY DIGRESSING!!!!!

So, now that we can ALL AGREE that Wigfrid's hatred of snakes stems from a bit of self projecting, we can bring up Wigfrid's current, in game hatred of snakes, and perhaps draw a couple of conclusions about how criticism may be effecting her now, as opposed to how it was pre-Constant:

Her unabashed hatred is visibly obvious. She goes about engaging with snakes in a VERY unique way she does the rest of her quarry. She takes great pleasure in their destruction, and goes so far as to label them her enemies, specifically. I looked it up, and as far as I can glean this wouldn't be a pre-establised trait of her persona. This vitriolic snake hatred is entirely stemming from the person underneath.

So. With the context we previously gathered that implies that maybe the reason she sees snakes in such a way is due to the fact that they are practically synonymous with critics and 'liars' to her, I can safely conclude that. um. No, I really do not think she has grown any more of a hide against criticism than she had before accepting Maxwell's deal.

Wigfrid's hatred of snakes was a big part of her character from even before Curtain Calls (obviously, bc shipwreck released way before her refresh did), but I feel like them taking this specific facet of her character- one that's lesser known from her, buried behind her more stereotypical motifs- and adding such important context to it was a intentional act. I refuse to think otherwise.

Even outside of the whole. Snake Thing I spent two hours describing, though. To me it still seems plausible for Wigfrid to act all tough, but take insults very poorly. Yes, in a prideful sort of way- where she feels the need to actively defend herself and her 'honor'- but also just in a... regular way. I don't think it'd show up much in the Constant because. i mean, there's more important things for the survivors to do. but i really do feel like scathing insults would bite her more than someone would expect it to.

Also I just think it would be funny and help flesh out her nuance. Is that a crime. To want to give my girl some nuance. Is that a sin.

[enchantestuff]

promises - red bull Sebastian vettel

as I promised just complete fluff and no smut. our poor seb isn't appreciated enough so here is the four times Sebastian jokingly proposed to you and the one time he actually did 

NOT MY GIF

warnings; none really, fluff (btw this made me realise how TERRIBLE I am at writing fluff sorry <3 )

2.1k words, she's long

Sebastian was nervous about getting a new engineer, he so badly wanted to win a championship with Redbull and Christian had confided in him, telling him that this engineer and their new competitive car, would help him live out his dream of being a Formula One champion.

It was nearing the start of the new season and Sebastian had still yet to meet the person that he would be talking to under his most stressful moments and who he had to have full faith in while driving his car. He had begun to think that maybe he never would meet his new engineer when he received a call from Christian, telling him that they both would take place in a race for the Redbull youtube channel, where Sebastain and his new engineer would race against Mark and his, the twist being that the engineers would be the ones driving, not the drivers themselves. Sebastian agreed knowing that it would be a great way to remove any awkwardness between the two of you.

Only a few days later Sebastian was standing on a random racetrack, talking to Mark when he noticed Mark's engineer walking towards them with a beautiful young lady by his side, who Sebastian assumed was his very own engineer. “Hi! It's so nice to meet you Sebastian! My name's Y/N,” you cheerfully greeted him as you shook his hand.

A smile immediately appeared on Sebastian's face at your warm nature and he knew you two would get along just fine. “Please, call me Seb, '' he grinned as he brought a kiss to your knuckles, “now, are you ready to beat these idiots” he joked as he cocked his head towards your opponents.

“Oh, we are going to make a great pair, Seb” you joked as you accepted a helmet off Christian and climbed into the car, getting comfortable inside of the driver's seat.

“Are you a good driver?” Sebastian asked as he secured himself in the passenger's side of the car.

“I don't think I can call myself a good driver with a future Formula One champion sitting right next to me” you smiled as you drove the car to the start line. Sebastian smiled before he braced himself as the flag spun, indicating the start of the race. His head knocked against the headrest as you sped through the track, blocking Mark's engineer as he tried to overtake you and weaving through deadly corners with minimal braking.

It was when the car drifted across the finish line that Seb turned towards you with a wide grin plastered on his face, his heart was thumping hard in his chest with adrenaline. “Please marry me” he joked and you laughed as you high fived him, pleased with your small victory.

* * *

The atmosphere around the paddock was tense, the drivers championship standings were close. Sebastian could almost taste the victory, but he still had a lot of work to do. He had what he would consider a terrible qualifying and had spent the whole night before the race brainstorming ideas on how to improve his time, however nothing seemed to be working.

Everyone was stressed in the Redbull motorhome the following day, which was never something you liked to see, but you understood it as you too had a sleepless night. You pulled Seb to the side the minute you saw him and told him of the new strategy you dreamt up late last night. He was hesitant since it hadn’t been approved by anyone, but he was willing to take the risk if it meant he would win.

“Are you sure?” he had asked you, looking intently into your eyes.

You shook your head. “No not really, but I know you and I know you're the only driver that could make it work” you confided. You both stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Seb pulled you in for a hug, he gently stroked your back as he squeezed you into him. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and hugged him back with just as much force.

“I trust you” he whispered into your ear and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Good luck” you spoke as you gave him a final squeeze and pulled away. You bit your nails out of anticipation and shot Seb an encouraging grin as he climbed into his car.

The race went much better than expected and although Christian was furious that you didn't run the plan through him first, he was satisfied that Seb was currently P1 with a final lap to go. Your nerves were at an all time high throughout the race and you could feel the grin creeping onto your face as the end got closer and closer.

It was when Sebastian crossed the checkered flag that you let out a relieved laugh. “P1 Seb! P1! '' you grinned as you spoke to him through his earpiece.

“Ahhhh thank you, Y/N! Will you and your strategy marry me please?” he laughed

“Congratulations,” you smiled “I’ll see you up on the podium”

You practically ran to the podium with the rest of the team, grinning up at Sebastian as he lifted the trophy into the air and you could almost swear he was grinning right back at you. You clapped and hollered at him and a blush crept up your cheeks when you saw him mouth a “Thank you” in your direction.

* * *

It was inevitable that you and Seb would become close, but you two had a very different relationship compared to the other drivers and their engineers. While the other pairs spent their time going over the car's performance and new strategies, you spent yours pressed up against the wall of your office while Sebastian kissed you with as much force as he could muster. Your most heated and intimate moments were just after a race when he was full of energy and you were full of pride.

Behind closed doors you and Sebastian could almost be compared to lovers, but out in the public eye you two kept things strictly professional, which is why you were full of shock the night that Sebastain had won his title.

The whole Redbull garage and the majority of the drivers went out to celebrate Sebastian as well as an amazing season. You had congratulated him at the start of the night, you shared a quick kiss when you were sure nobody was looking and he had bought you a drink. You hadn't seen him since, however and spent the last few hours talking to random drivers and team principals.

You almost jumped out of your skin when you felt two hands land firmly on your waist. You turned your head to see a tipsy Sebastian Vettel smiling at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “And there's the main man himself,” you giggled as you turned around to face him.

“I missed you,” he blurted out as his hands travelled dangerously low for a public event.

“Did you?” you asked “you're the one that disappeared for an hour” you continued as you tapped his chest.

“Kimi wanted to take shots,” he grinned as one hand moved to cup your bum.

“Sebastian!” you scolded as you swatted his hand away.

“What? It's not like i've never done that before”

“Well yeah, but-but not in public’ you whispered as you looked around, wondering if anyone had noticed the exchange between the two of you.

“I want you,” Sebastian declared, suddenly looking much more sober as he stared into your eyes.

“Let's take this conversation outside” replied as you took a step away from him. Sebastian sighed as he took your hand and led you out the doors, he didn’t care who saw as you both walked by, he didn’t care about anything anymore, he was sick of hiding his feelings for you from everyone. He wanted people to know you were his, he wanted to hold your hand in the paddocks and kiss you for good luck before a race.

Sebastain could feel his heart hammering in his chest as you paced back and forth in front of him, your hands rubbing your arms for warmth. He took a step towards you and grabbed your face with his hands. “Look at me. I want to make us official” you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off “No listen to me. I need to say this. i don't want to sneakily glance at you during meetings anymore. I want to marry you one day. God! I want to marry you, Y/N! Is that not obvious?”

“Ok” you spoke, a blush rose to your cheeks and you cheekily grinned at him.

‘What?” Sebastian stuttered

“Let's make it official”.

* * *

You and Sebastian had been publicly dating for a little over a year and you were beyond happy. It was currently his birthday and you woke up early to make him breakfast. You both had celebrated the night before and you had to admit you were still sore but you wanted his day to be as special as him.

Sebastian tossed and turned in his sleep, frowning as he felt the cold sheets next to him instead of your warm body. His eyes fluttered open as his eyebrows furrowed. A smile soon made its way onto his face as he smelt the heavenly scent of breakfast. He turned to stand up but immediately sat back down at the sound of your voice. “No! Dont get up!” you pleaded and he laughed at the sight of you struggling to hold the breakfast tray in your hands.

“You shouldn't have, liebe” he muttered as he helped you place the breakfast tray on the bed.

“Maybe” you shrugged as you sat down next to him, “but I wanted to, now go on! Try it!” you encouraged as you practically shoved the plate into his face.

“Okay, okay” he laughed as he defensively put his hands up. You watched him as he put a fork full of food into his mouth, his eyes involuntarily shut as a quiet moan left his mouth. “Mmm marry me” he said once he swallowed the food.

“Is it okay?” you asked nervously as you played with your hands, it was your first time cooking for him and although it was just breakfast, you still wanted to make a good impression.

Sebastians head flipped in your direction, a shocked look plastered on his face. “It's better than okay, darling. Thank you. I love it. I love you”

Your heart fluttered once you heard those three words come out of his mouth. You grinned so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. “Oh god, please say something” he pleaded and he began to think that he spoke those words too soon.

“I love you, Sebastian” you spoke as you wrapped your arms around him and straddled his hips, placing kisses all over his face before finally collecting your lips.

* * *

It was yours and Sebastains anniversary but you both had decided that you wouldn't do anything special, you were just going to get takeout and watch a movie.

You pulled into the house with the food in your hands. You unlocked the door and called out to your boyfriend, “Honey, I’m home!” you joked, locking the doors behind you kicking your shoes off. You placed the food on the table next to the door and turned around, the sight in front of you shocking you as you let out a loud gasp.

Sebastian was kneeling on the floor with a ring in his hand, rose petals littered around him. You couldn't focus on the gorgeous dinner he had laid out on the table or the sweet music playing on the radio, you could only look at his glossy eyes and nervous face.

“Y/N, darling, I love you. I think i've loved you since I first laid eyes on you on that racetrack.” he laughed and looked down at the floor before connecting his eyes with yours again,”You have been with me through my lowest lows and my highest highs and somehow still manage to look at me with a glimmer in your eyes. There's nothing I can’t do with you by my side. So i’m asking-no-i'm practically begging you to finally marry me, for real this time. Will you do me the honours and become my wife?”

You nodded at him with tears in your eyes as you took small steps towards him. “I want to hear you say it, liebe”

“Yes, Sebastian! Of course I’ll marry you”

[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Karma.

Pairing: Yandere!Xiao/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count:  2.1k.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Codependence, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Slight Victim-Blaming.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Xiao knew that this was what he deserved.

This, all of it, everything. Whatever the world had to throw at him, all the things he’d earned over centuries of bloodshed and death and guilt that grew more crippling with each passing day. He’d come to terms with that, and if he was being honest with himself, he might admit that he was growing numb to the pain, that despite his distaste, violence didn’t seem as utterly unpalatable as it used to. He wasn’t thankful for it, he didn’t want it, but he was resigned, apathetic, too used to it to care the way he used to, when fighting left him as battered as his enemies. He'd grown accustomed to it. He’d adapted.

He just wasn’t used to this. A new sort of discomfort. A different kind of pain.

He just wasn’t used to you being the source of his karmic suffering, whether or not you realized it was quite that poetic.

He’d earned it. He knew that. He’d earned every part of his current punishment – your glare, your locked jaw, the unadulterated loathing that emanated off of you in waves, unignorable from the moment he shrugged open the heavy, wooden door to his crowded room on the inn’s top floor. He’d managed to stave off the urge to use chains, ropes, anything more solid and more restraining than an idle threat and a locked door, but you were smart enough to stay balled up in the furthest corner, your knees pulled into your chest and your eyes on the floor, narrowed with an intensity he’d only ever seen in demons, moments before their deaths. It hurt him to see, the stance too defensive not to be learned, but it was better than the alternative. He’d caught you on the balcony, once or twice, leaning over the railing or admiring the view, and…

You could’ve slipped. You could’ve tried to jump. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but you shouldn’t have been so reckless. It’d been dangerous, even you were still too naïve to see that.

Xiao grit his teeth, shaking his head as he forced himself to focus on the matter at-hand. You didn’t move as he approached, only shrinking further into yourself, becoming something small, something timid, a form of passive resistance you’ve perfected, in the weeks since you last put up a real fight. If he was feeling any less patient, he might’ve resorted to less honorable methods, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you through his routine of self-indulgence despite your attempts to struggle against him. He’d tried it before, broken his own promises countless times, but it was almost never worth the way you’d cry afterwards, like he’d hurt you, like he’d done anything wrong. Like you could expect him to do anything less, when you were determined to be so stubborn.

So, instead, he tried talking. Talking was more peaceful. He didn’t like talking, but you did, and he was trying to be more considerate of what you liked. “I’m back.”

He waited, but there was no response. That was fine. He was fine. He couldn’t say he’d never given you a reason to ignore him. “You’re not reading,” He tried, again, fighting to keep his voice even. You tended to flinch, whenever he got too loud. “It’d be a better use of your time than sulking around, like this.”

You didn’t look at him, your voice muffled by your self-made haven. “You keep burning my books.”

Burning? That sounded like something he would do, as an act of precaution or anger or the same petty vengeance creatures so far beneath him were so prone to. It’d probably been one of the anthologies you were so fond of – folklore hiding under the guise of real history. Usually, he didn’t pay it much mind, the liberal retellings of events no living mortal could possibly be old enough to have witnessed, but he didn’t care for it when you found value in such trash. Stories about the Adepti were far too common in Liyue literature, and you’d always been the type to ask questions, to try to pry your way into subjects you could never hope to comprehend. It was better to eliminate the problem entirely. That was how he’d survived for so long, among humans -- terminating issues before they could arise.

But, you wouldn’t understand that. And even if you did, it wouldn’t do anything to heal the wound he’d already created.

He was beginning to think nothing he tried would ever be enough to mend your anger, not when you were so content to tear at the stitching yourself.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He wasn’t sure if he had, but you didn’t correct him, only squaring your shoulders, digging your nails into your legs, going even further to block him out, push him away, isolate yourself and leave him to suffer for your insubordination. Xiao rolled his eyes, scowling to himself, but whatever irritation he could summon was quickly replaced by his exhaustion, that perpetual desire to fall into your arms and have you welcome him willingly, lovingly, the way you used to before he decided he had to ruin it. He was tempted to touch you, to reach out, to cup your cheek or wrap an arm around you or draw you close by force, rather than natural attraction, but he thought better of it, crouching by your side, instead, letting his back hit the wall with a heavy thud.

When he opened his mouth, his tongue felt heavier, his throat hoarse. Like the weight of his conscious had found yet another way to make itself known. “You hate me.”

It was a fact, like the color of the sky or the scent of the air before a storm. It was true, both of you already knew that, but you were kind enough to hesitate, lifting you head just high enough to see him. For him to see you, tiny and terrified. A trembling rabbit that knew better than to hope for mercy from a hawk. “I do.”

It stung more than it had any right to. “And there’s nothing I can do make you stop hating me.”

You laughed, at that, the sound breathy and sardonic, melodic and unabashed, akin to bird songs and wind chimes and every other beautiful thing Xiao could think of, even in its most beaten down state. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to deafen himself because he knew nothing would ever be half as lovely as that laugh, but you were talking before he could act on the impulse. That was for the best, really. Acting on impulse was what got him into this, and he wasn’t eager to drive you away any further. “I don’t have any other choice,” You started, your tone light, your anger softened into something playful. The kind of tender rage only you were capable of. “If I could choose not to hate you, I would. You were my friend, and if I could find any way to justify your actions, you’d still be my friend. I don’t want to think of you as anything else.” You paused, letting out a deep breath, relaxing slightly. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to celebrate the small victory. “I don’t want to hate you, but I have to. You see that, right? After everything you’ve done to me, I have to hate you.”

He deserved this, and you deserved to say it. He deserved to have his heart broken, crushed and shattered in his chest, and you deserved to be the one to break it. “I don’t want you to hate me, either.” It felt more intimate than it should’ve, a confession rather than common knowledge. You might’ve teased him for it, months ago, smiled and said something about softening him up. Now, your frown only deepened. “But, I need to do this. Your safety comes first. If something ever happened to you, I’d—”

Even in his own mind, his logic faltered. ‘If something ever happened to you’, like he hadn’t already done more damage than any monster ever could. It might’ve been more redeemable if he was honest, if he admitted he was doing this for himself, because he wanted to, because just for an hour, a minute, a few key seconds, he was idiotic enough to think he deserved to have you, permanently, whether or not you wanted to have him.

But, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t know how. His mouth wouldn’t form the right words, so he was left to say the wrong ones, his tone taking a sharp turn towards hostile as he spoke. “The door isn’t locked. I’m not keeping you here. You can leave, if you’re really that miserable.”

You shifted, and Xiao’s throat went dry. He knew the answer, and yet, it still hurt to hear it in your voice, to know you were capable of inflicting such insufferable pain. “If I try to, will you let me?”

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even tell himself he’d try. He’d hunt you down to the ends of Teyvat if he had to, spend the rest of his immortality finding you and making sure you never had the chance to do something so short-sighted again. He could make the guilt more bearable, promising himself he’d take care of you, that since he couldn’t do away with the cage entirely, he’d do his best to make your prison a comfortable one, but you’d still be unhappy, you’d still hate him. He’d hate himself, too, but that might be the one aspect of your relationship he thought he could stand. If nothing else, Xiao didn’t make himself a stranger to self-loathing.

“I love you,” He mumbled, as if that counted for anything. “So much. More than you could possibly understand.”

“I know.” You were the one to bridge the gap, this time, a hesitant hand coming to rest over his. Something in his chest tightened, and for a moment, Xiao had to wonder if it was possible for a mortal to be so cruel. “But, I don’t love you. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You moved to pull away, fear fading into sympathetic pity, but Xiao didn’t want your pity, he didn’t want you to go back to hiding from him, trembling and screaming and treating him like some monster, a beast waiting to lash out. That’s what he was, really, but he didn’t have to admit it. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to let himself believe he’d fallen that far, and he didn’t want to let you treat him as if he had.

His grip was too tight, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he caught you by the wrist, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when it was so easy to jerk you towards him, forcing you out of your pathetic, laughable shelter and into his lap, his free arm latching onto your waist before you had a chance to pull away. The remorse was reflexive, immediate and instinctual, but for the first time, he allowed himself to ignore it, to bury it underneath the pleasant warmth of your skin against his and the bliss that came with being so close to you, with burying his face in your shoulder, with indulging every necessity he’d denied himself in the name of your comfort. Your hands were already on his chest, your entire body shaking as you made a weak attempt to push him away, but Xiao was stronger than you, and he loved you so much more than you could ever hate him. This was fair. That had to be enough to make it fair.

You shifted, the air catching in your lungs, but Xiao only bared his teeth, letting pointed fangs ghost over the side of your neck before he could regret scaring you. Maybe he wanted to scare you. Maybe it’d be better, if you were scared of him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to keep playing dutiful lover. 

“Don’t move,” He snarled, and instantly, you went still. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, hear the cracked sob you failed to swallow, but he wanted this, he needed this. You’d get used to it, with time. You might even begin to appreciate the weeks he spent coddling you, once you were exposed to the alternative. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need this. I need you to let me have this.” He paused, giving you just enough to time to stiffen, to realize he wasn’t letting go. To realize he was never letting go, even if that meant you only grew to hate him more. “I don’t care if you love me. I need you.” 

Because he’d already gotten what he deserved. He’d already suffered, anguished, submitted himself fully to karma and reaped the consequences. The lesson had been drilled into him a thousand times, by his own hand another hundred. He already knew pain.

He’d already gotten what he deserved.

For once, he wanted to know what it would be like to get what he wanted, instead.

[arrantsnowdrop]

Informalities - Éomer x reader

Request:  “Eomer x reader fic where the reader is from our world and Eomer listens to the stories the reader says of our world and he thinks that it is a grand place and so when they are finally getting together, Eomer feels kind of insecure cuz he feels he'll never live up to the reader's "standards" and the reader says that they are insecure because he is a prince and she has nothing"

Tags: @thewhiteladyofrohan

Warnings: mention of battles and death, about 2,200 words

A/N: Hoppy Easter lads and lasses, we are back from a many month writing hiatus. Hope y’all enjoy, I’m glad to be here :)

You genuinely had no idea how you’d ended up in Middle Earth.

It was one of those fever dream situations - one moment you were falling asleep in your own bed, and the next you were waking up at the bottom of a tree, surrounded by many bearded and concerned looking men.

Of course you’d been startled and so, so confused, but it had only taken you a few moments to recognize the characters from one of your favorite stories, and then you’d fully accepted your new reality.

By the time you first encountered the fellowship, they had already lost Gandalf at Moria and passed through the realm of Lothlorien. They were traveling in their fancy elvish boats when they’d spotted you from the river. You were extremely grateful for that - who knows what would’ve happened if the Uruk-hai tracking them had found you first.

Boromir and Gimli were quite intimidated by your presence, having been brought up in traditions that designated men for warrior roles. Aragorn and Legolas were much more accepting (female elves were just as badass as any male elf or man, and both of them knew that). The hobbits had all taken an immediate liking to you, and you’d been devastated to lose them during the Uruk ambush. Of course, this only gave you a stronger drive to track them into Rohan with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.

It was there that you met Éomer for the first time, after his riders surrounded your small group of assumed invaders.

He was handsome, there was no denying that, and you found his decision to protect Rohan even in exile extremely brave. He’d been startled by your presence (a group including a dwarf, an elf, AND a woman must’ve been an oddity for him), and thus had talked primarily with Aragorn, but you could not shake the way his eyes locked with yours as he offered you his condolences about Merry and Pippin.

You figured you’d never see the handsome blonde again, glumly complaining to Gimli about it several times throughout Rohan.

Thus, you’d been overjoyed when he arrived at the Battle of Helm’s Deep - half because he was saving your asses from almost certain death, and half because you’d get to see his face and hear his voice again.

You followed Aragorn after the battle, searching for Gandalf in the celebrating crowd. It did not take long, with his bright white robes being quite easy to pick out.

“Gandalf!” you screamed gleefully, weaving between the people around you to get to the smiling wizard.

“It is good to see you, (Y/n),” he said as you embraced him.

“Oh, it’s even better to see you,” you said.

“I have to agree with (Y/n),” Aragorn said from behind you. You pulled back, allowing Gandalf time to greet your friend, and quickly caught sight of a familiar face.

He had been laughing with some other men when his gaze fell on you, eyes locking with yours for the second time. You smiled a bit and offered an awkward wave, face flushing as he flashed you a smile.

“Ah, (Y/n), this is Lord Éomer, current heir to the throne of Rohan,” Gandalf said, noticing the two of you staring at each other.

“We’ve met before,” he said, walking towards you

“Indeed we have,” you replied as he stopped just in front of you. “It is a pleasure to meet you, oh-future-king,” you said, bowing a bit.

You could hear Aragorn slap his forehead from behind you and grinned.

“She’s not from around here, so do forgive her manners,” Aragorn said.

“Or lack thereof,” you added, straightening yourself once more and looking at Éomer’s amused face.

“I appreciate the informality,” Éomer grinned. You spun around and pointed at Aragorn.

“See? Someone appreciates me,” you accused.

You were extremely happy to meet Éomer. It’s not that you didn’t adore Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli, but they were also the only people you’d been around for quite a while. It was exciting to make a new friend, especially one so handsome and charismatic.

The two of you spent the entire ride to Isengard delving into each other’s lives, from childhoods to secret fears to favorite foods. Obviously, the two of you had led quite different lives, and he was fascinated by the world you had come from.

“These cars you speak of, are they like horses?” he asked.

“No, they’re much faster,” you replied. “They’re more like a carriage, since they have space for several people inside.”

“But it moves without a horse?”

“Yup!”

“Who steers in then?”

You were grinning ear to ear at the look of bewilderment on his face.

“One of the people inside,” you answered. “There’s a wheel to control which direction you go and pedals on the floor to control the speed.”

“That sounds terribly complicated,” Éomer said, brows furrowing.

“It’s not too bad,” you said, “I was even pretty good at it.”

Éomer shot you an alarmed look.

“You used to steer these...these things?” he asked incredulously. You laughed and nodded. “You have to be taught how to do it,” you explained. “It’s not like they throw you into it without any preparation.”

“It still sounds extremely dangerous,” he decided.

“I did break my arm in a crash once,” you said thoughtfully. He gasped.

“You can crash them?”

Éomer had quickly become one of your favorite people, which only made the continuous battles over the fate of Middle Earth even more stressful. You were terrified he would ride into a fight and never return, and even more terrified of what that meant.

You’d searched for him for hours after the Battle for Minas Tirith, heart growing more and more heavy as you continued. Every person you asked had no idea where he was, and by the time you returned to the White City, your hands were shaking with anxiety. Finding him outside of the makeshift infirmary that had been set up was the most relieving moment of your entire life.

You had gasped the moment you caught sight of his all too familiar golden hair, letting out a desperate sob as his eyes met yours, him rushing over to you and wrapping you in his arms. Your embrace was filled with all the emotions both of you were too terrified to say aloud.

“I thought you were dead,” you murmured into his chest, eyes wet and lips trembling.

“It will take far more than a few Oliphaunts to kill me,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

You wanted nothing more than to tell him in that moment how much you loved him, but decided against it. You knew the fighting was not over, the last thing you needed was for him to be distracted by you during battle and find himself impaled with some pointy object. If you both lived to the end of this, you would tell him then.

But then you were too scared to do it.

Of course you had won - the ring had been destroyed, Aragorn had led the crusade against the forces of Mordor, and Gondor was preparing to crown its long lost king. Everyone was staying in Minas Tirith until the coronation, but then everyone was leaving. All your friends would be heading home, but you did not have one of those here in Middle Earth.

Aragorn had already offered you a place in Gondor’s leadership, and thus a permanent residence with him, and the hobbits were more than happy to escort you back to the Shire with them, but you knew both of these options would separate you from the one person you wanted to be with.

All you wanted was to follow Éomer back to Edoras, but you were unsure if that would be best for him. He was about to be crowned king of Rohan, and probably had many ladies of Rohan’s nobility lined up to rule with him. It was selfish for you to think you had any right to his heart, especially when his duties and responsibilities were so much more important than an outspoken, title-less woman.

So you distanced yourself from him. You avoided him whenever possible, taking the longest routes you could to dinners and meetings. You tried not to be affected by his desperate gaze, or the way he called for you as you rushed out of a room. It hurt you more than anything, but you knew it would be better for him in the long run. You succeeded with your plan until the night before Aragorn’s coronation.

You’d been walking home from dinner (a huge, pre-celebration feast that qualified as a celebration itself) through an old, twisty corridor. You opened the door to your room only to see Eomer sitting on your bed, a worried look on his face.

You jumped slightly, startled by his presence.

“What are you doing in here?” you said breathlessly. “This is totally an invasion of my privacy and absolutely uncalled for at such a late hour, you almost gave me a heart attack-”

“Forgive me,” he interrupted, standing up from the bed, eyes fixated on you. You both stood there in silence for some time, the closest you’d been to each other for the first time in days.

“I missed you,” he murmured finally. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You looked down at your feet and nodded. You did not want to see the look of betrayal that he was undoubtedly wearing.

“Why?” he whispered. You winced at the sound of hurt in his voice.

“You would not understand Éomer, but I promise it was in your best interest,” you replied.

“You are my best friend, (Y/n), how could ignoring me benefit me?” he asked incredulously. You looked up at him, trying to ignore the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

“Éomer-”

“Please,” he cut you off desperately, slowly walking towards you. “I have missed you more than you could possibly imagine.” “That is the issue,” you whispered, closing your eyes to avoid looking at him.

“How is that an issue?” he begged.

“Because you are about to be a king,” you shouted, eyes still closed. “And you will leave after tomorrow with everyone else, back to Edoras, where new responsibilities will be awaiting you and demanding your attention.”

“How does that have anything to do with you?” he asked, voice sounding a lot closer than before. You gulped, sensing him right in front of you.

“I would be a distraction,” you replied meekly. Éomer did not reply, but instead reached to grab your hands with his own, you gasping as he pulled you into his chest.

“(Y/n), you are not a distraction, how could you-”

“I do not want you to leave me here,” you interrupted, resting your forehead against him. “I am so scared I’ll never see you again, but your life is about to be so much more important than me.”

“I do not want to leave you here,” he said, wrapping his arms around your back. “I want you to come with me. You’re my best friend, how could I abandon you?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” you whispered, “even if I were physically with you, that would not stop me from...from…”

You stopped and bit your lip, terrified of the confession about to pour out of you. Éomer moved his hand below your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

“Stop you from what?” he whispered intensely, eyes searching your face desperately. You exhaled breathily.

“I love you, Éomer,” you said softly, watching as his expression softened. “So, so much.”

He blinked once, twice, registering what you had just said, and smiled, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“I love you more than anyone, (Y/n),” he murmured.

“But, surely there are women back in Rohan who are far more suitable for-”

“(Y/n),” Éomer said seriously, pulling away to look you in the eyes once more. “I have the power to be with whomever I choose.”

“But why would you choose me?” you asked meekly. Éomer chuckled, brushing a stray bit of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear tenderly. You leaned into his hand slightly, relishing in the way he cupped your face.

“I was more nervous that you wouldn’t choose me,” he admitted. You look at him in confusion.

“How could I not choose you?” you asked.

“You’re much more interesting than I am,” he shrugged. “You come from a world that is so much more exciting than mine, and the last thing I want is for you to settle for me.”

“Éomer, you stab people with swords and ride horses all day. And live in a castle. That is insanely cool,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “Of course I choose you.”

“And I choose you,” he murmured, pulling you closer to him. “Please come home with me.”

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding fervently. “Yes, please.”

Éomer grinned, tilting your face up to his once more and leaning down to kiss you. Your heart leaped, hand reaching up to grab the back of his head to intensify the kiss. He moaned softly, bending down to pick you up and twirling you around. You giggled and pressed your nose against his.

“I’m thinking we make my coronation far less formal than Aragorn’s,” Éomer said, “as much as I’ve been loving these dinners, I don’t think I could stand hosting them.”

“You know I’m fantastic at informalities,” you replied.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 4

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Reader Warnings: Injury, swearing, mentions of ptsd and drug use Length: 2k Notes: Hello my Freaky Darlings! I was watching The Martian while writing this and didn’t edit so bear with me and forgive errors!

Part One, Two, Three

Damn your stubborn pride. Damn it, and your swollen wrist, all to hell. Now that you were back at home, nursing your previously ignored injury, it was easy to forget why you had felt the need to work through the pain. Prime harvesting season was ending and all the old farmers in town were predicting an early frost. Knowing how this would destroy any unpicked apples, you had worked hard all day.

Frankie had grumbled at you once, an hour into the workday when he saw you emptying your half-full basket into one of the tractor-pulled bins. You didn't feel like explaining your stupid injury, or risk drawing his memory to when you eye-fucked him, so you just grumbled back an assurance that your total count would be the same.

He was slightly more attentive than usual, and you were worried he had read more into your glances than you had meant. Because, you still hated the guy, right? His... what was it again? Arrogance? Yes! That was it. 

Not wanting to encourage any more misconceptions, and still trying to hide your damn swollen wrist, you worked through your breaks and barely stopped for lunch.

Frankie had finally put his foot down when Jacquie had arrived with stew and biscuits for dinner, forcing you off the ladder and stashing it away to make sure you didn’t get the idea to head up again that day. 

You had successfully hidden your swollen wrist from him but knew that Jacquie had a much keener eye. So while you were remiss to leave the company of your friend you begged off dinner, citing exhaustion, and went home.

Now though, with a meal that paled in comparison to Jacquie’s cooking, and your bound wrist on ice, you wished you had stayed.

That is until you remember the moment when you had stared at your boss's lips for an inappropriately long time. With a groan, you decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow, just wanting to bury your head under your blankets and try to bury your embarrassment as well.

The sound of rain pelting against the window woke you a few short hours later. You would have just gone back to sleep but the memory of leaving a few windows open forced you out of bed. By the time you made it downstairs, the gentle rain had turned to a downpour of sleet and you could feel the cold air blowing through the house.

Your mind immediately went to the orchard. If this storm got any worse, a sizeable section of un-picked trees would be rendered worthless. Grabbing your boots and discarded coat off the floor, you rushed to your truck with freezing rain stinging your face. It wasn't until you were near the end of the driveway that you realized you hadn't closed any of the windows.

That wasn't what caused you to slam on the brakes, though. Frankie's truck had just turned down your driveway, fishtailing around the bend as he barely slowed down in his hurry. Seeing you at the last minute, he braked hard but the slush already accumulating on the ground caused him to skid. The impact wasn't hard but your smaller truck wouldn't be road-worthy any longer.

Wrenching your doors open and coming around the assess the damage Frankie was swearing while you were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frankie called to you from across your crumpled hood.

"Me? ME?!" You countered, voice becoming shrill from panic and stress. "What the hell are YOU doing?!"

"Coming you help you and save your damn house from this storm!" He yelled back, giving a little jump and waving his arms out of frustration. It would have been comical under different circumstances. "This is gonna flood your fuckin' house!"

"Your orchard!" You were hollering now "This is going to ruin the rest of the apples!"

Jerking his head back Frankie looked at you with confusion, "What the hell are you worried about them for?"

His query forced you to stop and wonder that for yourself.

"I-" you stuttered, feeling a little silly "I don't know? Are you really going to argue with me though?! We've wasted enough time..."

Heaving a sigh, Frankie jerked his head towards his truck and growled, "Get in."

In a desperate bid to save as much of the fruit as possible, you and Frankie laid tarps down under as many trees as you could. Shaking the branches caused the ripened fruit to fall and you just prayed the rest would survive the sudden storm which had now turned to snow.

Working together you dragged each tarp towards the tractor and took turns driving the filled bins into the barn. It wasn’t a heated cab but still a nice respite from the blizzard.

By five a.m. you had done as much as possible and the adrenaline that had once been surging through the both of you had long faded. The snow had now slowed to a light drizzle but the ground was a slippery, muddy mess, as so were the both of you. Once Frankie noticed the shivers that wracked your body he ushered you into the barn and up the side stairs into his loft.

“It’s not much but it’s enough.” was his way of welcoming you into the space. It was cozy but lacking in luxuries or personal touches.

While Frankie got busy making tea and warming soup in the kitchen you explored the loft. It was one large room broken into three basic areas: his bed in one corner with a small bathroom just off the side, a kitchenette along the opposite wall, and a couch flanked by rocking chairs faced a fireplace at the end. Making your way over to the fireplace you intended on getting a fire going but were distracted by the photos decorating the mantel.

“You served?” Your voice came out sounding loud and strained, not at all the casual way you had intended. Frankie had been gruff with you but never unkind, however, seeing photos of him in uniform instantly raised your hackles. It was an automatic response from being reminded of your husband and you hated it.

Shaking the thought of Brad from your mind, you realized Frankie hadn’t answered and was just standing next to you, staring at the photos with a blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried” you spoke softly, not wanting to spook him from his reverie.

You had seen that far-off look on your husband’s face when he had been home between tours. It had always been best to stay quiet and out of sight when he had gotten like that.

Frankie took a sudden step in your direction. That movement, mixed with the current memories swirling in the forefront of your brain, caused you to reflexively throw your arms up to cover your face. Hot tea spilled out of the mug Frankie had been passing to you and immediately burned the skin on your hands and arm.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Tears were spilling down your cheeks and you had instantly curled up, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Shhhhhh, no, nononono, shhhhhh” Frankie was frantically trying to reassure you while simultaneously trying to get close enough to assess how bad the damage to your skin was. He seemed to know that you were feeling unsafe so he made himself small and lowered himself to the floor. “That was completely my fault, right? Can I see?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath you calmed yourself enough to see the warmth and worry in his eyes. Your heart immediately constricted for an entirely new reason when you noticed his posturing, how he had made himself smaller than you and had his hands out wide where you could see them, waiting for you to show him the severity of the burns.

This man had dealt with PTSD before. 

Nodding, you reached out both hands for Frankie to take and tried to swallow the embarrassment you felt from your little breakdown. That emotion was quickly forgotten, however, when Frankie finally got a look at you and noticed, for the first time, just how swollen your wrist was.

“What happened here?” he asked, sternly “Were you working all day like this?”

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, trying to pull your hands out of his firm but gentle grip, “just a little mishap from this morning. Don’t worry, though, I was able to work just fine.”

He let out of huff of frustration. “You think I’m worried about how many apples you picked? Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest asshole around.”

“No,” you said quietly, still trying to calm down but also wanting to relieve the tension, “that title belonged to my husband. You,” you continued, ignoring the way his head snapped up to your face then back down to check your bare ring finger, “are just the biggest grump around and it’s intimidating.”

Frankie was silent again and watched his jaw tic as he digested this new information. He was still staring at your hands, cradled in his. The bright red hue of your skin must have jarred him from his thoughts because he quickly but carefully stood up, pulling you up with him, and ushered you towards the kitchen. As you sat on the counter with cold tap water flowing over your burning skin, Frankie flitted about searching for salves and gauze to protect the skin once it had been sufficiently cooled. You tried to reassure him that you would be fine but he wasn't hearing it.

He was talking now, hadn't stopped rambling, but of nothing consequential. You had a feeling there were a lot of secrets stored in his heart but knew you weren't in a position to be trusted with them. You found yourself wishing that you were. You hadn't realized you were nodding off, the strain of the past 24 hours finally catching up on you, until Frankie had called your name for the fourth time. He was, respectfully, keeping his distance not wanting to startle you again, but hovering close enough by to catch you if you slumped over in your doze.

"Come on," he murmured sleepily, "let me take you home. We're not getting any more work done here for a while so take a few days to rest."

"Oh Christ," you guffawed in a very unladylike manner, "how did I forget?"

"It looks worse in the light of day." Frankie chimed in, ruefully.

The two of you sat in the idling truck staring at the crumpled hood of your poor truck, which was inconveniently blocking your driveway.

"I'll call for a tow."

While he was on the phone he climbed out of the cab, assessing the damage and trying to figure out how much this was going to cost him. A few minutes later he made his way back into the warmth of his truck, "He won't be here till tomor-". Frankie let the sentence trail off once he noticed you'd fallen asleep, bundled up in the fleece jacket he had lent you. Sitting back in his seat, watching the sunrise dance across your face, Frank took a moment to think about everything that had transpired in such a short amount of time.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat, he figured he'd let you sleep for a few more minutes before making you wake and have to walk the rest of the way to your house.

"As I live and breath..."

Jacquie's jubilant voice woke the both of you with a start. It was evening and Frankie's truck had been idling in your driveway for nearly 8 hours with the two of you passed out cold in the cab. At some point, you had shifted and were resting against Frankie's chest, his body turned toward yours and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"Mark!" She continued to yell, "You owe me fifty bucks!"

PART FIVE 

[remsmoonlight]

— title : just drive

— word count : 1.6k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : never had the inability to drive been a reason to divulge, nor had it been a problem. until a horde of walkers are trailing behind you, that is.

— warnings : swearing, implication of anxiety, mentions of death / potential car accidents, mentions of blood and gore

note: two imagines in two days i can’t believe my productivity, i thought it would be funny that being unable to drive in a zombie apocalypse would be funny because it would be such a useful ability to have ( ahem ahem my non driving ass ) this was meant to be like 500 words but it got away from me, anyways enjoy three hours of my nonsense!

                               ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Burning. The sensation is fierce as you fight your own body to force more oxygen into your airways, to power you along to escape the deathly growls that follow behind you. Paranoia stokes its own fire, the feeling that walkers are much closer than they actually are push you to lighter steps in the barren dirt, the only tracks laid into its path are the ones you are currently forming with every inch you put between you.

Exactly how you’d gotten into this situation is not something you mind wants to visit currently, more concerned with your current predicament.

“ We’ll turn left up ahead, we passed a few cars a while back. “

“ That's as good a plan as any. “ You rush out in one breath, the words with a ghostly tone while you try to find your voice. Everything hurts, the idea of more running is not something you find appealing.

You wonder if the walkers are able to run, any thought to distract yourself from the aching your muscles feel at the physical exertion you’re being put through. For a fraction of a fleeting second, you turn your gaze backwards, your eyes running across the line of walkers that want to make the sky above you rain with your blood across the greenery as you flee. They do a very good job of speed walking, the amount of energy they have for being dead is something that unnerves you. Even after you have caffeine in your bloodstream, you have never had this much energy. What is their secret?

Tears blur your sight as you set your eyes on a graveyard of cars, dust that covers every inch of the metal machines show their age.

“ Rick! “ You exclaim, a new flower of hope blooming in your voice as your finger shakily raises to point in the direction of the car park. “ Over there! “

Both of you split instantly as you reach the space, your hands tugging at the handles of the vehicles, wishing with every fibre of your beings that one is unlocked — or at the very least, there is a key to unlock them nearby. Extremely nearby.

“ This one! “ Your voice carries over the distance resoundingly, the door opens with a click that blesses your hearing.

“ Yeah.. We’re lucky today. “ Rick mumbles to himself, flinging the bags that had been weighing on his shoulders into the back.

In the suddenness of the situation, your heart plummets below with a steep drop that you swore will not end. I can’t fucking drive. You gasp at the realisation of it, desperation twisting and contorting around the entirety of your body.

“ Rick.. “ Turning towards Rick swiftly, you pause in your confession. An uncomfortable heat warms your cheeks as you study him, unsure of how he would react during the worst possible moment for the disclosure. “ We need to switch places! “

“ What? “ His brows knit together as he asks you, confusing misting him completely. “ Why? Start the car! “

“ I do — I can’t drive! “

The confession leads Rick to momentarily splutter in response, his words cowering under the veil that is his tongue. Colour drains from his features, a continuous slap against the back of the car’s window from a lone walker ahead of the horde pushes him into a brisk movement. The action is awkward, the lack of space threatening to cause harm in the form of bruises from knocking limbs against various parts of its interior.

“ Just drive! “

With a haggard start, you examine the way your surroundings appear to move, realising that the vehicle is awake and increasing with speed as it puts space between you and the dead. You lean your head against the window, one of your hands moves towards the temple of your head to message some of the tension of almost being eaten away. That had been too close for comfort.

“ Uh, y’know I gotta ask — “

“ How I can’t drive, right? “ You finish, your eyes roll in response, you know he’s going to  find too much amusement in making fun of you.

“ And how you made it this far. “ He drawls, humour embedded in his response as his eyes continue to survey the road ahead.

Your teeth bite the side of your cheek, with strength that almost is able to draw the crimson liquid that lays beneath your flesh. Lips purse at the enjoyment you can feel radiating off of his body, as it wishes itself into existence.

“ I don’t know! “ You grumble loudly, your shoulders lift temporarily in response. “ I’m just always with someone who knows how to operate one of these things. “

“ You never learnt before? “

“ I mean.. I always had a fear of driving. No reason, just the thought that one wrong move and.. “ a shudder rips through your body with a blinding pace, your fingers lay tapping at your thigh. “ I could cause an accident, or even be in one would scare me to death! “

“ That’s understandable. “ Rick nods, glancing in your direction before breaking out in a grin. “ Kinda. “

A heavy groan vibrates inside of the car, you throw your hands up in the air as you realise he’s one of the worst people to divulge this information to. Your addition to the group hadn’t occurred as earlier as most of them, they’d been kind enough to accept you into their family after escaping Terminus. On a rare night, nightmares of that cursed location shatters the mirror of a dreamy slumber into a thousand shards that scar your mind for the nights that follow. Echoes of screams from those captured, treated no more than a prize cow that awaits its slaughter to service those with the butcher’s knife.

Truthfully, you’d gravitated towards the man. With the amount of trauma you’d been through, the way that when he speaks, you craved the comfort his words never lost. Certainty and confidence are still with him today, often leading you to believe everything will be alright. Even if the road between Georgia and Alexandria had been filled with gore and tears, everything has turned out fine. So far.

“ You are being so annoying right now. “ Cursing the man, you show him your middle finger.

Rick says nothing, he merely chuckles in response. You almost allow your mind to tread into the murky waters of the man you used to know and the transformation into the man he is now.

“ I just.. “ shaking his head, the cheeky glint in his eyes only sparkles more as it grows in size. “ How d’you not run into this problem earlier? “

“ I don’t know! “

“ It’s nothin’ short of amazin’. “ a gust of air is released from his lips, only now does he realise they’re dehydrating from the amount of running done that afternoon.

Trees and bushes blend into one another, creating a vivid merging of shades, providing a soothing palette to paint the most tranquil of artworks. You envy the way life has flourished under the lack of human traffic, trampling the environment without a care, you wish you could undergo the same change the way it has. The human mind has a way of making obstacles difficult for itself.

“ I just.. Can’t help but find it funny. Drivin’s.. It’s a way of survivin’ when you got more than one of them on your ass. “

“ Well I guess I am an outlier to that rule. “ your brows move with the motions your head makes as you try to muster an air of superiority over the notion.

You find yourself wishing you hadn’t succumbed to your fears, that you’d bit the bullet and studied and practiced as much as humanly possible. The fear of driving hadn’t been the only thing that stopped you from pursuing the ability, but the idea of having to take a written exam and an actual driving test? The two often colliding in an infinite clash of wills that left your insides in a constant, battered wreck every time you thought about the idea.

All you want is to be able to do that one thing, after all, so many had done so before. You’re sure that everyone, minus the children, are able to drive. Such a simple thing, you’d never thought would prove to be such a thorn in your side when you’d take the train to work. Life has a way of stitching together a set of circumstances only to treat them like dominos, destroying the work with little regard as it watches them fall one by one. The carefully nursed structure is a shell of what it used to be, the resting place of what could have been.

“ You didn’t give up, y’kept fightin’. I’ve seen people able to hotwire these things taken down. It ain’t the car that keeps a person alive, it’s them. “ He assures you warmly, as much as he wants to continue to find amusement in lacking what is now deemed as a life skill, it doesn’t take a genius to realise you’re becoming annoyed by the poking and the prodding his humour brings.

“ That’s oddly.. Uplifting. “

“ I do say these things from time to time, no need to sound so surprised. “

“ They’re so rare I forget. “ A smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you eye the man from the side. It is your turn to laugh now.

Light hearted chatter fills the limited space, conversation flowing just that little bit more freely now that danger no longer pursues you in earnest. You’re thankful for a drop of normalcy in a sea of skeletons that surround the world now, you can pretend that — even for a little, it’s a normal day.

“ What d’you say to havin’ some drivin’ lessons? “

[quirklessidiot]

Title: voicemail [one-shot] Pairing: gn!reader x kuroo tetsuro (age up characters) Genre: angst with a fluffy ending

Synopsis: You say good morning, when it's midnight Going out of my head, alone in this bed I wake up to your sunset and it's driving me mad I miss you so bad. [this request kuroo + angst + ldr]

Warnings: some bad language but other than that none Notes: heavily inspired by simple plan’s jet lag ngh, hope you enjoy it anon. i def had fun writing this. Kuroo was my first love in haikyuu HAHHSHSS T-T

masterlist  

“Hey this is kuroo tetsurou, i’m currently busy right now, just leave a message after the beep.”

“Hey it’s me…”  you paused,  “How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Uh- Kenma visited me yesterday, he told me that you secured a new deal. I-I just wanted to congratulate you...and-well, i miss you. Call me when you’re not busy, alright? I-I love you.”

The apartment turns silent after you end the call, your head throbbing at the thought of your third unanswered voicemail. Were you being overbearing? Would he find you annoying? You shut your eyes tight, all this overthinking at this time of the day.

Maybe it would’ve been better to just pass the message on to Kenma.

You let out a loud groan as you dropped yourself on the bed.

Man, when people told you that long distance relationships would be hard, you laughed it off, saying that you and tetsu wouldn’t feel that way. You were both open and too much in love, trivial things like time zones and miles away wouldn’t break you two apart.

Yet right now, you weren’t so confident to say that out loud. It was easier at first, following a scheduled facetime at least twice a week at most and a short call when you both had time everyday. As months pass though, the little schedule you promised to keep up was dwindling.

When he called, you were busy or you were dead tired from work. When you called, he was either asleep too or busy scouting some people on volleyball leagues. The face times would just turn to very short conversations or a curt message.

Now this happened, its been a week since you haven’t heard from him and it was Kenma who had told you about his little victory at work.

What happened to weekly updates?

Were you just overthinking?

You furrowed your brows together as you turned to the abandoned cellular phone next to you, maybe this was nothing. Maybe he was just tired or maybe he was worried he’d disturb your sleeping time (he feels awfully bad when he does that), maybe he just told Kenma to tell you since he wasn’t good at figuring out the timezone things (after all, Kenma barely slept so he’d definitely be a good messenger)

Yeah, maybe that was the case.

Things returned to normal after that one week of no replies and it bothered you even more, why couldn’t he apologize? Did he not see the voicemails you sent? Did he not notice the nervousness in your tone when you sent that last message?

You feel your stomach clench as if you’re on a high up roller coaster about to go down.

God, why were you even overthinking? You sound like one of those girls that Kuroo and you would make fun of back then in high school.

A small ding resonates in the quiet apartment and you see a text from the man himself,

From: Tetsu Time: 09:00 pm Can’t facetime tonight :( Work has me by the neck.

To: Tetsu Time: 09:01 It’s fine :D Take care of yourself and just text me when you’re done. I love you.

You shut your phone off and ran your hands through your dry hair, moments later, you realize he doesn’t reply and the feeling of uneasiness does not waver.

It just worsens.

“Y/N, you alright there?” Kenma asks, it’s sunny today and you manage to drag Kenma out of his not-so little hideout. The man needed some sun, he was getting extra pale these days but these days, it seemed like it was actually you that needed this break.

You immediately snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the low voice of your friend, “Yeah,” You laugh, scratching your neck, “Just peachy.”

Kenma Kozume was many things, observant is one of them. It was easy to notice how distressed you looked yet he didn’t know exactly why. Was it work? Did you and Kuroo fought? Weird, his friend hadn’t said anything and he seemed pretty happy when he called to check up on him this morning at three am.

“Is something going on at work, Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” you try to mask your overthinking by something else, knowing Kenma he’d voice out your worries to Kuroo and right now that was the least thing you wanted, “Something at work.”

“Don’t overthink about it Y/N. I’m sure you’re doing a great job.”

‘Yeah.’ you thought bitterly, ‘Don’t overthink about it.’

The low sound of your laptop ringing resonates throughout the room as you do your own nails, you immediately shoot-up to see Kuroo’s name on the screen, you dive on the front of your laptop and click answer, his face immediately occupying the screen, “Kitten!” he exclaims.

Your worries are gone as soon as you hear that voice, yes, this was fine. He was alright. You were both alright.

“H-hey, baby.” You try to control your voice.

“You alright there?” his brows furrowed, “Am I disturbing your sleep again-”

“No!” You suddenly cry out, “N-No, it’s just...I haven’t seen you in so long, I guess.”

Kuroo’s gaze immediately softens, “Oh, Y/N...Baby, I’m so sorry…”

God, you wanted to touch him so bad. You want to lay next to him and wake up to his face like before, you wanted to be selfish right now and just cry and beg him to come home.

“No, It’s fine.” You suck it up, “It’s probably just the late night dramas I’ve been watching that’s got me missing you.”

His deep chuckle resonates in your quiet room and you start to feel alright until you hear someone call his name, “Oh shit.” He cursed, “I have to get back, Baby. Boss wants me, again.”

Your expression shifts to an uncharacteristic frown, “Right, bye. I-I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The screen turns black once again and the bile on your throat begins to rise, the feeling of dread turning worse.

Who were you kidding, long distance relationships were shit.

You were feeling like shit.

You stare at the fish fillet in front of you, it's midday and your day off from work. If it were your usual day, you’d facetime your boyfriend while doing some paperwork but after that brief videocall. You became more withdrawn, your texts would become curt and you didn’t bother leaving messages on his voicemail anymore.

You didn’t have facetimes anymore too.

Yet you keep your phone next to you, hoping he’d still call and when he does, your can’t help it but your replies are starting to get dry. Sometimes forced even yet Kuroo doesn’t notice, he never does.

So when he finally calls again that time at lunch and is once again cut off by his workmates, you finally snap, “...Why are we still doing this?” your voice was rough and dry.

Kuroo is silent on the other line, the only thing that could be heard was his office mate calling him.

“Kitten, what do you mean? Are you okay?”

“Forget it.Just go.”

“Y/N?” His tone was serious now, all playfulness void, “I thought we were doing fine-”

“Thought.” You shakily cut him off, “You thought.”

“Y/N, you seriously -   look-   I don’t have time for this.”

That was the final straw, your tipping point. Those words were your Achilles heel.

“Then we should just break up, right?” 

The only thing that could be heard was the silence on his side and your fast heartbeat. Guess you got your answer and as much as you hated it, you could only handle so much.

“Hey this is Y/N, I’m out now and kinda busy so just leave a message after a beep, yeah?”

“It’s me.” Kuroo’s voice echoes through the walls, “Y/N baby, please pick up the phone. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it that way. I was an ass. I should’ve kept our promise. Please call me when you get this”

A loud beep echoes throughout the room after his message is cut.

“It’s me again. I miss you and I’m sorry. I really am, I miss you so bad. Can we facetime? Same time as usual, I promise I won’t let work get in the way again. Please call me back when you receive this.”

A loud beep once again echoes through the quiet walls of your room.

“Y-Y/N.” Kuroo stammers,  “sweetheart, I-I asked Kenma to check on you. He brought a meal and well I know its a far fix from what I did but just eat well, yeah? He says you haven’t been looking well and I worry. I love you always, y-you know that right?”

Before the next message could play, you grab your phone and shut it off. A soft sigh escaping your lips. It had been two weeks since that breakup. You wouldn’t say you were doing well yet you wouldn’t say that the burden was lifted either.

You were just so confused at the moment, so withdrawn. The world seemingly void of color without your lover truly next to you anymore.

You slowly snuggle on his side of the bed, shutting your eyes. You might as well start moving your things when you wake up tomorrow, no sense in staying at your shared apartment.

You’re awoken by a familiar warmth caressing your hair. You flutter your eyes open, trying to adjust your vision to the room's dim light, the familiar figure of the man you missed and dearly loved sitting across you in a suit. His bags are thick as if he hadn’t slept in a while and his hair’s unkempt more than usual.

“I’m sorry.” the first thing he says.It's soft and warm like his touches, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Y-You..” It slowly dawns upon you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s right here, “You’re here.”

“Sorry it took so long, Y/N.” He apologies once again, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss on your forehead. You sit up and suddenly all the tears burst out as you throw yourself to him in a hug, “I was too busy getting my work done so I could be assigned in this division earlier I hadn’t-”

“You’re home.” You cry, cutting off his explanation, it didn’t matter anymore. He was home and he was going to stay, “You’re finally home.”

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I’m here. I’m home.”

[sentakushimasu]

if i can't taste your lips just let me taste blood

pairing: bakugou katsuki/kirishima eijirou summary: work studies are meant to be educational, not fatal, but bakugou and kirishima are trapped with a growing puddle of blood and no way to get out genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 2.6k warnings: blood, hospitals, bakugou trying to articulate emotions title from: we are the dirt - it's never enough AO3

When Kirishima came to it was with a lot of confusion and pain. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain emanating from his abdomen that blurred and subdued his other senses. The second thing he noticed was that it was really dark.

Dark to the point where he wasn’t sure if he was opening his eyes at all, unable to figure out where the hell he was or how he got there.

The pain, however, was very clearly not a fixture of his foggy and disoriented brain. It kept getting worse, the burning sensation reaching all the way down to his feet. In the haze of pain he couldn’t pinpoint any actual injury, only able to tell that there was something really heavy pressing down on his midsection.

The whine he let out was involuntary, but if he was alone he was going to make as many pathetic noises as he wanted.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

“Kirishima? Kirishima, are you awake?”

That was Bakugou’s voice, but Bakugou never called him by his name, and especially not with the worry that currently saturated his tone.

Kirishima grumbled and tried to push the weight off him. It was so heavy, borderline crushing him but he couldn’t get it to move. What he assumed were Bakugou’s hands swatted his away from whatever was pinning him down.

“Fucking hell, would you stop that?”

Kirishima squirmed again, trying desperately to get even a little bit of the weight off him. “There’s something on top of me-”

“Yeah, that’s me. You’re bleeding.”

“Hmm? Sorry,” Kirishima floundered until his fingers connected with Bakugou’s wrist, looping around the limb. “You can stop, I’m alright.”

“What the fuck? No. You’re fucking bleeding everywhere.”

Bakugou’s face came slightly more into focus as Kirishima’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He kept looking between Kirishima’s abdomen and his face. He looked worried, and if Kirishima didn’t value his life he would dare say that Bakugou was scared. He was still in his hero gear, the stupid theatric spikes framing his head, a distinct trail of blood marring his features as it trailed down his face from his hairline.

“Are you hurt?” Kirishima couldn’t help but ask.

“What? No.”

“You’re bleeding,” Kirishima supplied helpfully.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes and turned back to the wound, applying more pressure. “Not as much as you.”

Swallowing the whine in the back of his throat, Kirishima decided to actually start a conversation with his friend. He had no idea how long they would be there and he wasn’t into spending that uncertain length of time in tense silence with Bakugou. “What happened?”

“Work study. Big villain attack so Endeavour sent us out as backup. One of ‘em cornered you in here so I came to tell ‘em to fuck off but you were on the ground and when I exploded the asshole, the fucking ceiling caved in.”

“At least I’m not stuck in here by myself, hmm? That would be unfortunate.”

It was supposed to have been a joke, something to lighten the mood between them but Bakugou’s expression remained firm as he offered no reply.

“How bad is it?”

Bakugou paused, the silence hanging heavily between them. “It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

Kirishima just hummed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Dark spots peppered his vision and he was beginning to realise how tired he felt. He knew Bakugou was fighting a losing battle.

“I’m not fucking lying, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s okay, Bakugou. Can I just ask you to do something before I die?”

“You’re not going to die, you asshole. Fat Gum is going to come for you, you know he’d never leave you here.”

The exhaustion was creeping in with the tingling sensation in his arms and legs. He was so cold. He had half a mind to ask Bakugou to set off some explosions and hopefully warm the air. But they were trapped with potentially limited oxygen and Bakugou was too smart to ever risk that. “Is he going to be fast enough? You said there was a villain, he’s probably too busy.”

“Shut up!” Bakugou snapped, his expression and tone immediately softening as the harshness registered. “You’re not dying today. Or tomorrow. Or any day that I’m alive to see. I won't let you.”

Kirishima closed his eyes, letting himself imagine what it would be like to die with Bakugou by his side. A cruel part of his chest tightened as he imagined asking Bakugou to hold him before he passed out.

The taste of blissful unconsciousness lay heavy on the back of his tongue as he spoke. “Will you stay? I don’t wanna go alone.”

“You’re not going fucking anywhere, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

“I think I’m dying, Katsu.”

Kirishima could see the way Bakugou flinched at the use of the nickname. He would have apologised for being so informal but he was tired and he didn’t have the energy to be sorry for trying to feel close to Bakugou in his last moments.

Perhaps the reaction had been to the idea of Kirishima dying, but that seemed less likely. Bakugou was persistent in reminding everyone that he didn’t care about anything or anyone other than becoming number one. Kirishima had always admired his determination but right now he just wanted to pretend that Bakugou cared about him.

Falling in love with Bakugou Katsuki was probably the dumbest decision of Kirishima’s life but he would never live to regret it. Not while Bakugou stayed with him, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound that was likely severe enough to render Bakugou’s efforts useless.

The older boy didn’t look at him. “You’re just delirious from the blood loss, you’ll be okay.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you’re fucking bleeding out!”

“Yeah,” Kirishima mumbled with the limited energy he had left, “but why is it suddenly a big deal? You've said repeatedly that you don’t care about anyone else.”

“I lied,” Bakugou hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenched with such force that Kirishima was worried the bone would shatter under the pressure.

Kirishima’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. Well that made no sense.“Why would you lie?”

“Because I love you, goddamnit! So you’re going to stay awake and we’re going to get out of this and go on a date or some shit, but we can only do that if you stay awake, okay?”

Oh. Kirishima tried to speak, but his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth that he couldn’t lift no matter how hard he tried. The fog was pressing in on him much harder now.

Bakugou’s voice was muffled by the fog as he spoke again. “Fucking say something. I just confessed my feelings for you, you don’t get to fucking ignore me now.”

Kirishima was aware that he should be worried by the way it was taking more and more of his energy to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t find the strength to care about anything other than the fact that Bakugou just said he loves him.

“Kirishima?”

“No- No, fuck, no, Kirishima you have to keep your eyes open!” Kirishima hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut, but he couldn’t seem to open them again, despite how much he wanted to stare into Bakugou’s red eyes forever.

Kirishima could feel something tapping on his cheek, shaking his shoulder. Bakugou’s voice was so broken and raw when he spoke his plea. “Kiri, please.”

That’s weird, Bakugou never says please.

As the last shreds of consciousness left him, Kirishima swore he could hear muffled yelling somewhere close to his head, he couldn’t make out the words.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

-

Kirishima didn’t expect to wake up.

It was as simple as that.

He had been bleeding badly enough that Bakugou hadn’t even let him look, and had seemed genuinely worried and afraid for his friend’s wellbeing. So at that point, waking up was a feat on its own.

Waking up without being in excruciating pain was something else entirely. He just felt floaty and not real. But he definitely wasn’t dead because he was uncomfortable and the lights behind his close eyelids were way too bright.

“I would try to send you back to the dorms but I know you won’t listen to me even if I erase your quirk and drag you kicking and screaming out of here,” Aizawa’s gruff voice said from a place Kirishima couldn’t pinpoint. There was a lot of aural input that just dissolved into directionless static.

“I’m not leaving him.”

That was Bakugou’s voice, with its hard edge and underlying fire. It cut through the haze of Kirishima’s lingering unconsciousness, it didn’t have the same fuzzy edge to the syllables that Aizawa’s voice had.

Aizawa must have clicked his tongue before speaking again in his monotonous drawl. “You need to rest too. That concussion isn’t going to go away on its own.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bakugou bit back.

“Then, pray tell, what matters more than your health?”

“He does.”

He wanted to fight against the stupor, to reach out and smack Bakugou upside the head. His friend was concussed, and chose not to rest, in favour of keeping a bedside vigil. At this point, it was the only thing that was convincing Kirishima that he didn’t hallucinate what Bakugou said before he passed out.

Not that it made much sense.

“Kirishima would want you to take care of yourself.” Kirishima is going to shake Aizawa’s hand the second he can muster up the energy to do so.

“Kirishima also wanted to die of blood loss and traumatise me instead of just staying awake, so I’m not going to listen to what that asshole wants.”

“You know as well as I do that the doctor said he probably won’t be coherent until tomorrow morning even if he does wake up tonight. I can drive you back to the dorm and pick you up before visiting hours.”

Kirishima could practically hear Bakugou shaking his head. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“He won’t be alone. Fat Gum and I will be here all night.”

Bakugou’s next words were haunted, hollowed out to fit an emotion Kirishima had never heard from the older boy. “He asked me to stay with him.”

“And you did, you saved his life,” a third voice added. Kirishima was cognizant enough to be able to recognise it as being his mentor.

“Go to bed, Bakugou,” Kirishima mumbled, scrunching his eyes up tightly as consciousness fully came back to him. He wished someone would turn the light off.

“Kirishima?” There was too much noise in that moment for Kirishima to figure out who had spoken, but he suspected that all of them had something to say about his return to wakefulness.

He tried to lift his hand, hoping to cover his eyes from the bright lights of what was undoubtedly a hospital room, only to find it pinned in place.

Opening his eyes to the onslaught of light revealed that his hand was being firmly held in Bakugou’s. Okay, forget his previous claims, he was definitely dead. Or, at the very least, having the best dream of his life.

Kirishima groaned. “You guys are loud.”

“Sorry, kid,” Aizawa said in his usual grumble. His chair was the furthest away from Kirishima, sitting all the way in the corner of the room. He looked the same amount of disheveled as he usually did but his posture held a weird tension that Kirishima wasn’t sure he had ever seen before.

“How are you feeling?” Fat Gum asked, he was out of his hero suit which, to Kirishima, looked very odd.

“Pretty okay, all things considered,” Kirishima said, directing his gaze towards his friend.

Bakugou was the most noticeably different. His hair was scruffy and matted with blood, a stark white rectangle of gauze taped to his forehead, a few little strips holding a cut on his eyebrow together. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let go of Kirishima’s hand either.

Feeling particularly spontaneous, probably due to the bucket full of pain meds that were undoubtedly currently in his system, Kirishima gave Bakugou’s hand an experimental squeeze.

Bakugou stiffened but the tension quickly left his body as he squeezed back, turning to meet Kirishima’s eyes and give him a soft smile.

Their exchange was silent but they said all they needed to.

I heard you.

I love you too.

Kirishima tried to adjust himself, to get a better look at Bakugou’s injuries. Only to promptly collapse back onto the hospital bed as pain blasted through all of his senses.

“Idiot,” Bakugou hissed.

“Take it easy,” Fat Gum said, “you were in surgery for a long time, you don’t need to be pushing yourself.”

Still trying to breathe through the pain, Kirishima opened one eye to look at the pro hero.

“Surgery?” he managed to grit out from between his clenched teeth.

Fat Gum’s eyes softened as he looked at his mentee. “We found you both not long after you lost consciousness, but you were in rough shape. You’re going to need to take it easy for a while.”

Kirishima groaned. “That sounds boring.”

“Not as boring as an extended recovery period because you refused to take care of yourself,” Aizawa chided.

“True,” Kirishima said. “What time is it?”

Fat Gum was the one to speak this time. Bakugou stayed remarkably silent. “A little past midnight, you spent six hours in surgery and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up for about two hours now.”

“And Bakugou isn’t in bed?”

“Nope. We tried but he won’t budge. Better to let it happen at this point.”

Kirishima rolled his head to the other side, narrowing his eyes at Bakugou and the older boy’s stony expression. “Go to sleep.”

Bakugou met his gaze with his usual stubborn fire. “You first.”

“If you stay, will you sleep?”

Bakugou nodded.

“Aizawa-sensei, can he stay?”

Kirishima had expected Aizawa to argue, but he was just met with a soft “okay”.

Whether it was the cocktail of medication or the trauma his body had suffered, tiredness hit Kirishima like a wave. As his blinking slowed down, he swore he saw a soft smile grace Bakugou’s lips before his other hand reached up to brush Kirishima’s hair out of his face.

“Goodnight, Kirishima.”

Kirishima just hummed, too tired to speak.

-

Kirishima woke up the next morning with Bakugou wrapped around his arm that was free of tubes and wires, snoring softly.

Carefully picking up his other hand and ignoring the presence of the IV in the crook of his elbow, he began to thread his fingers through Bakugou’s messy hair. The older boy didn’t stir, a true testament to how exhausted he really was, especially considering on any other day Kirishima could breathe sideways and Bakugou would all but leap to his feet.

Instead, Bakugou’s hold just tightened slightly as he mumbled something in his sleep.

A quick glance around the room told Kirishima that Aizawa was asleep in his chair in the corner, his face buried in his capture scarf, surprisingly sans his usual yellow sleeping bag. Fat Gum was nowhere to be seen but judging by the empty chair with a blanket on the seat and jacket draped over the back, he couldn’t be far away.

There was a weird bliss to the quiet atmosphere of the hospital room. The soft morning light filtered in through the window as opposed to the harsh lights of the night before.

The pain meds took away from the discomfort of being in a hospital, and with Bakugou clinging to him like he was the most important thing in the world was something Kirishima could easily be convinced was a dream, a fantasy conjured by his unconscious mind.

He could get used to this.

[upsteadhq]

stay with me

prompt: requested by anon, who said “a role flip where hailey gets critically injured and jay is the one loosing his mind” and of course i was going to do it because, well, who would say no to worried!jay? so thank you anon for the request, and for your kind words on my fic “attempts”, it truly did brighten my morning, i hope this is what you were after <3

title is from he is we’s ‘kiss it better’ as well as the iconic 7x10 line “stay with me, jay”

Today was the first time in a while Jay woke up in bed on his own. It felt like forever since he had done this, and he and Hailey hadn’t been sure on the whole idea when it had been suggested to them a few weeks ago at Molly’s, it had been his brother that had proposed the idea, saying it might be fun to stick with the traditional “not staying in the same place the week before the wedding” route, so they agreed in an effort to shut him up about the fact.

He missed being able to reach out and wrap his arm around Hailey, to convince her to stay in bed just a little bit longer with lazy kisses up and down her neck before having to jump out from under the sheet quickly and skip having breakfast and coffee at home and instead grab one at the district because they were running late, if they hadn’t been interrupted that was. What could he say, sometimes the lazy kisses turned into something a little more and they would lose track of time. 

But there was no one there to do that to this morning, so Jay begrudgingly rolled out from underneath the thick sheet, not that he had really been underneath it - the sheet was too thick for the current summer heatwave overtaking Chicago right now and he had been awoken in the middle of the night to him sweating buckets so he had kicked it off. 

He checked his phone sat on the nightstand, unplugging the charger from the port and smiling at the message from Hailey already waiting on his home screen sent under ten minutes ago, presumably when she woke up.  

(07:02 - Hailey) Good morning soon-to-be husband. Just 6 more days

Jay quickly types back a response to let her know that he was awake too. 

(07:10 - Jay) The day can’t come by fast enough

He hit send and then padded out of the bedroom, the smile immediately gone when he almost tripped up the pile of somewhat damp clothes placed right outside the bathroom door, in other words two steps out of the room he had just walked out of. 

A mumbled curse escapes his lips as he carries on down the hall, finding his brother in the kitchen making himself a coffee. 

“Seriously? The wet clothes on the floor, you’re still doing that?” Jay asks, gaining the attention of his brother quickly, Will turning sharply at the sound of Jay’s voice coming from behind him, almost making the older one drop the mug held in his hand. 

After a moment to compose himself Will sighs, putting the mug down on the kitchen island and grabbing another empty one, sliding it along the top for Jay. “Sorry, I can’t help it,” he says before furrowing his eyebrows. “And whatever happened to not complaining to your host about the accommodation?” He questions. 

Jay shrugs. “I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he mumbles, not meeting his older brother’s gaze and instead he just takes the outstretched mug from his hand and walks past him to the coffee pot. “And you were the one that said it, I didn’t specifically ask for this, I was quite happy being able to see my fiancée.”  

Will rolls his eyes dramatically. “Shut up, you see her every day at work.”

The younger brother then looks up from pouring the coffee into the mug. “Speaking of work aren’t you supposed to be there right now?”

Will shakes his head. “Not for another two minutes.”

Jay’s phone on the counter beside him, making him lift up his attention from the mug to see what it was. A smile automatically appears on his face when he sees a text from Hailey, with a blurry photo attached. He slides it across, opening his messages and there he can see the photo better, it’s no longer blurry, and he didn’t think it was possible but the grin grew wider.

(07:13 - Hailey) I agree. Miss having someone there to clean up the mess, means I have to do it

The photo sent just underneath the message was one of the dining table, leftovers from breakfast everywhere. Sitting in one of the chairs was the same, it layered over the face of their two-year-old daughter, Macie. The girl had a cheeky grin on her face and oatmeal in the ends of her blonde hair, where clearly it had been accidentally dipped in the bowl. Her pajamas were covered in the food and her hands were slapping a specific spot of the mess on the table. She looked very proud of herself.

His brother’s voice rips Jay back up from his phone. “What you grinning at?” He asks over the mug in his own hands.

Jay turns the phone around so Will could see, a smile appearing on Will’s face at the sight of the picture. Jay slowly shakes his head as his older brother looks up from the phone, Jay taking it back so he could look at it again. “You know I saw her last night, but I already miss her.”

Will smirks, chugging the last of his coffee and then putting the empty mug down on the kitchen island once he catches sight of the time. He says a quick goodbye to his brother before having to rush out the door.

Jay finishes his rest of his coffee in the silence of the kitchen, putting both his and Will’s mug in the dishwasher for the cycle after dinner before heading back through to the bathroom for a quick shower before work, taking a moment to pick up the damp clothes from the floor and put them in the laundry basket because Will wouldn’t do it.

xxx

When Jay arrives into the district he’s greeted pleasantly by Trudy, as pleasantly as you could get from the desk sergeant at least, and then he makes his way up into the Intelligence bullpen, finding everyone already there.

He gives them all a smile as he passes by their desks before shrugging his lightweight jacket off and putting on the back of his chair, sitting down opposite Hailey, offering her the widest smile of them all.

“Nice to see you decided to join us.” Hailey jokes, looking across the two desks to him.

Jay leans back into his chair. “I’m sure it is.” He replies with a subtle wink in her direction, gaining a quick roll of Hailey’s eyes and then she turns around in her chair, trying to hide the smirk upturning the corner of her lips.

The moment is quickly over however when Voight leaves his office and walks over to the board, pulling it into the center of the room and starts briefing the unit on their new case.

An hour later someone was called to chase down a possible witness and Jay and Hailey being the only ones left in the bullpen - the others had also gone out to check out alibis and security footage from the surrounding area - they were sent on their way. On the drive over Jay quickly looks to Hailey, his eyes only on her for a second before back in the road.

“Did Mace go down alright last night? I know how difficult it is for her to sleep without my nightly bedtime story.”

Hailey chuckles, watching him from the corner of her eye. “You give yourself too much credit, she went down just fine without you last night.”

“Ouch.” Jay mumbles, dropping his face down to show a forced hurt expression.

Hailey then tilts her head to one side, fully turning it so she could see his profile. She reaches one hand up and places it atop his on the steering wheel, giving it a gentle squeeze before putting her hand back down in her lap.

Once they arrive at the house Jay stops the truck and they both step out simultaneously. Jay makes his way around the hood of the car and joins Hailey on that side but before they could make their way up to the house the sound of gunfire startled them both, Jay grabbing hold of Hailey’s shoulder and pulling her down into a squatted position just as another shot rings through their ears, the sound of the truck window directly above their heads smashing filling the air just after. Staying as low as they can they make their way around the other side of the truck, putting the vehicle between them and the shooter. Jay takes a shot at the window he could see the muzzle poking out of, scaring the gun away as Hailey radios it in, requesting back-up to their location.

Before the back-up could arrive however the sound of a scream coming from inside makes them jump up and advance toward the house and kick the door in and start their search in the house. In the living room they found a body of a woman on the floor.

Hailey kept watch around them as Jay knelt down, putting his fingers against her neck and leaving them there for a moment before meeting Hailey’s quick glance, shaking his head after he had felt nothing. He stood back up and they carried on their search around the house, clearing rooms as they did. When they made it to the kitchen however they were stopped by the man, said to be the witness they were there to speak to, hiding behind the wall with the gun pointed shakily at them.

Hailey and Jay didn’t lower theirs, they had seen many of these scenes in front of them before. The obvious uneasiness of the man’s hands could lead to one of two things - him dropping the gun quickly or another round would be let off.

Jay spoke in a calm manner, not wanting to scare the man anymore than he clearly was. “Chicago PD, lower your weapon and keep your hands where we can see them.”

The man shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to - I didn’t want to hurt her.”

Jay then nods. “I know,” he says, quickly carrying on but he doesn’t move his gun from up high and neither does Hailey. “But if you lower your gun and cooperate, we can talk to the State’s Attorney and work out a deal for you, but that will only happen if you put the gun down.”

It looks as though he was about to but all of a sudden he lifts it up higher, the tremors in his hand gone and he becomes swiftly confident pointing the gun toward the two detectives. He argues further for another minute before another round echoes through the room, and then another, and then another and then the gun gets thrown to the floor and the man bolts out of the back door.

Jay goes to follow him before catching the drop of someone in the corner of his eye. He looks over his shoulder to see Hailey on the floor, clutching her side and the thought of chasing the offender gets ditched as Jay throws his own gun back into the holster and kneels down beside her.

She’s insisting she’s fine the whole time he’s pulling at the strap of the vest to take it off, that it just knocked the wind out of her and that he should go after the offender.

“If patrol’s here they heard the shots. I’m not leaving you,” Jay shakes his head quickly, finally pulling the vest off of her left shoulder. “It didn’t go through, but it could have hit a rib.” He finds himself mumbling once he bunches her shirt upwards to see the skin underneath, making Hailey force a chuckle.

“Guess we might have to push the wedding back again, I was wondering what it would be this time,” she says, the words coming out gritted but despite that she carries on. “First a pregnancy, next a baby, then a huge profile case and now a bullet. What are we gonna tell people this time?” She asks, the words still an indicator on how much pain she was experiencing.

Jay tried to get her to keep her energy but he liked how she kept talking. If she was talking it meant she was alert, and if she was alert it meant she was okay - for the most part at least. After a beat he reached for his radio, having forgotten to do it before. “5021 George, officer down, I repeat officer down, need an ambo to 1812 South Racine Avenue. Offender is in the wind, blue jeans, dark sneakers, white jacket.”

The confirmation comes through the radio, telling them both there’s an ambulance on route and Jay spends the time keeping Hailey alert. As more time goes on he starts to notice her slowly drifting away, taking longer to answer questions and finish sentences, her eyelids starting to drop, the color drifting quickly away from her skin leaving her pale. The bullet didn’t penetrate through the skin, he didn’t know why this was happening and it wasn’t like he could apply pressure to try and slow the bleed. He kept tapping at her cheek to keep her awake, it working for the most part as they waited for the ambulance to show up. 

“Hey no, you stay awake,” he tells her after he taps her face for the third time to knock her back into reality. “You’re not allowed to, remember? We made a deal, no dying.”

Hailey slowly nods. “I remember.” She responds, the words barely a whisper.

They may or may not have been a little drunk the night they made that deal just a couple months into their engagement the night they picked the first date for their wedding and it may or may not have been the night they conceived their daughter, but the deal was the one thing they can recall in full from that night, the other things were blurs here and there.

Jay gives her a smile at the fact she answered quicker than normal. “Good, good. Do you remember what we said the punishment was if one of us tried to break the deal?”

There’s a quiet mumble from Hailey before she shakes her head. “We made a punishment?”

Jay nods, repositioning himself so he sat up properly, squeezing her shoulder as he went to say what the punishment was before he catches the sharp movement from Hailey, the tight grimace as he touched her shoulder. The smile previously there is wiped away and replaced with concern. “Did you get hit there too?” He asks as he peeks through the neck of her shirt to see if there was bruising or a wound from a bullet.

The words were coming out basically inaudible, just small movements of the mouth as her eyelids dropped lower. “No, it just hurts.”

There wasn’t a bruise or wound so he brought the neck of her shirt back where it was before and then he notices just how pale she had become. She was white as a sheet and by the time he realized how close to unconsciousness she was it was too late, her slipping away before he could attempt to stop it.

He quickly reached for his radio, practically shouting through it. “5021 George, I need an ETA in that ambo.”

The response is immediate. “Ambo is one minute out.”

Jay curses, trying the tips of his fingers against the side of her face again but that doesn’t work.

The next minute was hell, nothing he was doing was working and she just wasn’t waking back up again. Eventually the paramedics came rushing in through the front door and made their way to the back of the house after Jay called them through.

He explained what had happened, how she had passed out a minute before and how she had kept getting more pale despite the fact the bullet didn’t go through the vest. They did their usual quick exam and then got Hailey loaded into the back of the ambo and Jay jumped in close behind, the ambo taking off toward Med as soon as the back doors slammed shut.

On the way over there Hailey kept slipping in and out of consciousness, being out-of-it when the ambo pulled into the bay and they moved her into the ED.

One of the paramedics guiding the gurney toward the room spoke. “Hailey Upton, GCS 8, heart rate 107, BP 75/50. She’s been in and out of consciousness the entire ride over here. Non-penetrating gunshot to the upper left abdomen and was complaining about pain in her left shoulder before she fainted.”

Doctor Marcel ordered the transfer on to the bed and the paramedics took the gurney back out, disappearing out of sight again as Jay stood alert in the doorway to the trauma room, watching as the doctor and nurses poked her with IV’s and prodded at her abdomen. Jay watched as Marcel's face dropped subtly and ordered an ultrasound and that’s when he spoke up.

“What’s going on?” He asks loudly from the doorway, making everyone look up momentarily toward him before the doctor puts his focus back on to Hailey, waving in his direction and Jay’s face scrunches up, wondering what that means before he feels someone’s arms wrap around him and pull him away. He fights it, kicking his legs because he just about couldn’t put the soles of his feet on the floor and waving his arms around, demanding to be out back down.

“Stop, Jay, you can’t stand there, they need all the space they can get.” The person behind him says, Jay quickly recognizing the voice as the one who belonged to his brother. Will puts him back down on to the floor and then stands in front of him, putting his hands out to stop Jay when he punches forward to try and go back to the room.

Jay fights against it again, trying to push past his brother but it doesn’t work. “Will just let me passed, I need to see what’s going on.”

Will shakes his head, stopping the brunette. “What you need is to stay out of the way, you can’t stand there.”

Jay huffs. “I won’t get in the way, I need to see what’s going on.” He says, not only fighting off his brother as he did but the tears filling up in his eyes, making it difficult to see what was going on anyway.

Will’s hands reach for Jay’s shoulders, only to have Jay swat them away quickly. “Protocol says you can’t.”

Jay’s eyes widen, making it easier for Will to see the emotion written clear in them. “What protocol?! She’s my fiancée, my partner, I’m allowed to stand there.” He replies, his voice raising and catching at the back of his throat, causing a subtle break.

Will sighs. “The protocol in emergency situations, nobody in the doorway for easy but quick transportation to an available OR. They need to save as much time as possible.”

The volume in Jay’s voice disappears and it’s all spoken cracked. “What’s going on?” He pleads.

Will gives his younger brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll find out.” He whispers, catching Jay in for a hug when the emotion eventually overwhelms him, kicking his balance off and knocking him off his feet and he slowly falls into Will’s open arms.

They stay like that for a beat before a commotion from behind Will, making them both part away from each other just in time to watch Marcel leave the room and make his way over toward them.

Marcel doesn’t waste a beat, getting the point straight away. “Jay, the FAST scan showed Hailey has a lot of internal bleeding in her abdomen, the force from the bullet caused her spleen to rupture and she’s unstable. It’s my best recommendation to perform a splenectomy and remove the organ in its entirety. Usually we wouldn’t jump to surgery but this is a very severe case. She’s still incoherent so as her next of kin it is your decision. Do I have permission to do the surgery?”

Jay quickly nods. “Yes, do everything you can for her.”

Marcel steps backwards into the room, coming back out moments later with two nurses wheeling the hospital bed toward the elevator. Will isn’t quick enough to react, Jay jumping forward and racing through the ED to the bedside, escaping his brother’s arms by a second.

He walks alongside the bed, grabbing hold of Hailey’s hand and giving her a forced smile when he sees her slightly awake. “You’re gonna be fine, Hailey, I promise you, and we’re gonna be able to get married when you’re out of here and then we’re gonna get to grow old together, just like we said. I’m gonna be with you every step of the way, I’m not gonna leave you,” he whispers to her before being pulled away by Will as the bed boards the elevator. “I love you, Hailey.” He adds, his voice slightly louder and he says it just in time, the steel doors shutting in his face.

Jay takes in a steadying breath and he just stands there, eyes glued to the doors in front of him. Quickly he loses it, spinning around on his heels and clutches on to his brother again, wrapping his arms around him and hiding his head in Will’s shoulder.

Will brings his hand up, patting Jay’s back and tightening the hug. Will doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just breathes calmly and listens to the quiet cries coming from his baby brother, allowing him to have all the time he needed to let it out, knowing it would be worse off if Jay kept it in.

xxx

Jay’s eyes stung. It had been just under an hour since Hailey had been taken upstairs to surgery and he hadn’t heard a word. The rest of the unit had showed up a few minutes after Hailey had been wheeled off and had taken Jay from Will’s arms, allowing the red-head to go back to work, and Kevin had then become the leaning post for Jay hold on to for another few minutes before he pulled away apologizing and then they were taken upstairs to wait in the appropriate waiting room. Since then everyone had been sat in the chairs silently.

Some of the other people in the room were looking through something on their phone, the odd few skimming through old newspapers and magazines kept on the ankle-high coffee tables and then there was the unit, who were looking around nervously and sunk into the uncomfortable chairs obsessively drinking their third coffee in time time they had been here. Jay was picking at the now non-existent fingernails on one hand and staring down the oddly coloured and stained carpet underneath his feet. Before that he had been rubbing the base of his fourth finger on his left hand, where in just six days there’s set to be a ring there but for the time being it’s still just an empty space waiting to be filled. It was probably going to be a lot more than six days until it did now, but he was used to that feeling, knowing the wedding would more than likely have to move again.

At least the first two times had been positive reasons.

He thought back to the first time, when Hailey had been acting off for a few days, being all distant. She wasn’t herself and when he confronted her about it, when he asked what was wrong she had just shook her head, muttering how she couldn’t do it before handing back over the ring. He remembers moping at the district until Will talked some sense into him and told him to speak to Hailey. He had gone back to the apartment to find her stood by the front door and once they went inside he gave a speech about how he wasn’t going to let a little bit of cold feet stop him unless she really didn’t want to get married.

"Jay, I didn't call off the wedding because of cold feet."

It takes a second before his face screws up with confusion, him sending her a slightly very confused look. "Then why did you?"

She gives him a smile as she shrugs her shoulders lightly. "Because I didn't want to be eight months pregnant when we got married," she replies and she watches the confusion drain from Jay's face at what she said, his face becoming very straight, "I had a hunch a few days ago but it was too early to be able to take a test, and I didn't want to tell you until I was sure because I know how you felt about having kids because of your own dad and I didn't want to freak you out if it was noth-"

She's cut off suddenly by Jay stepping forward and leaning over, locking his lips against hers whilst cupping her face with his hands, tangling the ends of his fingers into the loose strands of hair she had draped over her shoulders. She smiles against his lips, just beginning to move her hands up his arms as he parted them apart a few moments later after the initial kiss, leaning his forehead against hers for a beat before edging his jaw forward again, putting a more gentle kiss to her lips this time but it was over quicker.

A beat passes of just the two of them leaning with their heads still inches apart before she lets out a single breathless laugh. "Nothing." She whispers, finishing off her sentence that had been cut short by his mouth.

He remembers what had happened next, how the rest of the night had been spent in pure bliss. About how the next few months were spent in pure bliss. About how the last few years were just spent in pure bliss.

And now everything could be crumbling apart. It could have already fallen down and he wouldn’t know about it, not just yet anyway.

He felt sick to his stomach and he knew there’s nothing he could do to make that feeling go away, that it wouldn’t leave until he knew about Hailey and her being out of surgery, and yet that could still be hours away.

He doesn’t move his gaze away from the floor as he continued to pick at his bleeding nails, finding comfort in having something to distract himself, even if it wasn’t ideally what he should be doing.

There’s scenarios rushing through his head. What-ifs taking over. He should have stopped it. Maybe if he hadn't missed that window shot outside the house this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if he hadn't been so calm in the kitchen. What if he had dropped the offender to the floor before he got the sudden confidence spike? He easily would have been able to pounce on the guy and take the gun from his hands so why didn’t he?

Because you might have been shot yourself, dummy. He can hear Hailey’s voice in his head respond to the question he posed himself.

Although the voice was right. With the nerves clear in that guy’s hand there had been so many ways that situation could have gone wrong, ending up in a more fatal shot to one of them than the one Hailey took.

But still, he should have done it. He should have reacted faster. He was trained professionally, for the army, to be quick and have fast decisions, but he still pulled back and didn’t notice the signs early enough. He should have taken the man down there and then, disarm him before he shot, but he didn’t and now look where he was.

He feels a warm hand rest on his back and it makes him jump in his seat, shooting his head up to stare at the person standing beside him. At first the bright light coming from the ceiling blinds him, he had been looking down to the floor longer than first thought before he sees the gentle reassuring smile of Kevin hovering over him.

Kevin hesitantly sits down beside him, keeping his hand pressed against the detective’s back before pulling it away when Jay leans back in the chair to avoid having it crushed in between the two.

Jay props his elbow up on the arm of the chair and bunches his hand into a fist and leans his temple into it. After a beat the detective slowly nods, speaking his first words since Hailey had been taken into the elevator - until now he had been a silent statue sat there. “I should have stopped it.” He whispers and in the corner of his eye he could see everyone in the unit turn to look at him from their own seats, the surprise to hear him talking written on their faces.

Kevin’s face is the only one to drop though. “Jay you didn’t know, there was no way you could have stopped it.”

Jay’s voice is a lot more urgent this time, compared to the silent words he had just spoken before. “Well I should have tried.”

Kevin sends a quick look over his shoulder to the rest of the unit and they all look as lost as he feels. He doesn’t know what else to say to the detective, so he just brings his hand back up and puts it atop Jay’s shoulder.

Jay has to swallow back the lump in the back of his throat and the teary eyes that accompanied it. At this point surely he should be cried out, but the tears just kept on coming and he was quite surprised he still had that much water in his body left.

He leans back further into his fist, resting that half of his body weight on that one elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, and just lets everything play out again in silence.

xxx

He wasn’t sure at which point he fell asleep or how he even managed to, but the next thing he knows his shoulder is being shaken and someone is calling his name into his ear. He bolts up, looking around the room quickly to see what all the commotion was about before seeing doctor Marcel stood in the waiting room, being surrounded by the unit.

Jay jumps up from the seat, his legs a little uneasy at first but he gets to the other side of the waiting room without falling over so he’s calling that a plus.

Once he reaches the rest of the group and basically pushes to the front, Marcel shakes his head, gesturing for Jay to follow him. “She’s awake, wants to see you.”

Jay quickly follows, keeping less than a step behind the doctor at all times on the path across the floor to the surgical recovery. Marcel can barely open the door before Jay is already in there, walking over to the bed.

Hailey smiles when she sees him and there’s a giant wash of relief that comes over him, the weight he didn’t know was there lifted up from his shoulders.

He stops at the edge of the bed and leans down, putting a soft but long kiss to the top of her head, his lips upturned the entire time. After a moment he pulls himself away and stays put as doctor Marcel moves to the foot of the bed, running through the important information.

“You’re gonna be in the hospital the next few days so we can monitor you, and you should be fully recovered in about six weeks.” Marcel says, gaining a breathless chuckle from Jay.

“Guess we’re gonna have to push the wedding back again.” Jay cuts in.

Marcel nods. “Just a little bit.”

Marcel runs through a few more things before whispering how he’ll be back in a few minutes to go through things in more detail, and that he’d let the two of them have a moment alone, before sticking to his word and leaving the room.

Jay sat on the very edge of the bed, slowly grabbing hold of the hand that didn’t have an IV line in, rubbing the pad of his fingers along the back of her hand, giving her a weak smile. “See? I told you you would be fine.”

Hailey’s eyebrows knit together and she briefly looks down to where his hand lay on top of hers. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About growing old together?”

“You remember that?” Jay asks, gaining a nod from Hailey but nothing more. He sits sideways a little further so he could face her better. “Hailey, we’re getting married, of course I meant it. There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with.”

[yandere-daydreams]

okay but i love the idea of simeon (obm) trying to keep his darling pure and incorrupt from the demons; if they are corrupt then they can’t follow him to the celestial realm. so instead, he kidnaps them and locks them up until the exchange program is done, he’s constantly teaching them how to be a good person and how to repent for their sins, so once they die they can join him. somehow they escape and are sent to the human world but simeon sneaks his way into becoming their guardian angel.

I figured I should get back to requests with a little Simeon, if only because I’m really, /really/ hoping he’s in some of the new chapters. Consider this self-indulgent, at best, and only loosely related to the actual request, at worst. I like to stay on-brand.

Title: Safe-Guard.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, and Mentions of Death.

~

You used to wonder why Simeon prayed.

You knew why Luke did. Whenever he was nervous or scared or more frustrated than he usually was, you could hear him muttering to himself, repeating the same verse of stilted latin until his temper cooled and he could get back to berating the reason for his distress. It was reassuring, to him, an involuntary, familiar way to comfort himself that he undoubtedly thought would show his commitment to whatever higher-power there was to listen. Simeon didn’t need something so childish, though. His prayers were hushed and mumbled, but they weren’t hasty or rushed or symptoms of an anxiety he had yet to grow out of. It wasn’t like Simeon needed to show his devotion to something holy, either, not from your perspective. To you, he was something holy.

He was still something holy, if you were being honest with yourself.

Even after everything he’d done, interrupting his little rituals felt wrong, like your interference would pervert a ceremony you had no right to play a part in. It didn’t help that you were so far below him, like this, sitting on the floor as he perched himself on the edge of your bed, the silver shackles wound around your ankles and wrists only working to cement your situation, the engravings carved into their metallic surface keeping you bound to whatever space Simeon desired you to occupy. Currently, that was one of the spare rooms in Purgatory Hall, one smaller than Luke’s or Solomon’s and far enough from the rest of the bedrooms to make all your screaming and yelling useless. Not that anyone would come, even if they did hear you. If Simeon said you were fine, you were fine. He was an angel, after all, and such a beautiful one, at that. There wasn’t a person in the world who had reason not to trust him.

“Is something wrong, (Y/n)?

His voice caught you off-guard. So deep in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed when his gentle mantras stopped, his beaded rosary falling into his left hand with a limp, ceramic rattle. He was facing you, now, watching as you pulled your knees to your chest and willed yourself to melt into the wall, your mind only bothering to process his questions after it floundered under the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his sudden concentration. You swallowed something jagged and thick, but you didn’t try to stop yourself from replying. You didn’t try to force yourself into disobedience, not when you didn’t have to. “I don’t know,” You mumbled, the answer coming more quietly than you would’ve liked. “I think someone might’ve kidnapped me, but I’m not sure. I think I’m being held hostage when I don’t want to be, and my captor keeps asking me why I’m upset.”

He clicked his tongue, curling his fist around his rosary before tucking it into some unseen pocket of his seamless, draping get-up, but he was smiling, his neutrality akin to pleasant amusement, the expression warm and vaguely condescending. “Such a shame,” He noted, his tone laced with faux-sympathy. “Maybe if you answered this captor of yours honestly, he wouldn’t have to ask so often.”

You pursed your lips, staying silent for a second or two, but a witty response alluded you as swiftly as you lost the will to find one. “I still don’t know why I’m here,” You admitted, somewhat hesitantly. “You said you were afraid the brothers would hurt me, but that wouldn’t drive a person to imprisonment. No one resorts to kidnapping because they’re scared.” You still couldn’t quite bring yourself to blame him, not aloud. He deserved your rage, you deserved to be furious, but for whatever reason, you’ve staved off the anger like an illness you’d never recover from. It was a coping mechanism, you guessed. You didn’t really want to find out if it was anything more than that. “I want an explanation. A real explanation.”

He sighed, the sound wistful, just a little disappointed. With a shake of his head, he stood, taking a moment to survey your position before letting himself fall to your side. Even on the floor, just as low and stooped-over as you were, he held himself with an air of casual grace, his posture strung with such an enlightened levity, he hardly seemed to have to hold himself up at all. It never failed to make you stare, if only for a moment. It wasn’t enough to make you love him, but it made him impossible to resent, your turmoil only getting worse when he bothered to look at you, his small smile instantly morphing into a soothing grin. He didn’t touch you, but you almost wished he would. If it was kind, you could melt into him, find solace in the reassurance that he wasn’t going to hurt you. And if it wasn’t…

If it wasn’t, you could stop hating yourself for wanting to hate him.

“I wasn’t lying,” He started, the declaration weighted despite his apparent light-heartedness. “I am trying to protect you. When I leave this place, I plan to take you with me. The Celestial Realm would make such a lovely home for us, and while I don’t expect you to grateful for the dislocation…” Another sigh, this one more of an unconscious exhale. He trying to be as honest with himself as he wanted to be with you. “You’ll be safe. Your world is difficult, it’s messy, and the Devildom isn’t any better. I don’t trust it to take care of you, not like the angels would.”

Not like he would. His selfishness was well-masked, but it lingered just below the surface. Dark and brewing, but deniable. “You could’ve asked,” You tried, weakly. “This isn’t my world, and I still have months before I’m supposed to go back. The Devildom is dangerous, but the brothers--”

“Demons corrupt.” It was a forceful interruption, one that left you equal parts concerned and confused. You moved to speak, but his hand found yours before you could, silencing you with a slight squeeze. Just tight enough to let you know he wasn’t finished. “Lucifer and the others mean well, but they’re… They fell for a reason. The more time you spend around them, the more you’re tempted to be like them. You would’ve become reckless, bloodthirsty, disobedient. They would’ve taken your soul and ruined it.” He forced himself to stop with a ragged inhale, a deep breath to remind himself not to let his explanation turn into a rant. As rigid and as disciplined as always, even in his moments of weakness. “You can be purified, but their intervention would make it near-impossible. If I let a demon get to you, if I let one touch you, the best I could hope for would be a cold reception. A warm welcome would’ve been out of the question.”

“Even then,” You said, tensing not but daring to pull away. “It’s not like I can stay with you. I’m not a demon or an angel, I’ll have to go home eventually.”

At that, every trace of his inhibition disappeared. “Not as you are,” He corrected, intertwining his fingers with yours in earnest, raising your hand and pushing a slow, easy kiss into the back of your wrist, just above your glinting cuff. If you were being hopeful, you’d call the gesture apologetic, but you weren’t nearly optimistic enough to assume he was remorseful. “Things can change, love. Humans are such beautiful creatures, gifted with the ability to ascend in exchange for their mortality. You’ll need a guiding hand, sure, but I’m patient. We have more than enough time to make the right arrangements.”

“And if I don’t want to be an angel?” It didn’t take a genius to guess what he had in mind, nor did it take any great amount of empathy to understand why you weren’t as pleased with his plans as he appeared to be. “That’s not what I… I’ll have to die, Simeon, won’t I? You’ll have to--”

Before you could finish, his lips were pressed against yours, stunning you into a frozen, paralyzed silence. It wasn’t an aggressive kiss, his touch tender and nothing short of loving as he cupped your cheek, urging you to come closer, nor did he stop you from pulling away when you finally remembered you could move. Rather, he only slipped down to your neck, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He hadn’t denied it, he hadn’t even tried, but you didn’t push him too.

The wide, giddy smile soon pressing against your skin was more than enough of an answer for you.