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bts-hyperfixation · 4 years ago

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Flirting friends

Fratboy!Taehyung x reader (Friends to lovers)

Warnings: Brief vomit mention, drinking, oral!fem, unprotected sex

“Hey Y/N, it’s your turn.” You snap out of your daze for a moment to glance back at the group of girls you were stood with. Clearly caught red handed staring at Taehyung for the tenth time tonight. He was playing beer pong across the other side of the frat house and looking amazing doing it. His hair fell into his eyes as he lined up his next shot, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his black button up.

“Oh right um, dare?” You answer unsure it was a wise choice. The evil glint flashing through your friends eyes immediately reveals your mistake.

“Make your move on Taehyung.” She grins like a Cheshire cat as all the other girls around her OOoo at the suggestion. While you’ve never explicitly admitted your crush on your best friend, it was painfully obvious to the those around you. Each of them desperately trying to see how far they could push you.

“I’m not going to make a move on my best friend, don’t be ridiculous. What else have you got?” You scoff trying to move on from the uncomfortable suggestion. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin two years’ worth of friendship over a stupid dare and a little crush.

“Come on Y/N it’s only a joke, I bet you he will think it’s funny.” One of them goaded.

“Yeah, if you guys are such good mates where’s the harm?” Another tried.

“If he is only a friend why are you getting so red Y/N?” With that last taunt you finished your drink and took a deep breath, before immediately storming off to try to convincingly seduce your friend.

Walking over to the table you grab his bicep, trying to come across as cute. You thought clinging to him and giggling at his words might be a good way to go. It seemed to be what all the vapid cheerleader types did to get into his pants. Instead you just make him miss his shot. The ping-pong ball misses the last cup on his opponents side by a mile. He turns and scowls at you. Your blood turns to ice as you unwind yourself from his arm, terrified he was upset with you. He leaves you to suffer for a moment before laughing and pulling you into a big hug.

“Where’ve you been Y/N-ah. You’ve missed my most amazing game.” You glance at his side of the table to find none of his cups missing. It was definitely impressive. Although he was playing ‘world’s worst shot’ Kim Namjoon, so it seemed like a somewhat hollow victory. Just as you were about to voice this opinion, Joon makes his shot landing directly in the centre cup. From the celebration shouts you’d think he’d just wonder a marathon. Tae glances from you to the cup and back again.

“This is for you.” He says presenting you with the beer filled cup. “You made me lose, you get to drink the punishment.” He holds the drink to your lips and holds your chin forcing you to down the disgustingly warm beverage. A little escape from the side of your mouth as he pours too quickly. As the last dregs drain from the cup he tosses it over his shoulder, hitting Joon square in the face, but his eyes never leave yours. His thumb strokes over the dribble at the side of your mouth.

“Good girl.” He whispers before breaking the moment and turning back to his game. With that you skulk away, hiding your flaming hot cheeks from the partygoers around you.

Much later he finds you sat on the sofa taking a break from the party. You sit up a little straighter as he approaches to make a little more room for him to join you. With plenty of room on the seat, he still chooses to sit as close to you as he can with out actually sitting on you. His head falls onto your shoulder and he lets out a long dramatic sigh.

“What’s up friend?” You question bringing up your hand to boop him on the nose. He lets out another sigh before turning his whole face towards you. You stare down at him, waiting to hear his complaint.

“You keep saying we are just friends but then you look at me like that.” He whines, kicking his legs out like a petulant toddler. You laugh at the clearly drunk boy.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me the same way I want you.” That cuts your laugh off immediately.

“Tae I think you are drunk, maybe we should get you to bed.” You deflect.

“No. not until you admit you like me too.” You blush furiously at the thought.

“Seriously Come on! let’s go upstairs, you clearly have no idea what you’re saying anymore.” You roll your eyes, standing up and holding out your hand to help him to his feet.

He protests a little but lets you drag him off the sofa and towards the stairs. Strugglind under his weight you manage to get to the top. In hindsight you probably should’ve ask one of his frat bros to help you. Luckily, his door is right on the landing. You dump him on the bed with the intention of running back downstairs for water and paracetamol. This isn’t the first time Tae had had a little too much and needed help. He starfishes out on the bed and you shake your head, anxious to get your supplies before he throws up on himself.

On your way to the kitchen you find a mildly inebriated Namjoon threatening to take off his pants and run outside. You grab him before he has a chance to ruin his fraternity presidency and pull him aside.

“Joon? How many has Taehyung had tonight? He is an absolute state.” He takes a moment to think about what your asking, not quite following you. “How… Much... Did... Taehyung… Drink… Tonight?” you ask again trying to enunciate better

“OH! Right um…. As far as I know? One? Said he had plans he didn’t want to screw up.” He says looking confused, “Why what’s wrong?” you stutter a little and brush it of as nothing before immediately heading back upside to find Tae. You burst through the door to see the previously incapacitated boy playing on his phone. He looks up at you and smiles.

“You aren’t drinking?”

“Nope” He replies popping the P.

“You aren’t drunk.”

“Nope.”

“The you’re lying to me to be funny…”

“Nope.”

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment trying to process what he was trying to tell you. Eventually he just takes matters into his own hands, quickly covering the distance between you. His lips press gently against yours as he waits for your brain to catch up.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach up and grab his hair, pulling him closer to you and deepening the kiss. He bites down on your bottom lip, making you moan into his mouth and giving his tongue access. He wraps you in his arms, pulling you back towards the bed trying not to break the kiss as he sits. You straddle him, accidently grinding down on his hips as you try to get up for air. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and he moans letting you sit up.

“What exactly are we doing?” you ask, the surprise of his actions wearing off. He leans up on his elbows.

“Well I thought we were kissing… did you not want to do that?” he counters tongue licking across his lips as he waits for you to answer.

“No I… Yes I… I mean.” You force yourself to take a deep breath and really think about what you are about to say. “I do, I really do but…”

“No buts, just shut up and kiss me.” His hand snakes around the back of your neck and pulls you back down to him before you can finish. Anymore rational thoughts are thrown out of the window as he flips you over. He pins your hands above your head and kisses down your throat. “Don’t move them.” He practically growls as he releases his grip. You can’t help but shudder at the tone, feeling the arousal pool between your legs. He doesn’t even waste time taking off your dress, he just shuffles it up your legs.

Your breath hitches as he traces along your slit through your panties. His fingertips reach the edge, playing with the lace for a moment.

“Can I?” He asks, big brown eyes meeting yours as his head pops back up from under your skirt. You bite your lip and nod. Wasting no time he pulls the fabric to the side and dips his tongue through your folds. A low growl comes from the back of his throat as he tastes you.

Sadly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you before he reaches your clit. Instead he wraps his fingers around your underwear and pulls them down and off, out of his way. He manipulates your legs until they are almost uncomfortable folded in half, giving a much better vantage point of your dripping pussy. Eagerly he dives back in, flattening out his tongue to lick long stripes all the way up before circling your clit with just the tip and repeating. Occasionally he would change the motion, dipping in and fucking you or pressing harder and sucking on your clit. He quickly has panting with just his mouth. You can’t stop yourself from reaching down to wrap your fingers in his hair tugging gently at his dark locks.

“I thought I told you not to move baby girl.” He sits back on his ankles just as you’re about to cum. You can’t help but cry out at the missed satisfaction. You place your hand back where they came from in hopes of getting him to continue. Instead, when he leans forward this time, he bites at the inside of you thigh, leaving a large purple mark. You yelp at the sharp sensation but make no moves to stop him as he moves to the other side.

When he feels he has bruised you enough, he pulls off his shirt and start to unbuckle his jeans. He teases you, pulling the belt away painfully slowly as you watch. Eyes not once leaving the metal as he drags it through each loop. He chuckles as he sees you bite you lip to keep from whining. The jeans and his boxers are kicked off much faster and he hovers back over you again. He holds the tip close to your waiting pussy, ghosting it over your folds but not really committing to fucking you.

“Please, don’t tease” You pout wiggling underneath him.

“Tell me how you really feel and I’m all yours.”

“I love you Tae.” His eyes widen and you realise what actually came out your mouth. You start to retract it, claim it as a mistake in the moment but his lips are on yours preventing you from even trying.

“I love you too.” He mumbles into the kiss, before lining himself up and thrusting slowly into you. It doesn’t take him long to build his pace. As soon as he thinks you’ve adjusted to his size, he pushes harder. He supports himself on one arm while the other slips between your bodies to play with your clit. The familiar heat starts rebuilding in your stomach the harder he goes. You’re cumming before you can even warn him about it. The feeling of you squeezing around him proves too much for Taehyung and he is quickly cumming with you before collapsing next to you on the bed.

He pulls you in close to cuddle with him, kissing your forehead as his breathing returns to normal. Nothing about this seemed real, but you let yourself indulge anyway snuggling into his chest and closing your eyes ready to fall asleep next to the man you love…

“Wait? You let me support your whole-body weight to get you up those stupid stairs?” You remember a little annoyed.

“It was all part of the ruse.” His boxy smile takes over his face clearly pleased with himself.

“Ugh! That’s so mean, perhaps I should just get rid of you.” You push at his chest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. He just holds you tighter.

“You’re never going to get rid of me.”

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stormjay0 · 4 years ago

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Xisuma and Xelqua

I was thinking about how Grian used to be an admin (Wynncraft) and we’ve ended up here so... ficlet time!

As nights went on Hermitcraft, this was one of the quieter ones. Many of the hermits had gone to bed (Bdubs having been asleep for hours), with only a few still awake tinkering at some redstone project or growing vines for a build. The lights in the shopping district had gone dark, one by one, as shops closed up for the night amidst the smell of newly laid grass. The diamonds hanging from the trees caught the light of a star here and there, but most of the movement in the cowmercial district had long since died down.

A flickering window blinked in the distance. Any passerby who found it worth taking another look would see that the flicker came from a cozy flame dancing in the glass confines of a lantern, resting on a desk. The window in question was a small opening looking out into the thick jungle, just large enough for someone to rest on the sill and watch the parrots. It was also over 100 blocks off the ground.

The flame began to die out, flickering slowly and sadly downwards, only to spring up again as if given a shot of espresso. Or a shot of coal, in this case, because the admin who refueled it wouldn’t be caught dead with coffee. A strong black tea was another thing altogether.

Xisuma sighed and leaned back in his chair. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the time for the first time in a few hours. One in the morning wasn’t bad, he reasoned, and turned back to his work. Earlier today, he had relocated some administrative panels to this room in his jungle base, the least concrete-y of them. He silently thanked his past self; working on admin duties was at least 50% less fun on the concrete floor. His helmet lay switched off on the cozier, carpeted floor of the preferred room.

The panels themselves were resting between a desk and the wall behind it, propped up by their sturdy bedrock stands. Xisuma didn’t often think about that rare material that his panels were made of; many high-level admins required hardware (literally hard-ware) of that caliber, and though bedrock was almost impossible to obtain, it was well worth it for the administrative abilities of the panels.

Tonight was not a night for appreciating the panels, however; in fact, X was beginning to question if his work tonight was worth it in the first place. He was trying a particularly frustrating string of commands, as he was only halfway sure of how to accomplish the work he was trying to do.

Xisuma briefly stretched his neck and back, cracked his knuckles, and tried another combination. The usual [ERROR: Action not recognized] message appeared in urgent red over his screens, and he let out a short breath and considered hitting the panels in a last-ditch effort.

He didn’t have the chance to hit the panels, though, because another object hit a different panel very nearby- a Grian-shaped figure slammed into the window beside him at top speed.

X, not even surprised, slid open the glass and looked down. There was a thin ledge about five blocks below, and as Xisuma had expected, a heap of elytra wings and red sweater was sprawled atop it. He chuckled, shaking his head incredulously, and grabbed a water bucket so Grian could swim up the stream.

“Do I even want to ask what you’re doing up?”

Xisuma passed Grian a cup of chamomile tea, which the red-sweatered man immediately dumped 6 sugar packets into, cancelling out the calming chamomile effect.

“Well, you see, I was simply minding my own business over at Grumbot when I saw a light on over here- knew it was you immediately, definitely didn’t think there was a giant firefly hiding in the jungle.” Grian took a gulp of his tea. “Anyways, you’re up, and I’m up, so I may as well talk to you, Eck-sai-zooma.”

X rolled his eyes playfully at the mispronunciation. “Alright, but why were you at the Grumbot? That thing’s broken, ain’t it?”

“He was lonely!” Grian protested. “I wanted to visit my robot son.”

Xisuma raised an eyebrow.

“Aaaand I might’ve left a shulker box full of wool there.” Grian shrugged. “But it was a whole box!”

He looked around the room that he had crash-landed into and noticed the administrative panels. “You’re not working, are you, X? At this hour?”

Xisuma turned to look at the panels, still glowing red with error text. He sighed, and moved to switch them off. “I was working on a personal project, but you’re here, and I really need to take a break anyway.”

His finger was on the off switch when Grian spoke up. “Hey, I know how to fix this. It’s a perception chain, right? You just gotta-” He typed in a string of commands deftly with his head tilted sideways. “There! Got it!”

Xisuma stared at the message that had just popped up on the screen, glowing green. [Action approved. Enter commands to continue chain.] He turned back to look at Grian, who was now trying to hang his elytra upside-down from the ceiling.

“How’d you do that?”

Without turning around, Grian replied, “Oh, it was pretty easy! Just entered some combos that you hadn’t tried. The keywords on these change wayyy too often.”

Xisuma stared at Grian, looked back at the panels, and looked back at Grian. After a moment, he collected his thoughts enough to ask again.

“No, how did you know what to do? I’ve been an admin for years and even I couldn’t figure it out.” X was surprised that his question came out so calmly, when his brain was currently a mess of ‘HOW DID HE DO THAT’ and ‘WHAT THE HECK’.

“Oh!” Grian turned around, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t think I ever told you- I’m sure it was on my list, right after fixing that chest monster- I used to be an admin!”

He dropped to the floor, legs crossed, and took another swig of tea. “I used to moderate a server called Wynncraft. We had all kinds of people, but not like Hermitcraft- they came and went, played and left. Some came back, some didn’t, but everyone had a great time!”

He wrinkled his nose. “Or, they better have at least, I spent a long time on those maps.”

“Anyways, we had a ton of quests, and loot, and all that stuff! It was a pretty cool place. You learn a lot about being an admin when you have to mod ghosts.” Grian grinned. “Hah! Those were pretty terrifying.”

Xisuma was even more dumbstruck, but didn’t show it. Ghosts? No wonder Grian had known how to fix his problem- he was somehow experienced in some of the most complicated areas of administrating?

Grian leaned over to look at a different panel as Xisuma’s mouth moved silently, trying to think of something to say. The smaller man lightly tapped a thread of commands and looked up at X.

“What’re you trying to do with these? This looks like a ban bypass. Did you accidentally ban someone?” His eyes grew wide. “If you did we need to fix it right now! Which hermit was it?”

Xisuma collected himself and sat down by Grian. “No, it’s- it wasn’t unintentional.” He stared at the wall. “I banned him on purpose.”

Grian was halfway to asking X who it was when he saw the look on his face. Xisuma looked stoic and almost sad, gazing off into the distance. Grian turned back to the panels, and read the commands on them thoroughly. The former admin recognized most of the threads, but some of them, covered in error messages, weren’t commands he knew that worked. After a minute, he realized what Xisuma was trying to do. The actions entered seemed to be working towards an uncoded goal- the objective being to see someone in another dimension. Specifically, the void under the end islands. X wanted to see someone who had been banned and sent into the void.

Grian may not have known why, but he did know how to help. He began typing in another string of commands, the sound of which brought X back to reality. He leaned over Grian’s shoulder as Grian continued to type, talking as he went.

“The problem you had needed a bit of a workaround. I think the issue was in the way you went about it. See, to see the person, you can’t just open a window into where they are, you need to bring them here. Or at least a part of them, or- here, I’ll just show you.” He stopped typing and turned to Xisuma as the screen flashed the message [Enter administrative ID to give permissions.] “You’ve gotta enter me into your system so it lets me do this. Username should be Xelqua.”

X, distracted, looked at Grian after a minute. “Xelqua?”

“Old username. It’s what they called me when I got my administrative license.”

“Ah.” X reached for the panels. /permit user [Xelqua] }access_all

Grian finished up the last of the commands and held his finger over the enter key. “Ready to see whoever this is?”

Xisuma took a deep breath and didn’t respond.

Grian took that as a yes, and clicked the final button, looking anticipatorily at the spot where he had entered the coordinates for arrival.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, the lantern dimmed of its own accord, and a fuzzy shape that looked a lot like Xisuma began to materialise in the center of the room. As the image became clearer, the person it showed did so too. Their face was just as shocked as Grian’s.

Xisuma’s face, however, was misty. He looked quietly at the projection now standing in his base.

“Hi, Ex.”

#grian #xisuma #xelqua #evil x #evil xisuma #xisumavoid #grianmc #hermitcraft #hermitblr #minecraft #mineblr #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft fanfiction #my writing #xisuma and xelqua

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seiin-translations · 4 years ago

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2.43 S1 Chapter 4.4 - Drifting Yunichika

4. APPROACH

None of these boys have brain cells

None of them

Previous || Index || Next

Until the fourth day of the camp, Kuroba was not incorporated into the combo plays Haijima was trying to perfect. Kuroba spent most of the time only practicing receives with Uchimura and Hokao, which only increased his frustration. His feelings of doubt and distrust were swelling now as he wondered if Haijima was seriously going to strip him of his role.

“I’ll be back on the night of the first. You free?”

At night, he noticed that he got a text message from Yorimichi. He was about to do his laundry at Tora no Yu’s coin laundry after taking a bath. He typed his reply with one hand while tossing his underwear, T-shirts, and towels into the washing machine with the other.

“Can’t do the first, but maybe after the night of the third.”

“I’ll come pick you up on the third if you want. Got my license.”

“You got a car? That’s amazing!”

“Still don’t have a car yet. Well I’m just riding around town. So, on the third.”

After he sent a single “OK” emoji, the conversation ended for now.

He did it. He made a promise. The Fall Tournament was from the first to third, so he made sure to leave them out, and the fourth was his day off, so he could sleep all day even if he stayed up late the night before…he made excuses for himself in his head, but he couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Oh crap, I forgot the detergent…”

Even though there was no one else there, he lifted his head and looked around restlessly as though to ask someone. Right then, Haijima passed the aluminum doors that were open wide.

“Ah…”

Without thinking, he immediately thrust his phone into the pocket of his shorts.

Haijima also noticed him right away. “It’s just you?” he said and briefly looked around. There were old washing machines and dryers lined up against the wall on both sides, and the aisle was barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other. The drum dryer, rumbling away, was making a lot of noise and leaking out stiflingly hot air. The fan with the swiveling head was working at high speed and trying to release the heat to the outdoors, but it couldn’t keep up at all, and the temperature inside the prefab was reaching quite an unbearable level. He had just been thinking of taking refuge in a chair outside until the laundry was done.

Don’t talk to me. ‘Cause you’re pissing me off. He tried to turn away and ignore him, but…he still didn’t have detergent.

“…Let me borrow some detergent. While we’re at it, give me all of it. We’ll do ours together.”

He thrust out his hand while glaring down at the washing machine tub, and a bag filled with laundry was hung from his hand without hesitation. A box of powder detergent was on top. Even though he was the one who suggested it, why did he end up doing Haijima’s laundry as well? He was extremely reluctant to do this, but he turned the bag upside down and dumped Haijima’s laundry on top of his own.

“It’s hot here.”

Haijima muttered, and quickly escaped outside while Kuroba was working. You really do take the service of others for granted, don’t you?

He inserted coins and started the washing machine, then pulled out a manga magazine off the magazine shelf and finally escaped outside. Even though he just came out of the bath, his back was already sweaty. Haijima bent down in front of the vending machine at the front of the laundromat and took out a bottle of water.

“I’ll treat you for the laundry money.”

He asked as he put in another hundred-yen coin into the machine.

“Ah, um, a Coke.”

He answered without thinking. “Don’t drink Coke…” Haijima complained and pushed the button. Don’t ask then. A diet Coke was carelessly thrown to him. “Don’t throw it, it’s carbonated.”

They each sat down on the stool placed on both sides of the aluminum door and twisted the caps of their bottles open. The chairs were on the small size, so they were low enough that the two’s legs were too long for it. Haijima had also just come out of the bath, and his hair was still wet. He was dressed lightly in a T-shirt and shorts, which doubled as his sleepwear, and his bare feet was in sneakers. But Kuroba, who was wearing sandals, was dressed a bit lighter than him. Not that he was competing with him.

Tora no Yu was an old public bathhouse located in the shopping district at the foot of the mountain where the school was, and the coin laundry was a prefab attached to it. The front street was the shopping street that led to Nanafu Station, but after nine p.m., the shutters of all the stores were already down and garbage bags and flattened cardboard boxes were piled in front of the stores.

He could hear the sound of the bugs bumping into the bare bulbs that lit the sidewalk. The sounds of the washing machines and dryers echoing off the walls of the prefab. The low sound of the vending machine’s motor. A sultry midsummer night without a breeze. Although it was somewhat more comfortable than being in the prefab where the heat accumulated, sweat frequently slid down the inside of his T-shirt.

“Our senpais started doing their laundry before they took their baths, so they collected it and went back first.”

“Oh, you can do that?”

“They could have just taught us that.”

He never did laundry at home, so such an efficient procedure never occurred to him. Thanks to that, he ended up being alone together with Haijima. Kuroba thought that the atmosphere was getting very tense, but it was unlikely that Haijima would be reading the room, so he wasn’t sure what sort of attitude he should take.

His eyes went to the right arm of Haijima, who was toying with his light blue cap. There four small crescent-shaped internal bleeding marks on his forearm. Ah…those are my fingernail marks from day before.

“…Your arm.”

When he said that sullenly with a side glance, Haijima’s eyes dropped to his arm and gave a weak reaction. “Oh.”

He was actually a guy who constantly had fresh wounds or bruises since middle school. It was odd how often he got into trouble at games. He dislocated his finger at prefecturals, and apparently Okuma almost injured him at a ballgame tournament practice. He wondered if his personality invited some sort of trouble.

Due to his wet hair, he noticed a long scar on his right temple, just behind the earpiece of his glasses. That scar…the one Yorimichi gave him…? It was from the winter of their second year of middle school. It still hadn’t disappeared…? That scar was faint, but it strangely stood out on his smooth and pale face. His eyes went to his arm scars again.

“Oh, I’m not apologizing. I’m not in the wrong…”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just practice hard.”

“I am practicing hard!”

He unintentionally raised his voice, then got sulky and plopped down his butt that had been half-rising from his chair.

“Y-You’re not going to use me at all, are you.”

Once he said it himself, he realized, Yeah, that’s right. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He wondered if he was the only one who still wanted to play volleyball with Haijima. He wondered if it was just a one-sided feeling that he had for a year.

In the first place, he still hadn’t apologized to Haijima about what happened at the prefecturals. He thought they had buried the hatchet after Haijima joined the Seiin volleyball team, but he turned a blind eye to the fact that they hadn’t really resolved anything. Haijima doesn’t really seem like he cares—but it’s not like he wasn’t hurt by my betrayal back then.

——“I know what your judgement of me is. It’s enough.”

When he turned his back on Haijima, Haijima’s evaluation of Kuroba must have dropped by several levels. Maybe even to the bottom. He thought of him as the kind of guy who would run away from the next day’s game because he was embarrassed at the previous day’s game. He was still wary that he would cause trouble for the team by hanging out with Yorimichi. He didn’t even know how much of it was there to begin with, but his credibility in Haijima’s mind had sunken. He didn’t trust him, on or off the court.

Haijima turned his face towards him and was about to open his mouth. He was suddenly afraid of what he was going to say, so he interrupted him with a shrill-sounding “I-I…” before the bottle slipped out of his hands. The black carbonic acid spilled out, covering his sandal-clad bare feet.

“What are you doing?”

Haijima was amazed. “S-Sorry,” he said, lowering his head and reaching his hand to his feet. Once he submerged his face between his legs, he somehow couldn’t raise it anymore.

“…I…”

The words were stuck in his throat. With his head down so far between his legs that his bangs soaked in the puddle of carbonic acid spreading on the asphalt, he squeezed out a hoarse voice.

“…I’ll, make it up…so, don’t make up your mind about me just yet…’cause, I wanna be your ace…”

With a bubbling sound, the black carbonic acid continued to spill out of the bottle opening. He waited a long time, but didn’t hear Haijima’s response.

When he timidly sent a sideways glance at him, he was astonished to see Haijima turning his back towards him and fiddling with his phone. I really am going to punch you once…I knew you were a guy who wouldn’t understand my feelings unless I said it in words so easy to understand that there’s no way to misinterpret them, but still, this denseness…

“Whatever… Shit.”

Feeling stupid, he got up and conversely slumped down on his chair. He didn’t know where to put his feelings that were going nowhere, and he felt extremely embarrassed.

Haijima wordlessly lifted his phone a little. He was gesturing for him to look at his phone. He hated himself for being able to decipher what Haijima wanted to say, even though he made no effort to convey it clearly.

He looked at his phone that he had thrust into the pocket of his shorts and saw that he had a new message. It seemed to have come after he responded to Yorimichi’s message. It was from Okuma.

Right on time, his ringtone began ringing in his hand. This time it was a call from Okuma. He wasn’t in the mood to chat with him, but he had no choice but to answer his phone.

“Did you see my message? I didn’t get a response, so I sent one to Haijima too just now.”

Their quiet surroundings made Okuma’s boorish voice sound even more annoying and loud, so he moved the phone a little further from his ear and spoke.

“I was just about to look. Anyways, you could have taught us about the laundry thing.”

“The two of you are still at Tora no Yu? Can you guys go to the gym before you come back to camp? I think I forgot something there.”

“Huh…what did you forget? Isn’t the school locked?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s open.”

“How?”

“Look at the dryer on the far left. You’ll get an item. I’ll need the both of you to bring it back, so make sure you go with Haijima.”

“But what did you forget…”

“You’ll know when you get there.”

He hung up on him without answering his questions properly.

When he stuck his head into the prefab, he saw a convenience store plastic bag hanging from the door of the dryer closest to the entrance. He inspected it and found a small flashlight within. Wow, he really thpught of everything. I wish he had left detergent instead, though.

The phone that was still in his hand rang again. It was from Okuma again, and this time it was a message. “If you want us to do an errand, just say it in one go…He’s so annoying…” He checked the message while grumbling.

“I forgot to say this, but our gym is haunted.”

***

I wonder if he heard what I said earlier…I hope not. He was beginning to think that as time passed by.

“I wanna be your ace.” That line was so embarrassing that it makes my stomach turn. I feel like I’m gonna die in agony when I recall it. It’s Haijima, so he probably didn’t listen to what I said. Yeah, it’s definitely like that. May it be like that.

Even when he glanced to his side, he could barely make out the outline of Haijima’s profile and couldn’t gauge his expression at all.

There were no lights in the school at night. Both of them walked in silence on the narrow path illuminated by the flashlight in Haijima’s hand. The silence seemed even more awkward because there was no place for their eyes to escape to. The rustling sounds of the laundry bags they both were holding was deafening to his ears. The weight of the wet laundry hanging from his arm was also somewhat uncomfortable.

Every time the light brushed against their surroundings, the sight that emerged looked completely different from how it was in the daytime. Although he had memorized the school’s layout, he was losing confidence in whether or not the mapping in his head matched up with the place they were actually walking in. There was no doubt that the area that lay before ahead of them like a calm jet-black sea was the first sports ground. The shadow of the club room row house looked like some sort of crouching giant creature that was slumbering.

The school building was at the end of the path between the first sports ground and the row house. As they advanced forward, unable to grasp the distance to the school building, an ochre-colored wall suddenly appeared in the round light. When they moved along the wall, he saw that the doors to the passage that they usually used to go in and out of the gym from the club room was open on one side, just as Okuma said.

He stretched his neck and peered into the door. It wasn’t perfectly dark because there was a faint blue in the sky, but it was completely dark indoors. It was dominated by only black. The corridor in front of the gym was an open space with a few exercise machines and training mats, but he couldn’t catch their shadows at all now.

Haijima took off his sneakers and stepped inside, leaving the laundry bag there on the spot. Kuroba wondered how he could move so confidently with this visibility, but he hurriedly took of his sandals and followed him.

“Haijima, wait…Shine it better, I can’t see my feet.”

“I am shining it. And don’t cling to me, your hand’s hot.”

“I-I’m not clinging to you…”

When he suddenly let go of the hand that he had unconsciously put on Haijima’s shoulder, he heard footsteps coming from behind him. Sounds like the wet slapping of webbed feet—like a kappa’s footsteps!

He was about to scream and run away when he pushed Haijima down and he fell forward with a “Wah!” The light from the flashlight jumped in the wrong direction, there was the sound of metal hitting the wall, and the light went out.

His vision was blocked by a curtain of complete darkness that made even his sense of up and down uncertain.

“You…”

“T-There was just someone behind me!”

“Laundry.”

“Ah.”

On all fours, he looked behind him. There were no suspicious shadows, just a dim blue cut-out in the shape of the door. There was no sign of a yokai with a shell on its back. Was that the sound of the laundry bag falling?

“What are you so scared of? Don’t tell me you really thought something was gonna come out?”

“I-I-I-I wasn’t scared! I-Is the flashlight broken?”

He raised his voice deliberately and crawled on all fours, fearfully running his hands in the direction the light had jumped to. He was pretty sure the exercise machine was around here, so he might crash into it if he moved carelessly.

“You’re a hundred years too early to be my ace like that.”

Haijima’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

…It seems like he did hear me. All of it.

“Uh, um, that’s, you know…”

“It seems like you got the wrong idea about something.”

He couldn’t help but stumble over his words as he tried to excuse himself. “No need for that, I already understand,” Haijima interrupted him, and Kuroba crouched down with his head in his hands. Stop, stop, don’t kick me when I’m down any more than that. I already know that I had the wrong idea.

“You’re the team’s ace, at least.”

He covered his ears and stiffened his body to withstand the damage from the merciless Haijima’s dagger-like wor——.

…Huh?

“Ummm…can you say that one more time…?”

He asked back blankly. He stealthily looked up from the gap in his arms and craned his neck around, but Haijima’s figure was hidden by the curtain of darkness that had fallen on all sides. The only thing he could hear was a voice that had a clear quality even though it was muttering, permeating the darkness like ripples spreading in water.

“You’re the one who hits the fastest, highest, and strongest on this team, Kuroba. That’s what they call an ace, right? That’s why you’re the only ace, not anyone else. Oda-san and the others know that.”

“Oda-senpai…? Really? Our senpais really said that?”

“You think I’d lie?”

After shaking his head with vigor, he realized they couldn’t see each other and said it aloud. “I don’t think that, but then why do you keep leaving me out…?” Haijima didn’t follow up on people to the point of flattering them. He always said what he thought, so that notice of dismissal from the day before should have also been what he really thought…

“…At the prefecturals…”

There was suddenly interference in his voice, like he was hesitating to say something. The ripples, which were once undistorted perfect circles, arrived a little warped. The word “prefecturals” seemed to have been used for the first time between the two of them since that day a year ago. That word he heard in Haijima’s voice weighed heavily on his heart.

“At that time, I only had you. That’s why I had no choice but to act recklessly… But now there’s people like Oda-san and Aoki-san and Kanno-san, who are all better than you, so I can do things differently this time. I won’t let something like that happen again. I’m doing that different way now.”

“…? Sorry, I don’t really get it.”

Since the information was conveyed in chunks and not clear at all, Kuroba, who had been listening with a tense and meek expression, gradually began to tilt his head in confusion. Just when I thought I’ve been acknowledged, it sounded like I was being called shitty after all…

His fingers touched something hard. “Ah,” he muttered, and fumbled for the flashlight that had fallen into his hands. When he ran his hand along the cylindrical body and found the switch, he heard the rest of Haijima’s speech.

“I’ll prove it. At the Fall Tournament. I’ll make every ball I set to you the best one. …Because, I’m the one who wanted to make up for it…”

A white light lit up in his hand. He held up the light in the direction of the voice, but Haijima wasn’t there. Didn’t I hear his voice just now—? It seemed to have just disappeared, and he was suddenly assailed by uneasiness. It was impossible, but for some reason, he thought that he had suddenly gone back to Tokyo——

“Hai…”

The moment he got up and prepared to run,

“…Ow, what the hell is this…?”

He heard a grumble. When his shin hit something and he pitched forward, he narrowly managed to keep his footing and pointed the light at his feet. The light illuminated the seam of a worn-out undyed exercise mat. Now that he thought about it, there were always mats piled up at a height where it was easy to stumble over them around here.

Haijima had fallen down on that mat.

“Lame…you tripped.”

While feeling so relieved that the energy drained out of him, he put on a look of amazement and extended his hand with a “Here.” For a moment, he seriously thought he was gone, and he panicked.

He wanted to properly hear what he said earlier one more time. Can you say that for me one more time…he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want him to take it back, so he didn’t.

Those best sets our best setter talked about. They must be amazing sets that would astonish not only the opposing team, but also the entire venue. How nice it must feel to be the attacker who hit them. He said he would give them to me, didn’t he? All of his best sets, to me…

His body was starting to itch. He couldn’t wait to play a game. Hurry up and come, Fall Tournament.

“You��aren’t going back to Tokyo anymore, are you. You’re gonna play volleyball with us, right? We’ll play in the Fall Tournament together.”

He couldn’t help but confirm that no matter what. He didn’t know why he still felt anxious about the possibility that Haijima would one day leave this area where their spoken language was understood, but it sometimes crossed his mind.

The rim of Haijima’s glasses glinted faintly as he sat on the edge of the mat, and Kuroba knew that he was looking up at him. It was irritating that he couldn’t see his expression even though he wanted to. He still had the feeling that if he turned the light there, he would disappear again, and his anxiety wouldn’t go away.

“I said I ain’t going back.”

It was just a few words, but it had the local intonation—in a voice that contained a bit of laughter, Haijima said that and took Kuroba’s hand. When he felt the force of the two of them pulling each other in his arm, he felt like he had finally grasped something solid.

***

When they pushed open the metal doors of the gym, an unpleasant sound shook the air, as though their nerves were being filed off. It was of course pitch dark in the gym. Because it was closed off since evening practice, heat and humidity accumulated. As soon as they stepped in, it felt like a damp cloth hanging from the ceiling was sticking to his face…the lack of visibility was allowing him to imagine all sorts of things. Despite himself, he put his hand on Haijima’s shoulder again, hiding half of his body behind him.

He put the flashlight on Haijima’s shoulder like it was a bipod (the thing a sniper put a rifle on) and shined it forward, illuminating a very small area of the floor. Overlapping colored tapes were laid on the floor to indicate lines for volleyball and other sports. “Don’t put your hand on me,” Haijima growled, but he didn’t attempt to shake him off.

“What did he forget? He said we’ll know when we get there…Hmm?”

When he moved the light, something metallic glinted. It was a rusted pole…with a net attached to it…?

“Oh, by something forgotten, did he mean that we forgot to put away the net?”

“We did put it away.”

“Yeah we did,” He remembered untying the strings by himself and carrying the poles after they finished evening practice.

“Why did they go out of their way to put it back up…?”

Plop…

Something white cross the light in a parabola. After a big bounce, it rolled into a corner of the gym—it was a volleyball. “…?” After he turned the light around and followed its whereabouts, he thought it was strange and turned the light back to the net——.

A hand was caught on the net. Two hands, actually, and covered in blood. The five fingers hooked onto the net and began climbing upwards at a great speed. When the hands reached the white band at the top, a human face poked out from above the band.

“…It’s your fault…”

A gloomy whisper descended from the ceiling. A trail of blood trickled down the edge of the face’s half-open lips. The eyeballs that had stagnated at the back of the sunken eye sockets took on a dim and resentful glow.

“——It’s your fault!!”

The whisper suddenly turned into a cursed scream that reverberated throughout the gym.

The head began to quickly move sideways with the chin hooked on the white band. There was no way that a two-meter-looking person would be able to stand like that and poke their face over a 2.43 meter net like that, so it was an impossible movement.

“It’s your fault——!”

Amidst the echo of running footsteps, the head went from one end of the white band to the other and back again with the thudding sounds. It was starting to look more and more like…it was at a loss because it couldn’t get a reaction.

Kuroba stared in amazement, standing at the doorway.

“…What are you doing, Kanno-senpai?”

When he quipped that with his eyes half-closed, the head clearly looked relieved.

Kanno, who played the role of the head, called out downwards and stopped moving sideways. One part of the ceiling lights was turned on to illuminate the gym. Kanno turned over the black curtain he was coiled in from the neck down and jumped down to the floor. Another person came out from the curtain. “Oi oi oi, that was so boring, we were covered in sweat over here,” Okuma said, his face flushed.

“Are we done here?”

Hokao, who was in front of the lighting control panel at the side of the stage, said. Even Uchimura came out of the broadcasting room. All four of the second-years on the boys’ volleyball team were here.

“What, I was gonna scare you so hard you’ll piss yourselves, but you got more guts than I thought.”

Okuma complained, wiping his face that was drenched in sweat.

“Isn’t it because it’s so obvious?”

“What, it took a lot of work to do his makeup.”

“They forced me to play the ghost…”

“No, it really suits you!” He gently quipped at Kanno, who seemed to be unhappy with his casting and was pouting. The circles under his eyes and the blood were makeup, but he was a pale person who looked like a ghost in the first place, so he didn’t look that different from his regular self. “What is this anyways? Are you second-years bored?”

“It’s the annual test of courage for our boys’ volleyball training camp. It was done to us for the past two years too. Aoki-senpai’s production when he went all out wasn’t at this level, you know? You should be thankful that Okuma wanted to direct it this year.”

Hokao said, and Okuma stuck out his chest. Even though he was casually dissed, he seemed to take it as a positive compliment. “It’s that suspension bridge effect thing, you know? They say that when two people experience fear together, they become closer.”

For a moment, Kuroba was speechless. Were their senpais also concerned about the fact that things were cold between him and Haijima…?

He was grateful for the sentiment, but a forced laugh slipped out, thinking that they were just a second too late. It’s probably resolved now…I think I said most of what I wanted to say, and I’ve heard Haijima’s response.

“There’s no way Haijima would be scared of such a cheap prank, let alone me. Right…”

When he turned around, his smile faded and he cut himself off.

“…Haijima?”

Haijima wasn’t looking at him at all. He was standing bolt upright, staring at some other point. The blood had drained from his face to the point where he looked even paler than Kanno’s makeup, and his expression was stiffening with his narrow eyes widened. When he followed where his gaze was fixed, it led to…Kanno’s hands?

Kanno, who was wiping the bloodstains smeared on his hands, noticed his gaze and said in puzzlement, “Yes?”

“Uhya-hya-hya, Haijima had a better reaction, didn’t he? Is he weak against blood…”

Okuma’s guffaws floated up from the atmosphere of the situation, and trailed off awkwardly. The second-years all had quizzical looks on their faces, because Haijima was acting abnormally by his standards.

Haijima’s gaze left Kanno’s hands and moved to a corner of the gym where the light didn’t reach, as though he was afraid of something. One ball was lying around in the stagnant darkness. His gaze moved again with an awkward movement, like he was tracing something while getting caught on the splintered surface, and turned to the net next. He looked up at the net that didn’t have a bloody hand stuck in it anymore—what was he doing?

“…What’s...wrong…?”

Kuroba was the one who was shocked at the color of Haijima’s face, which he had never seen before. His voice was scratchy as he asked that question.

It’s nothing, Haijima muttered as he removed his gaze from the net and didn’t look anywhere else. He rubbed the tip of his left middle finger in front of his abdomen. He was curious about what that gesture meant, but he couldn’t ask anymore questions because Haijima’s mind, which had been properly directed outwards until earlier, had abruptly turned inward.

Previous || Index || Next

#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation

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hockeylvr59 · 5 years ago

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Positive Part 2 || Kevin Hayes

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I’ve had a good portion of this draft sitting around for months but I absolutely hated it. Finally was able to rework it into something I like a little bit better so hopefully, you all enjoy it as well. Before you ask I have no idea where this could go from here so if you have any thoughts, send them my way.

Warnings: cursing, more angst

Word Count: 1,692

~~~~~~~

Pregnant. You were really pregnant.

The weight of that word crushed down on you and a fresh set of sobs overtook your body. This couldn’t be real...except it was. While you were normally a very level headed person, it was like your brain had shut down entirely and all you could do was sob into Kristen’s shoulder as she pulled you into her arms. You were so lost that you completely missed what had happened next.

Jimmy Hayes walked through the door. He spotted his wife holding a sobbing woman. He stepped closer out of concern and his eyes fell to the pregnancy tests. When he looked back at his wife she was mouthing two words to him ‘call Kevin’. It was only then that he realized who the crying woman was and the mess that he had just walked into and he nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he headed to the backyard. All it had taken was the utterance of your name and the statement that Kevin needed to come home for an agreement to be made. It didn’t matter that Kevin was halfway across the country. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to play a game that night. None of that mattered because you needed him to come home.

As you attempted to pull yourself together, thanking Kristen but stating that you needed to be alone for a little while, you had no idea that Kevin had called his coach about a family emergency before booking a flight to Boston. As you stumbled into your apartment knowing that nothing would ever be the same again, you had no idea that Kevin was on his way to you, worried about what possibly could have happened to cause his brother to call him in a panic. As you climbed into the shower because your efforts of falling asleep to wake and find that this was all a dream had failed, you had no idea that Kevin was pacing back and forth in the living room of his brother’s house becoming frustrated by the lack of information he was being given. And as you threw on an old rangers sweatshirt that had once belonged to Kevin, you had no idea that the man himself was standing outside your door.

And then he knocked.

The sound startled you and you sighed wondering who the hell would be at your door this late. Throwing it open you had every intention of telling whoever it was to go the hell away because you weren’t in the mood. Instead, your eyes were met with the familiar frame of someone that you had considered one of your closest friends, someone who was supposed to be anywhere but here, someone who had turned your life upside down. Immediately, your eyes started to water because it seemed like all you could do lately was cry, but you quickly pushed the tears away, a neutral expression settling onto your face. As you battled your emotions, Kevin pushed his way inside your apartment, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Seeing him just waltz in sparked a wave of anger inside you and you practically growled at him.

“What the hell are you doing here Kevin?”

“Jim called me,” Kevin stated. “Told me I needed to come home because you needed me but wouldn’t tell me why. So care to enlighten me?” His tone held just a bit too much snark for your brain to handle and you cursed Kevin’s family for pulling him into this.

“Well, I don’t need you so you can go back to your team.” You snapped. “I didn’t ask him to call you.” You added, now cursing yourself for turning to Kevin’s family in the first place.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Kevin threw back, his frustration now seeping through. You could feel his heavy gaze but were oblivious to the fact that his brain was quickly making note of the fact that you were wearing his sweatshirt, you appeared paler than usual, and you’d clearly been crying recently. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, you’ve obviously been crying, and my brother and sister-in-law could only give me pity eyes while refusing to tell me what the hell was going on other than that you’d been there earlier. So please fucking tell me what the hell is going on Y/N!”

The sound of his raised voice caused a fresh set of tears to form in your eyes but you quickly shook your head, once again pushing them back.

“Get out Kevin.” You stated, voice low but serious. “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” Kevin demanded, his body crowding forward to trap you against the back of the couch. Shoving at his chest you cursed him.

“Kevin. Get the fuck out of my apartment.” You repeated, too afraid of getting hurt and too hormonal to open up to him.

Kevin pulled away and for a moment you thought he was actually going to leave before he paused in the middle of your living room.

“Fuck, fine. If you aren’t going to talk to me then you can just fucking listen.” His fingers raked through his hair as he paced. “You know...since you’re the one that decided the conversation was over before...it’s my turn. Fuck...I never should have let you leave. I just...I couldn’t believe it.” Kevin’s tone slowly started shifting from angry to vulnerable to resigned.

“I thought you knew. The trip, the date, that night, my proposition....how could you not know that I love you.” He mumbled. “Everyone else knows that I love you. That I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I know I’m shitty at expressing it but I could have sworn that by Sunday night you knew and felt the same way. I’ve been kicking myself for not stopping you...for not making you see. You said it was a mistake because I don’t love you the way you love me. But Y/N I’m pretty sure I do. But if you want me to go I’ll go. I just...I can’t leave without making sure you knew. I love you. So this not working...that’s on you, not me. Because I was willing to do whatever it takes.”

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Kevin say so much in one sitting, and you’d certainly never seen him so vulnerable. With your brain overwhelmed by the emotional dump he’d just done on you, you didn’t even realize he was gone until you heard the click of the door.

Without even realizing it, you were racing out after him two words quickly falling from your lips and echoing down the hall.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment you worried that he hadn’t heard you. But then you watched him stop in the middle of the hallway. His fingers ran through his hair. Your eyes fell closed not wanting to see him walk out of your life completely even though you wouldn’t have blamed him in the slightest. They stayed closed until the weight of a warm hand fell to your hip and a feather-light touch brushed against your cheek. Peeking up, your eyes met his which were filled with nothing but warmth even as tears fell from them.

“Oh thank god.” Kevin eventually murmured and the fact that those were the first words to come out of his mouth took you by complete surprise.

“What?” You questioned, as you reached up to tangle your fingers in the fabric of Kevin’s shirt afraid that he would just disappear if you didn’t hold on tight.

“I said, oh thank god,” Kevin repeated, a prideful smirk growing on his face. “I’m not gonna be upset that you’re having my baby sweetheart. Jim had me fearing that something was actually wrong. This...this isn’t a problem...this is a blessing.” Kevin’s reaction had you feeling like you had whiplash because it was completely opposite to how you were feeling. Your body frozen in place, Kevin took two steps forward, ushering you back through your apartment door before turning and pinning you against it. His thumb brushed over your cheek again and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” He murmured, the hand that had been on your face dropping down to caress your stomach lightly. Though you swore you couldn’t possibly have any more tears to cry, suddenly your cheeks were wet again. Why you were crying you couldn’t even express but it seemed to be the only way your brain could cope with all of this.

“Shh…” Kevin whispered, attempting to soothe you. The rollercoaster of emotion from the past fifteen minutes seemed to finally get the best of you when you felt your stomach twist for the nth time in the past week or so. Throwing a hand over your mouth, you pushed Kevin aside and bolted for the toilet, kneeling over it while bile made its way out of your body.

Almost immediately, a warm hand fell to your back, rubbing gently until you had finished puking before guiding you into a strong chest as you continued to cry.

“Sweetheart...we’ll figure all of this out.” He insisted. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” When you still couldn’t stop crying, Kevin lifted you into his arms and carefully carried you back to your bedroom, laying you down and pulling you onto his chest.

“Don’t go.” You whimpered, clinging to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, tilting your chin up to press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. You were certain it had to be gross because you hadn’t brushed your teeth since vomiting, but Kevin didn’t seem to mind, instead just whispering softly to you about how excited he was, how much he loves you and how sorry he was for not just saying it earlier.

It was with his voice in your ear, his body below you, and his hand on your stomach that you finally cried yourself to sleep, praying that tomorrow you’d feel better.

#kevin hayes #kevin hayes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #philadelphia flyers imagine #philadelphia flyers #pflyers #027

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ttttaehyungie · 5 years ago

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 1

sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘ genre | angst, exes au

☘ summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘ word count | 4k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ warnings | some fairly heavy angst, breakup

☘ a/n | ok SO I’m finally working on a multi-chap for the first time in forever :o and ofc this is the first series that i’m working on in this blog! alsooo am kinda ashamed to admit that i’ve actually NEVER finished a series ever 🙈🙈 sooo this is a challenge from me @ myself 🤭 so yes come along with me for this ride hahahah and pls kick my butt if i leave this series as another one in the unfinished pile

You can have Manhattan, ‘cause I can’t have you -- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

Pulling your jacket around you a little tighter to keep the bite of the night air at bay and hitching your duffel bag a little higher up your shoulder, you board the bus. The bus conductor asks for your ticket and you let go of it for the first time since you bought it, giving him the flimsy paper that’s now imprinted with the shape of your thumb under the stress of your tight grip as you held onto it like a lifeline. After a quick inspection, he passes it back to you and you take it from him wordlessly.

“Hey.” You look up at the conductor in surprise, gaze finally torn from where it had remained on the ground all this time. “You alright?”

You don’t allow yourself to consider the question lest the tears come and you cause a bigger scene than you already have. With a tight-lipped smile that probably isn’t fooling anyone, you nod at him, and traipse to the back of the bus before he can probe any further.

The comfort of the back corner of the bus brings you the tiniest smidge of relief, especially after you place your duffel bag on the seat next to you, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the bus. Not that there would be many people, if any at all, at such a late timing. Nonetheless, the little bubble created by your makeshift barricade brings you some security as you settle into your chosen seat gingerly, as if you would shatter to pieces if your movements were too rough. Your emotional state sure feels that way, fragile and on the brink of falling apart any time now.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the bus doors finally shut and it begins pulling out of the bay. It carries a sense of finality. You’re really going home. The cityscape, drenched in the black and orange hues of nightfall, goes past as you watch through the window- slowly at first, then becoming a blur as the vehicle picks up in speed. The plans you had for the weekend are now truncated and left behind with the city.

The emptiness hits you once again when the bus pulls onto the freeway and the city sights are completely gone. Only the inky black of the night sky accompanies you now. You are alone. On this bus, yes, but in more ways than that too. You let that fact sink in.

It’s too dangerous to let your thoughts overtake you right now, so you occupy yourself by playing Sudoku puzzles on your phone, which has strategically been placed on airplane mode. The methodical problem-solving that the puzzle requires of you submerges your mind in a sea of numbers. Which is your intention. And before you know it, the bus is slowing down and you look up from your device to the familiar scenery of your hometown. On any other day, it would fill you with warmth, but right now it doesn’t.

Now having arrived at your destination, you gather your belongings and alight from the bus. It’s just a daypack and your duffel bag which is bursting at the seams with how many items you crammed into it. You would have brought a suitcase if you knew, but how were you to predict the events of tonight? Though, you surmise, you should have seen it coming and could have prepared yourself better.

You’re trudging home and you’re maybe ten minutes away when it begins raining. Great. As if this day could get any worse. It makes your clothes stick to you in that cloying way and the chill from the night has you shivering almost violently now. But you plough on home, only focusing on getting one foot in front of the other and repeat, repeat, repeat.

Finally at your front door, it’s a struggle to get the key in the door with how badly your hand is shaking. Whether it’s from the cold or something else, you’re not sure anymore at this point. After countless tries, you finally manage to jam it in and turn it quickly so you can just get into the safety of your home.

The noise that results from the way you throw your duffel bag and daypack down, your rain-soaked jacket quickly following suit to form a messy, wet heap in the middle of the entryway, announces your arrival. Hoseok pops his head out from the archway that leads to the living room, the sounds probably interrupting his late-night Netflix binge.

“____?” You can hear the concern in his voice, and you refuse to look at him, instead focusing on wrenching your sodden shoes off of your tired feet. “Where’s Joonie?”

The mention of his name causes something like a switch to flip in you. Your brain finally, finally catches up with reality, and the numbness you lulled yourself into for the past few hours dissipates just like the pricking of a balloon. It leaves you gasping in pain, the way the emotions suddenly come flooding through you. The hurt viciously demands to be felt.

With a shaky exhale, you look Hoseok in the eye. The gravity of tonight’s events finally cements itself in your brain and the tears you’d been holding back come spilling out uncontrollably as you mumble your next words out brokenly.

“We broke up.”

It’s been weeks since you and Namjoon broke up. The constant cloud of desolation that plagued your every waking moment in the immediate aftermath of the breakup has finally eased up somewhat.

Being a high school senior turned out to be a lifebuoy in some ways, giving you solid things to cling onto in the midst of your emotions of loss and confusion. It’s not healthy, you know, but the academic content provided a sense of constancy that you sorely needed and the rigor of it all kept your mind from wandering too far into the depths of your sorrow.

Yet you knew this could only go on for so long. At some point, these emotions will eat you up from the inside out if not acknowledged and sorted out. Pain is just like that, it will gnaw at you with subtlety but with certainty. Repressing the feelings is just simply unsustainable.

You’re really lucky to have an older brother like Hoseok. That first night, when you finally broke down and let the tears turn into sobs that wracked through your entire being, he’d quickly gathered you up into his arms and had given you a shoulder to cry on. God knows how long you spent in that state bawling seemingly endlessly, but Hoseok had let you just get it all out without asking any questions, the immensity of his patience and quiet strength of his presence lending you a pillar of support that you desperately needed at the time. Later that night, when you were showered and tucked in warm under the covers, you watched through puffy eyes as he unpacked your belongings from your duffel bag and carefully wiped them dry or chucked them into the laundry basket as was appropriate.

When he reached for your daypack, you stopped him. You were barely able to croak out your opposition, your throat raw and wrecked from the earlier barrage of emotions. Still, Hoseok caught it, and nodded empathetically. He respected your wishes for privacy and only wiped the exterior of your daypack down before leaving it in the corner of your room.

And in the corner it remained. Aside from your absolute necessities, which was really just your keys and your wallet, you’d procrastinated unpacking your daypack. Till now, that is.

Not that there was much to unpack anyway. Most of the possessions you’d retrieved from Namjoon’s dorm room that night had been hastily dumped into your duffel bag in the single-minded mission to get out of there as soon as possible. You know exactly what items remain in the daypack- a bottle of water, a pair of shades, some chapstick, surprise tickets you’d bought online to a movie from that fateful weekend that went unused, and an envelope tucked away safely in the inner pocket of the bag.

The daypack and its contents weighed on your mind the same way it sat in the corner of your room- silent, untouched, yet unbudging. It’s plain silly how afraid you’ve been to confront these items, items that are inanimate and void of meaning apart from what you yourself have ascribed to them. In an attempt to hold off the full brunt of your misery, somehow you’d deluded yourself into thinking that leaving the daypack as it is would preserve things as they once were. You lived in self-denial, as if the breakup had not happened. As if the weekend trip just had not taken place at all, and was waiting to happen instead. The daypack was waiting for you to sling it over your shoulders as you head jovially out the door to the city and to the arms of your boyfriend.

But no. You heave out a sigh. Things have changed. You and Namjoon are no longer together. Holding onto a delusion is ridiculous, and you need to move on. And the first step to doing that is to get rid of this centerpiece that your fantasy revolves around.

The items in the bag get dumped onto the carpeted ground of your room unceremoniously as you unzip the daypack, turn it upside down, and shake out the contents. Whatever mystique you’ve built up around these simple items is now shattered as they lay scattered on the floor. The shades and chapstick return to your dressing table, the bottle of water and expired movie tickets get dumped out. And the envelope… you throw it into your desk drawer and slam it shut before the temptation to tear it open overtakes you.

That was the first of many letters that were written, but never got sent.

You never intended to make it a thing. It just… happened one day. Staying focused on school and college applications could only provide so much distraction from the whirling emotions bottled up inside you. No matter how tightly you attempted to keep a lid on it, wistful nostalgia still crept up uninvited.

And naturally so. This neighborhood, your high school, heck even your own house is filled with the ghost of the memory of him. Namjoon had been a significant presence in your life before he was even really yours. You still remember the day Hoseok brought his newfound friend home, Namjoon’s lips pressed tightly together in his attempts to keep his sniffles and tears in, his knees scraped, bruised, and bleeding from what looked like a pretty hard fall on the playground.

“Mum!” Hoseok had called out. “I need band aids!”

“Hello,” Namjoon mumbled when your mum came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what was wrong. “Sorry to be a bother.”

Namjoon had always been a klutz, but it was his clumsiness that had birthed the close friendship between him and Hoseok. After one too many accidents on the playground, Namjoon had been too scared to go home to face the inevitable reprimanding that would come. Hoseok had offered to patch him up at yours instead, and the camaraderie that arose from that incident had sealed their friendship as an unbreakable one. Unfortunately, as big as Hoseok’s heart was, his little seven-year-old hands were not the gentlest. From your spot at the top of the staircase, peering through the grills, you saw how Namjoon winced at Hoseok dabbing antiseptic on his knees, and you came bounding down the steps to rescue the stranger that sat on your family’s sofa and that had somehow wormed his way into a soft spot in your heart with his teary pout.

“Hoseok,” you demanded, your tiny hand outstretched and waiting, voice tinged with petulance. “Give me.”

Hoseok relinquished the first aid items to you and watched as you cleaned his new friend up, your brow furrowed in careful focus, little hands fumbling but your touch delicate. After you applied the twin band aids on both of Namjoon’s knees with all the meticulousness that a five-year-old could muster up, you patted his thigh and smiled at him.

“All done!” you declared. And you’d never forget the sight of his dimpled smile beaming up at you in response.

If only you could. You shake your head, as if it would shake the memories away. The paper before you on your desk remains as blank as it was twenty minutes ago when you sat down to get started on revision. But having known Namjoon for over a decade made it too easy for you to just get swept away by the deluge of memories of him. You tried to keep it in, but it kept leaking out. And perhaps that’s what you need- to just let it out.

The first touch of the pen to paper has you pausing, wondering how you were even supposed to start. But the moment you begin- Dear Namjoon, - everything comes spilling out in prose. Hardly having to pause what with the way your thoughts just keep flooding out onto the paper, the inked words flowing out in streams, you finally let go of the firm grip you’d kept on your feelings up till now and express your frustration, your loss, your confusion all out in one huge cathartic spew. You write till you feel emotionally dry, but in a satisfying way, chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. But as your ballpoint pen swirls the complimentary closing- Sincerely Yours- you can’t help but laugh at the sardonic humor embedded in it. The sincerity in your words is irrefutable. But you’re no longer his.

Folding it up and sealing it away in an envelope, you chuck the letter into your desk drawer where it joins its predecessor. Now with a clearer mind, and a renewed focus and vigor, you’re finally able to set to work on the mountain of revision materials that await you.

The first letter was a gushing myriad of feelings. But the subsequent letters solidified into one obviously discernible emotion- anger.

Once you came to terms with the fact that he’s not coming back, and that he basically threw away the relationship, it had you boiling mad. How much had you sacrificed for this relationship?! You’d basically shuttled back and forth between your hometown and the city almost every other weekend to visit him on campus, juggling your family and your grades and your friends back home and college applications just to make your long-distance relationship work. And how did he repay your efforts? By withdrawing from you and refusing to talk things out despite your gentle, persistent probing. You’d heard that he’d been in a slump and confused about the future- Hoseok, while his best friend, was your brother after all- but you’d never imagined he’d be confused about you.

And so you took your rage out on paper once again, your words harsh as you wrote candidly. It’s not like he’d ever get to see it anyway.

But anger is tiring. After penning a few letters full of scathing lines you’d never have the guts to actually spit out in person, your wrath was quelled and soon gave way to grief.

In the same way with your anger, you chose not to deny your sadness, but leaned into it instead. The end of your relationship was something worth mourning, you decided, and you let yourself embrace the sorrow fully and deeply. It was especially difficult knowing that he was still in contact with Hoseok, while you had been completely cut out of his life. But you can’t blame either of them- you can’t demand that they revoke their friendship over what happened between you and Namjoon, nor would you ever desire for that to happen. Hoseok, on his part, managed it to the best he could, taking his phone calls in a room separate from you. But you can’t control the wave of dejection that runs through you whenever you spy Namjoon’s name on his caller ID.

You’re used to the routine by now. Whenever the emotions get too overwhelming, whenever there’s just too much that you want to say to him but that you can’t, you engage in the therapeutic act of writing your letters. Then you seal them up, and chuck them away, out of sight and out of mind. The grief gets easier to deal with too, especially with the excitement of receiving college acceptance letters and your high school graduation date that’s drawing closer and closer.

Of course, that in itself brings its own strand of sadness too, as you imagine having to separate from your friends and family and leave your childhood home behind. But the notion of getting to carve out the path to your future leaves a giddy anticipation that overshadows all other feelings.

And in that strange, paradoxical way that time seems to pass in- every hour ticking by so slowly, but the weeks whizzing by in the blink of an eye- it’s just as your five-year-old self had once proclaimed, “All done!”

Your life now packed into boxes that are piled into the car, one last check of your room to ensure that nothing important is left behind, a final look at the place you called home for all your life up to now, and you’re off to college. As you watch the sight of your neighborhood through the rearview mirror pull further and further away till it disappears entirely, you know you’re leaving tons of memories behind. Memories of Namjoon, yes, but also memories of your growing up years with your family and friends who have made you into who you are today, able to venture out and face the world with courage and confidence.

Maybe it’s that experience of individuation that has you finally accepting it. No more whirlpool of emotions, no more anger, no more grief, no more emptiness. Just peace. You’re single, separated from Namjoon. And you’re ready to take on the world and live your life like the boss woman you are.

“____,” Hoseok wails, pouting as he approaches you with outstretched arms. You barrel into him, relishing the warmth of his embrace and stowing it away for the days ahead. His eyes rove over you as he holds you at arms length so he can take you in for the last time in a while. He sighs. “My baby sister is all grown up and going to college and away from me.”

You laugh. “I’m still in the country, Hoseokie, it’s not like I’m halfway across the world. You can come and visit anytime.”

“But you’ve never lived further than a minute’s walk from my room. How am I supposed to deal with you being hours away from me now?”

“You’ll get over it soon, you big baby.” You duck out under his arms and slap his butt with the playful affection that’s always characterized your sibling relationship. Your parents are waiting by the door of your dorm room and you go over to give them their share of goodbye hugs.

“Thank you for all the help with moving and unpacking today,” you say, voice muffled as you speak into your dad’s chest. He strokes your head and you lean into his touch and savor it.

“You’ve got one more box there, you sure you don’t want our help with that?”

“No, it’s fine, I can handle it.”

It gets increasingly hard to hold the tears back and the difficulty only spikes tenfold when you turn to see your mum holding back tears of her own. Her perfume and her own natural scent that lies underneath that that you inhale as you hide your face in her neck while the two of you hug very nearly pushes you over the brink. But you manage. Knowing your family, it’s a given that someone will shed tears at some point, and you’re all (barely) holding it together for each other.

Hoseok comes up to hug you from behind so that you’re now sandwiched between him and your mum, which only prompts your dad to envelop all of you in his arms too.

“If it ever doesn’t work out- not saying that it won’t, because you’re super smart and the most driven kid I’ve ever known- but just, IF ever,” Hoseok rambles into your hair, “you can always come home and teach at the dance studio with me, ok?”

“Thanks Hoseokie. But you know I have two left feet, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“They’ll make an exception for you. I’ll make them make an exception for you.”

You laugh and extricate yourself from the group hug through a series of wiggles that only provides further proof of why you’ll never make it as a dance instructor the way your brother has.

“Ok, it’s getting late and you guys still have a long drive ahead of you.” You shoo them out of your room. After your final goodbyes, you return to your room quickly, knowing that the sight of their figures leaving would be unbearable.

Needing a distraction, you busy yourself with unpacking your last box of belongings. It’s nothing too difficult- your family had spent the afternoon helping you with the major to-dos like wiping things down and setting up your larger decor and lighting fixtures (read: copious amounts of fairy lights strung everywhere) just the way you liked it. All that remains now are some photos with friends, the few pieces of jewelry you owned, your humble make-up collection... and a shoe box stuffed full of letters that you didn’t dare to leave back at home where it would be at risk of being discovered by prying eyes in your absence.

Finding a place for your various items was a simple task to complete. Within ten minutes you were done unpacking, washed up, and tucked into bed for your first night ever living apart from your family. You roll over onto your side- your sleeping environment may be different, but your side-sleeper habits will never change.

As you peer out the window and take in the campus sights that seem foreign now but that you know will become familiar in time, you’re struck with a funny thought. What a turn of events your life has taken.

This is not the dorm room nor the campus you thought you’d be attending all those months ago when you were making your way down to the city. You’d embarked on that trip in gleeful anticipation at being able to deliver the good news to Namjoon, only to have that trip abruptly cut short, and the news remained in an envelope that never got to its intended recipient.

That weekend triggered a rerouting of your life, setting you on a new path that had brought you here to this campus instead. Not that you regret it, or feel like you settled for something less, not at all. You’re at peace with your decisions. It’s just an intriguing thought that things could have turned out so differently if that one weekend hadn’t happened, is all.

On impulse, you clamber out of bed to retrieve the shoe box that you’d shoved into the corner of your closet. Rifling through the stack- wait, did you really write this many letters?- you finally find the envelope you’re looking for.

Tearing it open gingerly, you pull out the sheets of paper contained within. It’s a rueful kind of feeling that washes over you as you skim over the words that you’d written back in what feels like an entire lifetime ago. The excitement you had felt at the prospect of the long-distance aspect of your relationship finally coming to an end after two long years was blatant in your letter.

But when it became obvious that Namjoon had gotten tired of trying to make things work, what you’d initially thought of as the golden ticket to saving your relationship turned out to be fool’s gold instead. You pull up the second sheet of paper- a photocopy of your acceptance letter to the same college your then boyfriend was attending- and you can’t help the ‘what if’s that fill your mind as you run your thumb over the college emblem.

Guess your dreams of a future where you lived in the city and where Namjoon was still in your life would remain just that- a dream.

Or so your naive college self believed.

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #btswritersguild #ficswithluv #bts fic #bts angst #bts exes au #bts x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon angst #namjoon exes au #namjoon x reader #knj fic #knj angst #knj exes au #knj x reader

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vampirequeenoffan · 5 years ago

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Intrusive

IDK, just a DP drabble that seized me by the hands and forced me to write it. I haven’t re-read or edited lmao so it’s probably Real Bad but I have other shit to be doing so imma just dump it here, sorry to yalls eyeballs

Tucker pokes him in the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danny groans. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes and he’s upside-down on the couch; legs hooked over the back and back pressed into the cushions. It’s not exactly the world’s most comfortable position, but if he eases off the gravity a little it doesn’t actually hurt. Besides, the discomfort is grounding, pulling his brain away from itself and back into the physical world.

“Ghost bullshit,” he grunts at Tucker. He doesn’t bother uncovering his eyes. He doesn’t really even need to, not the way he is right now, with Tucker picked out so neon in his mind that he can almost taste his presence. He doesn’t use his eyes to “see” when his friend sits down beside him, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and drawing his legs up off the floor.

“That sucks,” Tucker says.

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks. “Tell me, I mean. Get it out of your brain.”

Danny contemplates that for a moment, falling so still he nearly forgets to breathe. Then his lungs start complaining, reminding him that he is very much still in human mode, thanks, and that he does need air for more than just vibrating his vocal chords.

Danny sighs.

“Urges,” he says. One-word response.

He still can’t see Tucker, but he can “see” him nod. He’s such a pleasantly warm shade in Danny’s mind right now, a color he can’t describe because humans can’t perceive it. Danny could look at it forever.

“One of the fighting ones again?” Tucker asks. Danny shakes his head.

“I wanna put you in a box.”

It’s a testament to their relationship that Tucker doesn’t freak out about that sentence and all that it could imply. Instead he just pauses, purses his lips in the way that Danny can only vaguely “see” (a slight variation in his color, dipping almost orange on the spectrum), and drums his fingers against the back of the couch.

“Like. . . a coffin?” he asks, tone casual. More casual than it probably should be for the subject matter.

“Not really,” Danny says. “I mean, it’s not not a coffin either, but it isn’t specifically one. My brain just. . . really wants you and Sam to be tucked away somewhere safe where no one else can touch you and I can guard you forever. And ever.”

He pauses.

“And ever.”

Tucker nods, the motion burning brightly in Danny’s mind.

“Creepy,” he comments.

Danny groans again.

“I hate my brain.”

“So do I, you’re not special,” Sam calls from the other room. Danny’s itching under his skin with the urge to go grab her, despite how the walls in between them don’t dampen the “sight” of her in his mind. He presses his arm a little harder down over his eyes, as if that could block out her luminous smear across his consciousness.

“We’re having a private conversation,” Tucker yells back at her. “Me and Danny are bonding. Get your self-depreciation out of here!”

“Then stop talking so loudly, idiots!” Sam says. She’s crouched on the ground, rifling through what Danny knows is a box despite neither seeing nor “seeing” it. It shouldn’t take her that much longer to find Dead Teacher iii, and then she’ll be back in the room. Danny has to keep repeating that to himself.

Tucker reaches down and pokes his shoulder again.

“It’s really bugging you, huh,” he says. “That she’s in the other room.”

“How can you tell?” Danny asks. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t acted on any of his instincts. For all intents and purposes Tucker should just see a normal teenager lying sprawled out next to him, albeit in a somewhat awkward position.

Tucker shrugs. His shoulders bleed color behind them in an echo of the movement.

“Your teeth. They’re always pretty sharp, but right now they look like you could bite your own lip off. You’re not kissing anyone for a while, by the way,” he adds.

Danny’s groan borders on a whine this time.

“My ghost half is ruining my life,” he complains.

Tucker snorts and pokes him again, this time on the cheek. The warmth of his skin, of his presence in Danny’s mind, make Danny shiver. He wants so badly to bundle Tucker up in his arms and never let go.

“Is it just us right now?” Tucker asks. “Do you wanna box up anyone else?”

Danny hesitates, turning that thought over in his head.

“. . .no,” he ultimately concludes, “Not really. My brain’s got my house categorized as safe and mine and that’s where my family is right now, so they’re fine. And Val– well. Val is Val. I’ve always got conflicting feelings there.”

“It would be nice if those cancelled out, huh,” Tucker muses. Danny’s complained about this to him before. Fight and Protect fluctuate in his mind from moment to moment when it comes to Valerie and The Red Huntress, and the overlap when they’re both at their strongest can nearly give Danny a migraine. In the same way he can have a panic attack while in the middle of a depressive episode, he can very much want to swaddle Val in bubble wrap while also wanting to stab her.

“Well,” Sam says, straightening up and starting to (yes!) return to the room, “We can’t do a box, but we were already going to cuddle pile on the couch.”

“I still can’t get over you saying cuddle,” Tucker says.

“There’s nothing more hardcore than cuddling,” Sam huffs as she flops down on Danny’s other side. Her arm swings as she makes to throw what Danny assumes is the DVD box at Tucker, and Danny’s hands shoot up to snag it out of the air before it can strike his friend.

There’s a moment of silence. Danny opens his eyes. It’s weird seeing the world around him and “seeing” on top of it, part of why he’d covered his face in the first place. His brain just isn’t meant to process that much visual information at once, the same way his brain isn’t actually wired to “see.” He tries to focus on what’s real, on the actual light bouncing off his friends and into his retinas, and blinks away the glowing smear that isn’t even on the visual spectrum. He’s holding Dead Teacher iii in his hands, and he stares at the cheesy cover art with the single-minded focus of a guy recalibrating his eyes.

“Ah,” Sam says. “That bad, huh?”

Danny lets go of the DVD and it lands on his face. It hurts, but not that much.

Tucker sighs and grabs the case, standing up and moving to pop the DVD into the player. Danny, with a herculean effort, manages to not grab his ankle on the way by and drag him bodily back onto the couch.

Sam stretches, her long pale fingers tangling together overhead, physical form barely more present in Danny’s mind than the glow of her presence. Then she drops her hands and lays down, plopping her head onto his stomach and peering up into his very-close face. Danny can pick out every sun-starved freckle-that-could on her face, inherited from her parents and dampened by lifestyle choices. In the summer, when even the extra-strength sunscreen Sam slathers on can’t fight back her love for the outdoors, those freckles darken and bloom like constellations in the night sky.

The weight of her head against his stomach smooths some of Danny’s anxiety. She’s here. She’s real. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s his.

She isn’t, of course. Tucker isn’t either. No one, on this planet or off of it, belongs to anyone, least of all Danny. And Danny knows this, believes it with the same certainty and maybe even the same part of his brain that knows that the earth goes around the sun, but that doesn’t get rid of his ghost-lizard brain chattering away in the back of his consciousness.

There’s the hum of the DVD player starting to spin the disk, then the previews begin behind Danny’s head. Tucker sits back down and, with Sam taking up the real estate on Danny’s abdomen, hooks an arm under one of the legs thrown over the back of the couch. He drags Danny’s limb closer and starts using it like a headrest, cheek pressing against Danny’s shin.

“You guys–” Danny’s voice breaks off. Finally, the anxiety that’s been buzzing at the back of his mind for the past hour and a half is tapering off, soothed by his proximity and contact with those he wants to protect. It’s such a relief that Danny could almost cry. But. . .

“You guys don’t have to be that close if you don’t want,” he says. Because it’s true. Sam and Tucker are under no obligation to play along with his ghost brain, no obligation to surrender to whatever weird instincts Danny has jammed into his consciousness. Danny has no right to ask them to, and he doesn’t. Not ever. They can make their own choices, and he refuses to become the kind of monster who would try to take their free will from them. They’re his friends, not his property, and he’s never going to forget that.

“Danny,” Sam says, “Shut up. The movie’s starting.”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker chimes in, “We were gonna do this anyway. Let us know when your brain’s calmed down enough to be upright, okay? I want popcorn later and there’s no way we’re gonna be able to integrate a bowl into this mess.”

Danny kicks his foot lightly, jostling his leg in Tucker’s hold and bumping his head, but he’s smiling. His friends are here. They’re alive. They’re watching a dumb movie from a dumb series they love and hate in equal measure.

And Danny’s happy.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Eternal Trio #kinda #I use the term friend a bunch but there's also the implication that They All Be Smoochin #sooooo #Posessive behavior #intrusive thoughts #Ghost Bullshit functioning like anxiety #IDK this is probably super poorly written and I might delete it later but #whatever!

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zertzertzhang · 4 years ago

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Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, and taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

Chapter One: Hellhole

The divorce shattered the Yang family to pieces. Vianne was no stranger to her mother’s scorn for her father, even at a young age. There were countless nights of screaming from Mrs. Yang, coupled with the frustrated curses her father threw in return. At one point, she was sure she heard plates crashing against the walls, but by the time she pumped up the courage to go check the next day, everything had been neatly restored. It was like the fight never took place.

Vianne was not stupid; the traces of her parent’s clashing were found in their silence. It was the harsh clatter of silverware against the bowls during dinner which reminded her that despite the calm nature of the family evenings, rage was just seconds from spilling onto the streets. Their house had just enough bearings to keep authorities from pounding the door on a weekly basis.

There wasn’t much left to solidify the hate between the spouses of the Yang household. By the time Vianne’s father suggested giving her a sibling to help bring her mother back, even she knew that it was a futile attempt to play house a little longer.

But to Vianne’s dismay, her mother agreed. Within months, blue paint littered around the spare bedroom in a massive heap, threatening to swallow the couple whole. Vianne didn’t react much when she realized a brother was coming her way, the increased shouting from Mrs. Yang frightened her as the due date neared. Her father would grumble incessantly about his wife’s mood swings and how that was what men got for marrying.

All of that was lost to Vianne; she was too young to comprehend full sentences, much less understand the hidden meaning behind her father’s statement. Maybe her brother would make her mother happy for once. She could envision her father playing with her in the fields as her mother and her brother sat on picnic mats to the side. They would be laughing just like how it used to be. Vianne wouldn’t have to stay awake, pressing her ears against the doors as more kitchenwares were broken. There would finally be peace...

Her mother’s eyes held the warmth of motherhood for no longer than a few seconds before the cold hollow overtook them again.

Peace never came. What happened in its stead was her brother screeching from his crib, all the while as her parents shrieked at one another over changing diapers. It made Vianne’s head split with thunderous agony. She never wanted to yell this badly, to make them just hug each other for once and stop talking. But such thoughts happened in her mind only. And before she knew it, they were back to throwing pots against the wall.

That lasted however long she remembered. Then came the papers, and she soon found herself holding baby Jack in her arms as her aunt ushered her into a stranger’s car. They said they would be taking care of them for a while. It dawned on Vianne that this was her first time meeting her mother’s family. There was no such thing as a happy reunion in this household.

She didn’t get to see her father after that, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to anyway. Not when the last thing she saw him doing was spitting onto her mother’s face as he tried to stop her from stepping out the door. No one knew that Vianne hid under the covers to cry herself to sleep once she settled in her new home.

And thus, Mrs. Yang became Ms. Lin once more. But for legal reasons, Vianne and Jack’s surname stayed. The minor details flew over her head; Vianne didn’t put much care on the subject. In the long run, the privilege to listen to the crickets chirp at night was enough to keep her satisfied.

That’s how things went for a while, with the emotional charge from her mother coming down for once in a long time. It wasn’t a surprise when Ms. Lin began going out all dolled up and pretty. The scent of her Saint Laurent eau de parfum clung to her skin as she whisked past the older Vianne. The girl felt a twist in her gut; she didn’t want to smell the hints of cologne her mother brought back after every weekend. However, she kept her mouth shut.

Ms. Lin didn’t hold back on her monetary needs. Thank god her salary as a lawyer cushioned their lifestyle. Despite being a single parent, her income had left a spacious room for extra spending. A shopping trip once a month was guaranteed, and that was when Vianne saw her mother at her very best. Talkative and cheery, Ms. Lin wasted no time in purchasing the latest trench-coats from Burberry as she gushed over how cute it looked on Vianne.

Something about her giggling mother put her at ease. The punching of the credit card’s number sent a rush of high in her blood, which only increased with Ms. Lin’s blabbering praise of how beautiful she looked in the mirror. She was well-fed and well-clothed; Vianne figured that there had to be a trade off somewhere. Not everything could be given, so she happily accepted the allowance. It was the closest she’d ever get to having her mother smother her in a crushing hug.

School was another topic. No doubt she was expected to do well in it; Vianne was sure her college expenses would be covered as well once she got to it. So she put the worry on that to the side as well. Her social life at school was decent, with her own clique of Asian Americans making up most of her friend group. It was genuinely a decent life for her, and for a moment, she thought this was going to be her forever.

Until it was news to her that her current school was going to be a thing of the past. Ms. Lin had become engaged to one of her former clients. Vianne was near her senior year of high school when her mother broke the news to her.

“Scott has a family of his own,” Ms. Lin explained. “His children are having a difficult time accepting us.”

Vianne lost her appetite and tossed her dinner down the dump. Her brain refused to tell her how to react, so her first response was denial. She wasn’t interested in a second dad or a second family, this was her happy medium. Besides, she still had Jack, so there wasn’t any long-term loneliness. Why was her mother complicating things?! What the hell?

“I don’t see how it’s our problem.” She tried to keep her voice cool, but the hint of frustration leaked nonetheless.

Her mother looked almost ashamed. Almost. “I’ll be moving in with Scott next week, Vianne. It’s to help his children get used to the new family members.”

The pause after the statement didn’t help the rising anxiety within Vianne. Her fingers clenched around the fork, digging the metal utensil into her soft skin so much that it stung. There was a catch to that announcement, she could feel it.

“What about me?” she asked. “What about Jack?”

Ms. Lin sucked in a breath, drumming her fingers on the mahogany table in a frenzy. And from experience, that only meant bad news. “Scott lives in the Bay Area. It’s too far away from Napa for me to come visit constantly if you stay. So I’ve decided to have you move back with your father.”

The world came undone from below and swallowed Vianne whole. Her mind was a blank sheet of paper, with no idea how to respond. It had been a decade of little to no contact with Mr. Yang, and the sudden contact with him was not going to lead to a happy talk over a cup of coffee. This was fucking ridiculous.

“You said you’d never let him see us again.” Her retort sounded irrelevant at worst, and petty at best. Not that this was going to change her mother’s engagement.

And sure enough, it wasn’t. Ms. Lin gave an exasperated sigh and pinched her nose. The shake of her head reminded Vianne of the way she would scold her when she was a child.

“Your father is doing better now. He’s…different,” her mother tried. “He’s simply not living in the best places out there. But that’s ok! You won’t stay there after graduation, and after you go to college, you’ll be coming back to Scott and me over breaks.”

Vianne could hear the blood in her ears bubbling like an overboiled teapot. “I don’t even know Scott that well, mom! How am I supposed to be his new family after you settle in?!”

The matriarch rolled her eyes at the scene, clearly not taking her daughter’s response well. “It’s a work in progress. I’ll make sure to bring them to you every once in a while to let them get comfortable. That’s why I’m moving in first.”

Her reasoning failed to get past Vianne’s anger, spurring her on. “So you’re just gonna dump us in LA with dad so you can live your comfy life?!”

That comment seemed to be the final nail onto the coffin, as Ms. Lin’s frown turned to a scowl in seconds. “I’m not dumping you anywhere, Vianne. It’s only going to be a year, and your allowance is staying the same! So stop being dramatic.”

Her mother’s cold gaze bore into her mind, freezing her in her tracks. It would serve both of them better if she conceded right there. Once her mother came to a decision, she was like an ox in the middle of a fight. There was no arguing out of this situation. The friends she had and the memories she made in Napa were now pipedreams wrapped up in a dusky alley. Her failure to even voice her opinions squeezed her lungs tight with perturbation.

The familiar pounding headache cursed her forehead, making her wince. Vianne had the sudden urge to smash plates just like her mother had done before. But she didn’t need a grounding on top of everything else, so she settled with pulling her lips back into a painful grin.

“What's the name of the school?” She expected her mother to answer that at least. Donning an air of nonchalance, Vianne tried to appear as unbothered as she could. The trembling of her hands were the only markers of betrayal. If Ms. Lin noticed her plight, then she took no interest in it. Her mother reached for a brown packet and tore it open.

A stack of papers slid out of the package, with the name ‘J.A. Garfield High School’ printed in bold fonts in the front page. It was her transfer letter.

Ms. Lin took a sip of her red wine before she continued her trail of thought. “I’ve given them your transcripts and coursework history already. You’ll be admitted in the second semester.”

“You’re really sending me to the ghetto.” Vianne felt the veins in her head pop. Quickly scouring through the papers, she came across her schedule. There was no AP Biology on the list, and there was definitely no AP BC Calculus on it either. In their places was a section marked as ‘Teaching Assistant’. And that was enough to send her ticking with rage.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” This time, she didn’t bother to hide her fury. “Why did they drop my classes?!”

Slamming the files down so hard that the china rattled, the young woman seethed as she stared her mother down. Ms. Lin wasn’t having any of it either, her fingers gripping the wine glass had turned pale with the increased pressure.

“The school doesn’t have AP courses, Vianne. They’re offering full credits for your two AP classes as compensation.”

The words that came out of her mother’s mouth stunned Vianne into silence. Graduation credits were worth nothing to her in college, this had to be some sick joke.

“What about my AP tests next year?” she hammered. “How am I supposed to take the tests without taking the classes?!” Her complaints were like flies buzzing around an agitated human. Ms. Lin simply waved them off without a second glance, as if her worries were nothing but unnecessary trivialities in life.

“You’re smart, sweetheart. You can study for them by yourself.” Her mother threw out the response like it was the obvious solution to her problem. “There’ll be more than enough spare time in your hands to bury yourself in books.”

Vianne quirked a brow. “Why?”

Ms. Lin actually smiled. But behind it were the vestiges of an arrogant smirk threatening to show itself to the surface. “Their coursework is basically non-existent. The catalogs are dated, and the materials are easy enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler’s level. You’ll have no trouble boosting your GPA up and acing your tests.”

If pride was a thing in her family, then it was going out the window. Vianne couldn’t believe her ears, nor could she stomach the sight of the letters. At this level, she might as well turn herself to a thirteen-year-old and go back to primary school. All her hard work was about to go up in flames because of that ghetto school. Hot tears rimmed along her eyes, sending her into a vortex of despair once more.

There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye to her friends; Kimberly’s birthday was in two weeks, and the whole group had a surprise beach trip planned out. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Mountains of projects she had been dedicated to simply poofed into air. Her hands clenched at the sides, doing their best to contain the urge to hit something.

The shifting of bodies alerted her of her mother’s departure from the living room; Ms. Lin was already up the stairs by the time Vianne shook herself back to reality. She looked over to the stove and was struck by the time it displayed on the counter. It was way too late into the early mornings.

“Your flights depart in two days.” The voice of her mother was drifting away into the distance. Their hollow vibrations from the hall sent her stomach dropping to the floor. “You should start packing soon, Vianne.”

That was the end of the conversation. It was made clear with the slam of Ms. Lin’s bedroom door, rattling its hinges. Neither of them were in the state to argue, and she knew it. Standing alone by the dining table, Vianne sniffled. Her nose was unbearably stuffy in addition to the increasing sting in her eyes.

She didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LAX was the definition of a madhouse. People shouted in all kinds of languages, deafening her ears and making Jack whimper on her side. Vianne held her brother close as she shoved their way through the gates of their section. The crowded mass on top of her migraine was slowly inching her towards a mental breakdown. After hauling off the last of her luggages from baggage claim, she ushered Jack to the main exit of the airport.

She knew she hadn't seen her father’s face in years, and the dreadful thought of not recognizing their only ticket out settled within her gut. Panic palpated in her heart as they came out of the building, with the sea of people not helping in the slightest.

Mr. Yang was next to unrecognizable when Vianne saw the massive sign with her name blaring in red. He looked different, much different than before. But then again, her seven-year-old perspective wasn’t all that trustworthy either. The face of her father hit her like a cold splash of water, and she found herself failing to greet him with the simplest ‘hello’. She merely stared at the balding man, unable to tear her eyes away from the beerbelly and narrowed eyes. Her father was a stranger to her, and it was then she realized that Jack had never even met their father.

Her brother scooted away from Mr. Yang when the man approached them, looking up to her with his teary gaze. Jack looked like he wanted to burst into a wailing fit. It was going to be a long ride back.

Heavy silence filled the car throughout the ride to her new home. Mr. Yang asked about her health and her school life, repeating the same questions he wrote to her weeks ago. Vianne kept the answers simple and precise, nodding and smiling to make it seem like she was engaged.

Jack, on the other hand, fidgeted endlessly in his seat in the back, looking anywhere but the front of the driver’s seat. The introduction between father and son was awkward to say the least. Vianne was just happy that they were now on their way to get the year over with. She clutched the phonebook in her pockets, memorizing all her friends’ numbers. It took her mind off things, if that was a positive note.

There could never be enough distractions for her, especially now that the three of them were stuck in the worst possible position. As if whatever deity in the heavens wanted to lay more unto the cruel joke, Vianne shook from her revere and noticed the selection of houses they were approaching.

Rundown and abandoned were the least of her worries. The neighborhood was like the cardboard cutout from a horror magazine. Desecrated with graffitis and empty beer cans, the streets were littered with grime and dust. It was obvious the town duster wasn’t a frequent worker there. And was that a person sitting on the roof of a car?!

Vianne’s eyes bulged as she squinted at the flailing man on top of a red Chevrolet. Men donned in tall hats paraded the city roads like they owned the place, causing a line of angry drivers honking at the ruckus. The pounding headache intensified at the sight, and she grumbled a string of curses to herself.

“Monterey Park is a lot better,” Mr. Yang spoke out of nowhere. “We’re gonna be away from these dirty shitbags.”

She flinched at the harsh edge of his voice, but didn’t say anything. By the crinkled lines between his brows and the frown on his lips, her father wasn’t in the mood for a good-natured chat. It was better that way, Vianne herself could feel her spirits waning with each mile.

The trio reached a small neighborhood in no time, and to her relief, it looked miles better than the houses she previously saw. The structures still retained the brittle fragility in appearance, but the paintings were even this time. And the lawns appeared to be taken cared of as well. Vianne felt the corners of her lip tug up in a hopeful smile.

But like any other good news, it was crushed to dust as soon as it presented itself. Her father didn’t use his keys to unlock the door. Instead, it swung open on its own accord, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and leopard-printed blouse. Vianne’s mind jumped to the worst possible scenario, jumping back a good distance. The young woman stared at the fresh face for what felt like a long time, before the coughing from Mr. Yang pulled her from the staring contest.

“Clara, they’re my children; Vianne and Jack.” Her father’s gruff voice held her to the ground. Gesturing to the women next, he continued to speak. “Vianne, Jack, this is Clara. She’s my girlfriend.”

Despite him being this close to the two women, Mr. Yang was oblivious to the scowl that now stretched across his daughter’s face. Vianne put two and two together and realized why her mother refused to share too much of her father’s living situation. There was no way in hell she would have agreed to come had she knew of this beforehand. Her living arrangements were fucked up to no end, and for a moment, she contemplated ringing her mother on the spot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Clara didn’t move from her position. She gave the two newcomers a pitying look, but her lips turned up to a smirk. “I’ve heard a lot about y’all.”

Jack stared at Vianne, lips pouting in morbid curiosity. The older sibling sighed and rolled her eyes; she was getting worked up over nothing. They only had to stay here for another year till graduation, so she reckoned she would find a way to grin and bear it.

“There are rules to this household.” Her father wasted no time in listing the regulations under his roof. “You won’t be able to run amok like ya did with your mother here. First, Clara is to be respected at all times.”

Mr. Yang was blind to the seething glare Vianne threw him as she unpacked her bags across the room. It was one thing to be forced to live under these conditions, but it was a totally different thing to be mandated around by a stranger who she detested. A biting remark made its way to her tongue, but was cut short by his rambling speech.

“Curfew is 6 pm sharp. No loitering around the streets after the sun goes down,” he continued. “No boys are allowed, and there will be no parties here.”

No one, and she meant no one, told her when she got to come home. The last time her mother set her a curfew was in middle school. And it was definitely not at that time either. She wasn’t interested in dating anyone from this neighborhood, much less bringing a boy back home. Parties were out of the question, Vianne had already made up her mind that she was going to burrow herself for a year before she dipped.

“I’ll stay out as much as I want.” It was a crisp retort, and she turned up her nose. “My car will be here in a few days. I’ll be fine.”

Mr. Yang’s nose flared at the comment. His eyes darkened, reminding her of the way he used to look at her mother. She didn’t voice it, but the familiar shivers ran down her spine. Avoiding his gazem Vianne took a sudden interest in the rings on her fingers.

“This ain’t Napa County, Vianne.” Her father’s hand shook. “You’ll be down in the dirt in no time if you don’t adapt to the people here.”

She ignored his statement and pulled out her luggage of clothes. Everyone knew of the nature of the ghetto people there. That was the reason she brought her car. Whatever it was, Vianne wasn’t going to touch them with a ten-foot pole.

“Whatever,” she mumbled. Sensing her displeasure in the conversation, Mr. Yang grumbled something about women, before throwing a stack of notebooks onto her bed. Vianne glanced at them, but made no attempt to retrieve the papers.

“These are the course intros for tomorrow.” Her father was opening a can of beer as he eyed her. “You and Jack are waking up at 7. No negotiations.”

“Sure, sure.” There was no reason to get into a fight, and she thought it was wise to choose her battles. A curt nod was all she gave him, before she slipped past her father to go find Jack. There was still time to brood over her state of affairs.

Time always flew when you were either panicking or on cloud nine. That would be the second night of the week where she didn’t get to sleep. Her eyes trailed to the calendar; today was her first day of school.

A/N: Sorry for the slow start! Juicy drama picks up in the next chapter! Reviews, criticism, and comments are welcome :3

And here's a shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for inspiring and helping me write this out!

#stand and deliver #angel guzman #80s movies #fanfic #angel guzman imagine #80s movie imagines #lou diamond phillips #jaime escalante #edward james olmos #stand and deliver headcanon #fanfiction

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double-knots-archive · 4 years ago

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Empty Cans - [ Shane X Ellery ]

Ellery blinks as she approaches the bench by Sophia’s vineyard. When Shane had asked her to come, she wasn’t sure what to expect after their last encounter. The cliff and the visit to Harvey’s... Shane had promised to go to counseling but— Ellery knew how little promises meant.

She shifts, reaching up to tuck a lock of blue hair behind her ear, her eyes trailing over his stupid JoJa hoodie and landing on the six pack of beer next to him. Before she could speak, Shane held up his hands, as though he had been caught in the act.

“I brought these for a reason, I swear.” He says softly, “this was the last I had in my room and I—… I wanted you to help me dump them.”

“Dump them?” Ellery says, taking off her hat as she sits besides him on the bench. His hands fidget on his lap, and he nods, silence growing between them for a moment.

When it seems the silence has become too much for him, he moves, ripping open the flimsy plastic holding the cans together. He hands one to Ellery, who takes it tentatively between her calloused and scarred hands. He taps the side of the can a few times anxiously, before standing and leaning on the railing between them and the cliff.

Blue eyes stare emptily at his back for a few moments before she stands, tossing her braids over her shoulder, and standing besides him. She tosses the can lightly from hand to hand as she looks at his.

Shane swallows, his eyes glancing from the beer to the woman besides him. His lips twitch into a smile, a shy anxious smile, one full of fear, but also hope.

He pops open the can, the sound echoing off the cliff edge and down to the sea. “So, uh—“ he swallows, shrugging. “This one’s a promise to take better care of myself. Ya know? Less junk food, more exercise, all that shit .” He says, before turning the can upside down and letting the amber liquid drip out. He even gives it an extra shake for good measure.

Ellery let’s out a small snort, “no more pizza rolls?”

“I said less, not none. I’m not gonna be cruel to myself.” Shane smirks, and Ellery giggles. He gestures, “your turn.”

“Ah, oh- okay.” Ellery sighs, her lips twist into a small pout as she thinks before she pops it open. “This is a promise to- uh—“ she looks upwards for a second, her eyes partially crossing as she searches her brain for something. “Oh!”

“Got it?” Shane asks, raising an eyebrow, leaning towards her a bit. She gently pushes her shoulder against his, as she clears her throat.

“This is a promise to be sober with you. I won’t drink as long as you do. Won't even cook with wine.” Ellery nods, “We’ll do this together.” Before she goes to empty the can, but Shane’s hand comes and stops the can from spilling a drop.

“That ain’t a promise you gotta keep,” Shane starts but gets shushed when a single finger presses against his lips.

“Hush, my can, my promise, right?” Ellery smirks, “And I was gonna, anyway.” She shrugs, moving the cab away from his hand and dumping it out. Shane shakes his head, moving and grabbing the rest of the pack, setting it down between them as they stand there. He grabs a second beer, and hands another to her.

“Okay, my turn again, I guess.” He coughs slightly, clearing his throat. “Uh-“ he stares at the unopened can for a moment. “I promise to do better for Jas. Give her a good life, earn a good wage for her, and stuff like that.” He nods, before popping it open and dumping it too. “You?”

“Right,” Ellery opens the can, and smiles. “I promise to try and take better care of myself too. More sleep, less three am nights, maybe hire some help on the farm or something.” Ellery shrugs, “ya know, just... stop falling asleep everytime I sit down,” she laughs before tilting the can and gently pouring it out into the emptiness below.

Shane smiles at her, before toying with his third and final can. “Shit, this is harder than I thought.”

“And you had time to prepare for this!” Ellery laughs, picking up the final can for herself. “My turn, since I’m ready.”

“Wait we were taking turns,” Shane argues and she sticks her tongue out at him: the small scar where her tongue piercing once sat is the only thing his eyes can land on. But they’re quick to flash back up to her own eyes.

“Too bad,” she giggles, before turning her can upside down. “Cause I promise to do my grandpa proud. This farm is going to be more than anything he ever dreamed it would be. I’m going to live life to the fullest and I’m gonna make sure that no one in Pelican Town can ever forget me.” She grins, as the last few drops fall out. “I’m going to move on from Jamie. I'm gonna find love. I’m never gonna let my past define me, and I’m gonna be happy.” Ellery’s voice quiets as she speaks, her eyes softening too as small tears well in them. She laughs softly, reaching up to wipe them away. “I promise to be loved and to be happy. I promise to fall in love.”

Shane stares at her, his eyes widening slightly, his breath catching in his throat. His mind and heart reached the same conclusion. Ellery blinks a few times, before offering him a smile.

“Your turn,” she laughs breathlessly, gesturing towards the can in his hand. Shane looks at it, his eyebrows furrow for a moment. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to will himself to speak. He slowly opens the can, and turns it upside down, pouring it out. Staring at the liquid as it falls.

Ellery looks at him, waiting patiently for him to speak— whatever he had to say. No expectation in her eyes. But Shane smiles as he turns to her, and takes a deep breath.

“I promise that I’ll be a man worth your heart one day. And that from this day forward, I’ll make sure you always feel loved, Ellery Dixon.” He whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. Her cheeks tinge pink, as Shane simply moves to pick up the scattered empty cans. His voice lifting to it’s normal tone and volume, a teasing hint to his words: “Com’n, you gonna help clean up or just let this stuff litter the valley, Elle?”

#I'M GOOD LONG AS YOU'RE HERE WITH ME. || SHANE&ELLERY;#I KEEP YOU UP PAST MIDNIGHT. || META;#--; idk if hes ic but e y #--; i had the idea so there we go

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breakingsomething · 5 years ago

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to remember

basic summary: marvin's spiraling.

trigger warnings: mentions of abuse and self harm, flashback to a suicide attempt, much talk of medications, violent thoughts, themes of memory loss, extreme distress

it started with little things.

first he'd forget where he left stuff, like his phone or his cup of tea. that was just normal. but then he'd forget having ownership of certain items altogether. chase had once gotten mad at marvin for leaving a full mug next to his laptop, and it had taken five minutes for marvin to remember he'd made the drink in the first place.

as the weeks went by, thing continued to slip his mind. just small things. street names, words he should know, inside jokes from a while ago. he'd stumble before saying the name of an old friend, hesitate before mentioning that so and so had blonde hair because hadn't they dyed it, or had that been year ago? which of chase's kids liked sonic the hedgehog again? oh, chase kids were missing and he shouldn't bring them up? yeah. he'd forgotten that too.

then it was his medication. he'd been prescribed small tablets of paroxetine to take every day, which he'd done at the beginning. then he'd get so caught up with other things that it'd only be every few days that he'd remember the meds and a jolt of realization would hit him that he hadn't taken them in ages. but it was fine. he'd set a reminder on his phone! which worked for a while, until he'd read the notification and swipe it away with the intention to get up right away, but then get distracted, or even if he didn't get rid of it it would just get buried in his notifications bar and he wouldn't think twice. but it was fine! he was just a bit forgetful. silly billy marvin. so what if he sometimes forgot what his girlfriend looked like or when henrik's birthday was? that was normal, silly stuff. he was just fine.

"marvin, how long has it been since you've eaten?"

oh, someone was talking to him! he startled at the sound, whipping round in the kitchen doorway to face whoever it was and breathing a sigh of relief as he recognized him. jackie. his sweet big brother jackie, big brother who helped him keep his head on straight and comforted him through nightmares of events that marvin wasn't sure had really happened. how much of reality was he making up anymore? he wasn't sure.

"i just ate this morning," marvin said certainly, flashing the hero a smile. "what about you? i haven't seen you eat recently at all."

jackie crossed his arms, narrowing his dark eyes underneath his glasses. "me, chase and henrik ate breakfast together this morning. we had toast and wheetabix with bananas cause chase is on another health kick. where were you?"

marvin's confident grin slipped. "i - i had toast too," he said, trying to keep his voice steady so as not to reveal his uncertainties. "this morning. you guys must have - left."

marvin's heart was racing as he racked his brain. he had eaten, hadn't he? oh, oh, he didn't know. jackie's disapproving gaze was burning into him, making him feel smaller and smaller, like a child on the receiving end of a lecture.

"you can't skip meals, marvin," jackie sighed. he tilted his head and slowly reached his hand up to marvin's face, touching his forehead. even with the warning, marvin flinched. "are you feeling alright? apparently a lack of hunger or a feeling of sickness are side effects of the new medication, so -"

"shut up, jackie!" marvin hissed, face flushing. jackie raised an eyebrow at marvin's response, and the magician unconsciously flinched again. fuck, what was wrong with him lately? he knew jackie wasn't going to hurt him.

"there's no need to be embarrassed about medication," jackie said coolly. "i take paxil for my anxiety. it's nothing to be ashamed about."

"i know," marvin mumbled. he rubbed his skin comfortingly beneath his hoodie, wincing at the feeling of the scars all up his arm. self inflicted. couldn't blame anti for that. "it's not - i don't know. i'm new to all this. the whole - the whole…"

"mental illness thing?" jackie said with only a small hint of amusement in his voice. marvin snorted. the situation wasn't funny at all, so they had to make it that way themselves for it to be survivable.

he hummed, not looking jackie in the eye. another thing he was struggling with lately. he had always been good with things like that, something he excelled in that jackie did not. something else that had been taken from him. "i don't know. my head feels a bit weird all the time, but i don't think i'm sick. i should be ok, but, uh, thank you for the concern."

jackie kicked at a broken panel of wood on the floor, still not moving out of marvin's way. "speaking of medication," he said, and marvin's heart sank. "have you been taking them?"

"yes, jackie," marvin lied, swallowing hard, clenching and unclenching his fists. he couldn't stay still, why couldn't he stay still? his legs were shaking. "taken them every day."

"you're lying," jackie said flatly. marvin breathed in sharply at the undertone of disappointment in his voice, and just managed to look up at his face, cringing at how tired jackie looked. he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. "henrik says you would have needed a refill by now if you had been taking them regularly. but you've barely touched the second packet."

marvin shook his head, breaths quickening. "i - yes i have. i finished the whole box." he'd dump them somewhere when he got a chance alone.

jackie sighed, shaking his head. "stop it, marvin. i looked in your room yesterday. the box was on your desk."

marvin gave a strangled cry. "you - you were in my fucking room? when i wasn't there?" god, he sounded like a child. but jackie knew that things were different after anti. marvin needed his space. he glared at his brother angrily, mouth hanging open with words he couldn't get out. "you fucking asshole, i thought you were going to respect my fucking privacy?"

jackie grimaced, scratching the back of his neck. "we're - we're worried for you, and -"

marvin didn't even say another word. he just shoved past his brother and stormed upstairs, slamming the door behind him.

sometimes he didn't remember his brother's names. that was just something that happened sometimes though, right? sometimes he forgot his street name. that was just a funny little mishap though, wasn't it? sometime he woke up and didn't know where he was and cried himself softly through his panic attack, curled up in the middle of his bed, too afraid to move in case someone came to hurt him, until he passed out from the headache that all the tears ended up giving him. that was normal though, wasn't it? just a silly little one time thing. it didn't mean anything. it could happen to anyone.

and then it happened again. and again. and again.

he awoke from nightmares he didn't remember. he thought about names that meant nothing to him, mouthing the words "dapper" and "naomi" and "jack" to himself. he held knives and thought about stabbing himself in the chest with them just to see what would happen. he shut himself in his wardrobe, shaking so hard he couldn't breath, feeling something hot drooling onto his neck.

the others began to properly notice the day marvin got lost.

he was just going to the corner shop. he bought a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread and a small packet of gum. he left the shop and was instantly hit with a dizzying wave of vertigo, like he was standing on top of a building. he didn't know where he was. he didn't know.

it was fine. there were three streets that branched off of this one, he was bound to belong on one of them. eeny, meeny, miney, mo, and he set off down the street to the left, which went down a small hill. that street then branched off into two other streets, and a long flight of stairs. marvin stared at them, head spinning.

he was suddenly so fucking scared.

he set off down the street to the left again. this one was sloping even further down a hill, tall, pretty looking houses with trimmed gardens and shiny cars parked neatly outside. marvin didn't live in a house, did he? he was certain he lived in a flat. there were flats somewhere in the distance, he could see. he set off towards them purposely, milk carton smacking against his thighs painfully.

it was so quiet. marvin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, his chest tightening painfully. he wasn't supposed to be here. he wasn't supposed to be here. someone was going to stop him and tell him to turn around and he was lost, he was scared, and -

and the road ahead branched off into three separate roads, all of which were lined by blocks of identical flats.

he wasn't going to cry. he wasn't. he set off straight ahead, down a hill, frantically looking at the buildings around him. it was early spring, and some families were out in the gardens, playing in sprinklers and having barbecues. marvin was too hot in his long hoodie, sleeves covering the ugly scars on his arms. he couldn't breathe. he couldn't remember. nothing was familiar and the world was upside down and he was fucking terrified, was this a prank? was this a prank for his brother's youtube channel - which brother had a youtube channel, why couldn't he remember, he was scared, oh, he was scared!

eventually he collapsed in an empty bus stop, just across from a construction site surrounded by a red fence. he remembered that. there was a field behind it, and there was an abandoned waterworks, and a farm with lots of cows. he rapped his knuckles on his thighs, trying to ground himself. what else could he remember? he knew his own name. marvin mcloughlin, that was him. he tipped his head back and let out a shaky sob, stomach churning. nothing was right. he was too hot and the milk had gone warm and his palm was sweaty from holding the bread.

he sat there for an hour, numbly watching the sun go down. his head hurt from crying. he was too hot and tired and scared and he felt like a fucking child. marvin sat up, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, scratching his sensitive skin. his mind felt like soup.

my name is marvin mcloughlin. i'm twenty nine years old. i have been on this planet for three years. i'm bisexual. i have three brothers. i have a girlfriend named naomi gudmundson. i used to be part of an organization called hecate's international network of magic.

it was night before his mind returned to him.

he fucking sobbed when it did, immediately scrambling to his feet and racing in the direction his mind was telling him to go before he forgot it. the milk and bread bashed his sides as he ran, and he definitely looked like a goddamn idiot, crying and darting through the streets with his shopping in hand. by the time he got to a street he recognized, a street he remembered, he was full blown sobbing, so hard it was difficult to catch a breath. and oh, when he saw chase sitting at the window on his ds, marvin could have cried out in relief. his little brother must have sensed him coming and turned to look at him, grinning, but his face fell as soon as he saw what state marvin was in. he leapt down from the window and disappeared, and marvin fell against the front door, not caring anymore if anyone saw him. he was scared, he was just so scared, he was just so, so scared.

as soon as the lock clicked and the door swung open, marvin threw himself into chase's arms, dropping the warm milk and crushed bread to the floor. "chase, chase, chase, chase!" he gasped, heart racing as his legs gave out, feeling like jelly. "oh my god, chase, chase..."

"what happened?" chase cried, clearly alarmed. he ran his hands across marvin's back soothingly, knowing not to touch his hair in case he set him off further. "did someone hurt you? do you need henrik? marvin, talk to me."

he couldn't talk. he was so overwhelmed, so fucking terrified out of his mind that he couldn't manage words, he just couldn't. all he could do was dry heave, coughing into his arm but still trying to cling to his brother because if he didn't he would disappear and marvin would be alone again and he couldn't be alone again he couldn't anti would get him anti would hurt him and dapper again and he'd punish him because kitten had disobeyed the rules and cut off his hair and anti would make him go into the spare room by himself again without anyone to touch him or talk to him fuck fuck fuck he was so scared!!!

he slept in jackie's bed that night. he couldn't speak, too overwhelmed, too afraid he'd be punished. he curled into a ball and hugged himself, confused and delirious, too shocked to speak. anti in his head. anti in his bed. dapper, anti, kitten, which name was his again? none of them sounded right.

everything came crashing down on him the next morning when he woke.

oh, oh, oh, had that all really happened? had he really gotten lost going to the corner shop, had he really had an hour long panic attack in broad daylight while clutching a bottle of milk and a bag of bread? a slapping wave of humiliation washed over him, and he shuddered, sitting right up in bed. was that real, had he made it up? he groaned softly, clutching his head. let it have been a nightmare, please, please.

he knew it hadn't been when jackie woke up and immediately started badgering him.

"who hurt you?" were his first words. "who upset you? what happened, why were you gone so long, tell me!"

"no one hurt me," marvin croaked. he hadn't spoken in hours, and his voice was hoarse. he curled tightly into himself, gently gracing his fingers across the skin of his neck to soothe himself. "just my own head. just my own head, jackie, jackie, jackie."

the conversation went by in a blur. marvin couldn't remember it.

my name is marvin mcloughlin. i'm twenty nine years old. i have been on this planet for three years. i'm bisexual. i have four brothers. i have a girlfriend named naomi. i used to be part of an organization called hecate's network of magic.

he didn't care what his brothers thought anyway. he was fine. it was just a silly memory lapse. ptsd? henrik, you're being ridiculous. jackie, don't agree with him! is anyone here on my side? chase? well, fuck you guys, i don't need you! no more doctors, no more doctors, i don't need you!

naomi was there for him. naomi, his best friend, his girlfriend, girlfriend, there was a change! he'd never loved that word more than now. he'd never loved her more than now. she was wonderful. she didn't treat him like he was fragile. he loved her.

"so how've you been?" she asked one morning when he was round at her shop, nai's blomma magi, yet again. he was there often, especially as of late. he didn't want to be around his brothers. all they did was talk in hushed voices and look away when he entered a room and speak to him gently like he was a bratty child. naomi didn't. naomi looked at him like he was her best friends and she loved him. he was so grateful for her. he thought she was the string holding him to the earth to stop him flying away.

"i've been good," he said cheerfully, swinging his legs on the counter where he was perched. naomi leapt up next to him, blowing upwards to push her caramel hair from her face. marvin wasn't used to it being so short. he thought it looked pretty. he stretched out a hand to run through it as he spoke, because they were dating and he could do that now, though he kept his eyes trained on naomi's despite how hard it was for him just in case she showed any signs of not liking what he was doing. "been busy. lots to do these days you know." he shot her some finger guns. "vibing."

she chuckled, rolling her eyes and shifting closer to him, knocking their legs together. "oh, the usual then," she joked, returning the finger guns. ""it be like that sometimes" and all that? are those the vibes, pye?"

he snorted, elbowing her side. "i am begging you to stop trying to use teen lingo. or - is lingo a word people use anymore? god, i don't fucking know. my point is please, please stop this madness."

she took his face in hand and titled it towards her, booping her nose against his. "ah, but you love me and my attempts at speaking like i am generation z," she laughed. "don't deny."

he knocked his forehead to hers, realizing how unprofessional they would look to anyone who might come inside. but honestly, he didn't care. he had no dignity left to lose. "i do love you," he murmured, before gently pressing his lips to hers, fingers brushing her warm cheeks. he couldn't stop himself from grinning ridiculously, giggling slightly as he pulled away. "ah, naomi, i'm bad at this."

"i'm no better," she admitted. her dark eyes flickered from marvin's lips to his eyes, making him automatically glance down at their entwined hands despite wanting to continue looking at her face. "i haven't had a relationship in years. what do we do? i mean, i won't lie, i enjoy what we're doing now. just this."

he kissed her again, just wanting to be close to her, not wanting to think. "naomi, naomi," he said softly against her lips, like a chant, like he was an actor memorizing his lines. "love you, naomi, naomi."

"that's my name," she whispered, her breath warm on his face. her fingers traced the scar on marvin's lip, the one anti had given him that day he tried to run away and he had made dapper slash his face with his knife as punishment. "you have a pretty name too, marvin. i should say it more often. marvin, marvin, marvin."

he felt light as a feather all of a sudden, like the air had been let out of him with just one stab of a knife to the face. marvin, marvin. forbidden. he didn't know that name.

he pulled away. stared into those chocolate eyes, his vision blurring as his exhaustion began to catch up to him. marvin, marvin, marvin, he didn't know a marvin.

"i don't understand," he mumbled.

the woman frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "what's wrong? pye, are you ok? you've gone very pale."

his fingers had gone very numb. he clumsily pushed himself off the counter, head swimming dizzily, his body moving sluggishly like he was wading through honey. "i'm not meant to be here," he slurred, tongue too big in his dry mouth. "i can't - i don't understand."

anti, anti, there was a name he knew. where did he go, kitten didn't know where he was or what he was doing - pye? pye wasn't his name. he didn't know what was. anti would know.

"marvin," his girlfriend was saying, naomi something, naomi gudmundson, his best friend. "marvin, hey, calm down, it's - uh, it's ok, i'm here. i - do you have your phone? i'm going to call jackie."

her voice was so lovely. marvin remembered days spent hypnotized out his mind, so desperately trying to remember the girl who called him names he wasn't allowed to know in his dreams, the two of them performing magic together. kitten wasn't allowed to perform magic anymore. his hands burned, and he clutched them tightly to his chest, tears forming in his eyes.

his phone had fallen out his pocket. "password, marvin," she asked, but he didn't know. he was suddenly so deep in his own head that he didn't know where or who he was. he was dimly aware of someone taking his hand and pressing one of his fingers to a sensor, of words being spoken, of a man with anti's face arriving and walking him home, of babbling tearfully about monsters and names and memories and girls in his dreams and twins who spoke with hands and charcoal and chocolate eyes and knives slitting his face and ropes and chains and predictive dreams and a man who held him tightly, crying, whispering "marvin, it's ok, it's ok, it's ok."

my name is marvin. i'm twenty something years old. i have been on this planet for three years. i'm bisexual. i have five brothers. i have a girlfriend. i used to be part of an organization called hecate.

they took him to a doctor.

jackie went with him. he was the only one marvin trusted, the one who's reddish hair and dark blue eyes and splattering of freckles across scarred cheeks was most comforting, warm, safe. the doctor's name was - something. she was kind, dark hair and glittering black eyes. she asked him questions. "have you been in any accidents recently?" she started in a tinny american accent. like chase. chase had an american accent.

jackie answered for him. "he's recently had a bad concussion, fell down the stairs and hit his head. that's the main thing we can think of."

that wasn't true. and yes, jackie and henrik had argued about lying. "they could incorrectly diagnose him, and then he could be put on the wrong medications, he's already on antidepressants and we can't risk something making his condition any worse!" henrik had cried. "this won't work!"

"then what do we say - "our brother deeply hypnotized him and locked away a ton of his memories, gaslighting him so badly he didn't remember his own name for like three days?" no!" jackie had hurled back. "a concussion is something more easy to explain. i can fake hospital records, aaron can help me if i need it, and -"

"we can't fake this!" henrik despaired. "this is a genuine problem, this is his life, we can't just fake hospital records and hope they magically come up with the correct diagnosis based on the lies you tell them -"

"this isn't your thing, hen, this is marvin and i am doing what's best for him -"

marvin had been sitting at the top of the stairs listening to them fight. he rubbed his burning hands together, wincing at the pain of the contact. how long had it been since he'd been able to use his magic? months. but he couldn't use it. he'd get in trouble. it wouldn't be ok, though. anti would let him use his magic before he exploded.

chase came to sit next to him. "i'm sorry," he said softly. "this is - shitty, i know."

everyone was always sorry. marvin shoved his hands between his knees and didn't respond until chase got the point and walked away again.

eventually, they had just gone with the concussion story.

the doctor turned back to him, smiling reassuringly. marvin fucking hated her. "does anyone in your family have a history of alcohol or drug misuse?" she asked.

chase, marvin dimly thought. then she realized he didn't mean that. "don't have parents," he said hollowly. "all i have is -"

"- is us," jackie interrupted, shooting marvin a look. "our parents are dead. there was no history of any of that, no. not that i'm aware of."

she glanced at her computer, ponytail swinging as she turned in her chair. "i see you're currently taking paroxetine, two 10mg tablets per day?" she asked, and marvin nodded. "have you had a history of mental health issues before this?"

"recently got diagnosed with depression," marvin mumbled, looking at his purple boots.

"have you ever self harmed or made a suicide attempt?"

"what does this have to do with memory loss?" jackie suddenly snapped, squeezing his brother's hand. marvin smiled, but shook his head at him, clearing his throat.

"it's ok, jackie," he said softly, and turned to the doctor again. "uh...yes to both."

"ok, ok." she was silent for a moment as she typed. "i don't see a log here for… any time recently. when did you make said attempt?"

a knife that anti hadn't taken back. he was out, gone away doing whatever he did, and marvin was in the bathroom, blade pressed to his wrist. it could all be over. dapper, brother, don't rewind, i want this to be permanent.

marvin turned to jackie, panicked. the older man immediately spoke up, leg bouncing rapidly. "i - last year, around july. he - there should be records, uh, i can see…"

jackie's boyfriend was going to be busy with these fake records, marvin thought, amused. records for a concussion, records for a suicide attempt - marvin hadn't yet met aaron, the man who had swept jackie off his feet while he was away, but he got the feeling the poor bastard was going to think he was a total nutjob.

no, that wasn't a nice word. naomi wouldn't like him using that word. a pang of guilt went through him; he'd left naomi for a full year with no explanation, kissed her a few times, freaked the fuck out and dipped. maybe she'd think he was insane too. no, no, bad word. he shouldn't be thinking such things about himself. naomi would never think that.

the doctor asked him a few memory related questions: what he'd had for breakfast, what his parents names were ("jack and… donna," he'd said), his address, ect ect. then he did something called a "mental state examination" that honestly felt like a test at school. he did a quick physical exam. then they'd asked to draw his blood.

that had been an immediate no from marvin.

"you - you can't do that," he stammered, pulling his hands inside his sleeves and wrapping them around himself. just the thought of someone coming near him with a sharp object sent him into an immediate sweat, his fight or flight instincts kicking in. "i - i don't like - i can't do that."

the doctor sighed. "we have to test for certain things, such as vitamin b-12 deficiency and thyroid disease," she said, like she was reciting from memory. "although given all i've heard, i think we may be able to diagnose you, but we have to make sure. we'll likely still have to do an mri to make sure."

"i can't do the blood, i can't do the blood," marvin chanted. he was shaking so ridiculously hard. when did he get this pathetic, this weak? "i - i'm sorry, i'm sorry, can't have sharp objects, jackie, jackie, jackie -"

jackie took his both his hands, glancing at the doctor helplessly. "he - he gets scared around sharp objects," he said apologetically. "marvin, hey, it's ok. no blood today, no blood."

"we'll have to reschedule if we can't do this today," she sighed again. marvin was getting sick of her doing that. "can we do tomorrow at… right before ten? maybe five two? that's when the trucks come to take away samples, and results would be quicker if we could get it done sooner."

jackie hesitated. "marvin?"

marvin couldn't breath. couldn't breath. "no, no, no, i didn't do anything wrong," he sobbed, flapping his hands in a circle with his eyes screwed up tight. "don't hurt me, i didn't mean it, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, leave me alone -"

he thought he blacked out. memories were fuzzy. days passed, maybe. maybe he got his blood drawn somehow. he didn't fucking know. time meant nothing anymore.

my name isn't mine. i'm too old. i have been on this planet for so long. i'm real, maybe. i have a lot of brothers. i have people who i think love me. i used to be somebody.

they diagnosed him with ptsd and memory loss. then he got started on donepezil as well as his paroxetine. two medications for two of the many things that were wrong with him.

he visited naomi and told her the truth.

"i lied to you," he said. he stood in front of the counter like a customer, eyes dry and voice flat. "i wasn't staying with a friend last year. i told you that because the truth is fucking awful and i didn't want to burden you with that."

naomi looked unsurprised, but concerned. she frowned, raising her hand like she was going to touch him, but held back. "marvin," she said softly, and the name grounded him. "you can tell me anything."

she shut shop for the day and he told her.

they were both crying by the end of it. it was a lot, to be fair; marvin had years of trauma to unload, though most of it had happened within the last year and a bit. he almost expected her to kick him out - he was damaged goods, too fucked in the head to even function without constantly being doped up on meds. but she never did. instead, she pulled him in for a proper hug, kissing the side of his head and gently rubbing his back. "marvin mcloughlin," she said, naomi said. "i can't even put into words how fucking sorry i am that all that happened to you, i - my fucking shit, that's so horrible."

marvin had been so unbelievably touch starved for so long that for a moment all he could do was linger in her arms, stunned, eyes so full of unfallen tears that he couldn't see. "please don't let go," he choked out, and he was still scared, but he knew her, had known her for a long time, and trusted her with his life. he somehow always had. maybe he'd fallen in love with her the moment they'd met. "you don't hate me. you don't hate me?"

he heard her snort, shocked. "you think i would - hate you for what?" she almost laughed, her short hair brushing marvin's forehead and getting caught in his barrettes. "marvin, you are more than just my boyfriend. you're my goddamn best friend and i love you more than i ever have loved anyone, and that is - väldigt läskigt, i am forgetting english. but i would never, ever hate you. well, do you - do you want the truth?"

he nodded into his shoulder, the movement making the tears overflow and spill down naomi's back. he quickly scrubbed at his face, embarrassed, but naomi hardly seemed to notice. she buried her face into marvin's neck, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke her next words.

"i was so lost when you left," she murmured. "i had made you my anchor. i blamed myself for you leaving; blamed my bpd, blamed all the depressive states you'd seen me go through, blamed all the mania you'd had to talk me out of. but you know what? i got a therapist and i learned i couldn't blame myself for the actions of others and i continued to love you every second you were gone. i knew you'd be back. i did. i never doubted you and i loved you, so so much, and with the help of my therapist i think i figured it all out."

she sat up, knocking her nose against marvin's. "you are a person and not an anchor. not a - a puppet or a magician for your brother to use. you are a person and so am i and this makes no sense, i don't even know if i'm speaking english but i do know i have always loved you and always will and i'm so glad you're alive."

and it was those words that finally broke marvin. he let out a noise that was almost a wail of despair, shoulders shaking as his chest heaved against naomi's body. she was crying too, he could hear her. so for a long while they just held each other through the pain, and eventually marvin wasn't sad or mourning, he was just hugging his best friend. just comfortable, just warm, just happy. just in love. just alive.

he would be ok.

and as he kissed her once more, this time certain of who he was, where he was, what he was, this time certain he knew he was ok; as he did that, he remembered himself one more time.

my name is marvin mcloughlin. i'm not dead and i'm not going to let myself hurt anymore and anti can suck it if he thinks i'm going to fall to his whims anymore. my name is marvin mcloughlin and i love my family and my friends and myself. my name is marvin mcloughlin and that glitch bitch better hide as well as he can, because a storm is coming and i'm going to be in the eye of it.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jackieboy man #henrik von schneeplestein #naomi gudmundson #arc three: righting wrongs

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snortyport · 4 years ago

Text

(Un)Broken Happily Ever After Chapter 3

Summary- Four years ago, you thought you were just going to another party. Little did you know you’d meet the man who would change your life.

Word Count- 3436

Pairing- Taehyung x reader

Warning- some swearing, nothing major

A/N- Thanks for reading! This is a flashback chapter if you didn’t figure that out. Each flashback chapter will be in Italics for future reference.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

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Four years ago…

“Come one, don’t be such a drag!” Jungkook says pulling on your arm as he pulls you towards the house party you definitely don’t want to go to. You, and your two friends for the record, have midterms to study for and a party isn’t going to help you remember anything on the study list.

“Yeah, come on Y/N! You haven’t been out in forever!” Hoseok yells from behind you, already in the party spirit after pregaming at your apartment for the past hour. “Plus, this is our last year of university and then we start the real world. We deserve to have a little fun after working our asses off for the past four years! So, I want you to turn that frown upside down and let’s go!” Hoseok pinches your butt which makes you jump and yelp in surprise, making the boys laugh at your outburst.

“It’s time to have fun before we graduate and you go off to some country doing God’s work or whatever,” Jungkook says, slinging and arm around your shoulders.

You’ve known Jungkook since childhood, you two were literally diaper buddies. Your moms were best friends and got pregnant a couple weeks apart from each other. You and Jungkook have often wondered if it was just coincidence that they got pregnant around the same time or if it was planned. Either way, the two of you grew up more like siblings instead of friends.

You spent every weekend growing up at either his house or him at yours. You know every secret of his and vice versa. Every crush brought teasing and every heartbreak brought hugs and a movie night. When your high school boyfriend dumped you right before graduation, Jungkook dropped his grad date to take you instead. Jungkook was always the shy one in your duo and you knew how much courage it had taken him to ask the girl out, so you had refused at first. But he had always pictured the two of you going together so you agreed. The other girl wasn’t graduating that year, so you didn’t feel too bad stealing him away.

People always wondered if there was more going on between you two. Did she like him? Did he like her? But there was never anything like that with him. You knew too much about each other for there to be any romance. Yeah, as the two of you got older, Jungkook sprouted from being a wide eyed adorable little boy to a chiseled, sporty muscle man from long hours spent at the gym. And you grew into your curves, your face cleared up and smoothed out. People are always wondering if there’s something going on.

“It’s not God’s work, you doofus, I just want to go and help children who lost their parents due to war or sickness. That way when I come back home, I’ll be able to use the knowledge I got from there to spread awareness and help from here,”

“Please, Mother Teresa, don’t bring down the mood when we’re about to go walk into the most hyped party of the year,” Hobi says, nudging your side with his elbow. “I don’t want to think about sad parentless children right now. I’m too far gone right now and I might start crying.”

You met Hobi on your very first day of orientation in your first year. You and Jungkook had decided to go to the same university, so you were sitting together at a table when Hoseok came over and asked if he could sit in the extra chair at your table. It didn’t take long for Hobi to secure a spot in your friend group, making your lifelong duo into a trio.

Hobi is more extroverted like yourself so you always had someone to go to parties with when JK would need to recharge his social battery. Hobi was the missing piece you didn’t know was missing. Mostly the three of you did everything together; parties, classes, even going to each others’ hometowns for holidays. The three of you were best friends through and through.

And then in your second year, you met Seokjin and your trio became a foursome. He was graduating that year and decided one night at a party to share his university wisdom and hacks on you and your friends. For some reason he took a liking to the three of you and sought you out a few days after the party and you became actual friends.

You didn’t think you needed someone new in your group, but you couldn’t help warming to this older man who acted the same age as you. it was hard not accept him and his weirdly iconic laugh that was well known around the university grounds and his bad dad jokes. You thought he would bring a sense of maturity to your friend group but when the three of you were all together, you acted more like school children instead of adults.

When he graduated, you were scared things were going to change, that he wouldn’t have as much time to hang out with you anymore but Jin made it a mission to hang out with you at least once a week. And for the past two years, he’s kept that promise. Even when all of you were super busy with school or work. You always made sure to make time for your windshield wiper laughing friend.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say before clearing your throat, “Woo! It’s party time! I’m gonna get so wasted, and dance, and probably hook up with someone if the night goes how I want it,” you proclaim in a high pitched voice, mimicking what Hobi said back at your place.

“Har har,” he glares at you, but a smile graces his features a second later. “Seriously though, I’m going balls to the wall tonight so if I don’t remember who you are at the end of the night then you can be happy for me.”

“You can go balls to the wall but I’m hoping to go balls to pussy tonight,” Jungkook laughs and hold his fist to Hobi to bump.

You and Hoseok groan and you roll you eyes.

“Keep that hetero talk to yourself please. I’m not drunk enough to listen to that,” Hobi shivers in disgust.

“Seriously do you have to be so gro—” you start to say before someone bumps into you hard which makes you lose your footing and trip into Jungkook’s side.

“I’m so sorry!” the tall boy who knocked into you exclaims, grabbing your arms to steady you and you grab onto his. “My friend nudged me, and I wasn’t expecting it and I kinda fell, and I fell into you, and I’m so sorry!”

“Uh, yeah, it’s ok,” you say straightening up, “I didn’t get hurt so no harm done,” you smile. When his dark eyes reach yours after checking you out to make sure you really aren’t hurt, his jaw goes slack. “Ar-are you ok?” you ask, concern flooding your features. He stands, staring at you while still holding onto your arms until one of his friends pushes at his shoulder from behind.

“Oh, uh, I’m fine!” he says, shaking his head and throwing you a boxy smile. Your pulse quickens at this seriously attractive, flustered man, who’s still holding onto you with his big warm hands. His dark, slightly wavey hair falls into his eyes and you’re glad that he’s holding your arms because you think you would have run your fingers through it to get it off his forehead. His cologne tickles your nose and has you wanting to do some crazy things right here in the middle of the party thrower’s lawn.

“Well now that we know everyone is all good, we’re going to get going,” Jungkook says from behind you, grabbing your bicep and pulling you from the guy’s grasp.

The guy flicks his eye to Jungkook and instantly drops his hands from you and takes a step back, bursting the bubble the two of you were in. He sends you a small smile before dropping it to stare at his feet. You let Jungkook pull you away, the stranger’s cologne still lingering in your nose, making your head feel thick and dizzy with desire.

“— could have let her get his name before pulling her away,” you catch the last bit of what Hobi says, the delicious smell finally leaving your system.

“He was eye fucking her so much that I knew he didn’t care about her name,” Jungkook huffs, and you’re now realizing his arm is back around your shoulders.

“Excuse me?” you ask incredulously, craning your neck to stare up at him.

“Don’t worry, I saved you. I could tell that all he wanted was in your pants,” he smiles triumphantly at you.

“Maybe I wanted him in my pants. Did you see him?” you glare at him.

“That boy was blessed by every god. He was just,” hobi brings his hand up to do a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

“Exactly,” you sigh dreamily. “And who are you to dictate who I can or can’t date or fuck? My body, my choice,” you stop right before the door to shove Jungkook’s arm off your shoulders and to turn and glare at him. “If I want to get my brains fucked out of me with someone who you don’t deem good enough,” you say, air quoting good enough, “then I will. It’s not up to you, ok?”

“Preach,” Hobi says, clicking his tongue at Jungkook.

“Ok, I’m sorry. I know it’s your choice and everything, but I just didn’t get a good feeling about him ok?” he gives you his puppy dog eyes pout which always makes you forgive him.

“Because you won’t be the hottest of our group if she dates him?” Hobi offers, smiling mockingly at Jungkook.

“I just didn’t ok? Can we drop it now and go in?” he asks, looking towards the door.

“Yess!” Hobi screams. “Let’s go second best!” he grabs Jungkook’s arm and opens the door, pulling the big lug through the door. You giggle at them as you watch them get swallowed up by the huge crowd of people littering every available space in the house. You turn to look back at the stranger only to find him already staring at you. Your body erupts in tingles and goosebumps and your heart starts pounding. You smile shyly before walking into the booming house.

~~~~~~

A couple hours, and many drinks later, you’re happily dancing with Hoseok in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor. Your sweaty bodies mingling and sharing space with the other dancers. Jungkook disappeared almost immediately after entering the party but Hoseok, your party buddy, hasn’t left your side, except the few times to get more drinks.

Which now that you’re thinking about it, you could use a refill.

You shimmy closer to your friend, bringing your lips close to his ear. “I need another drink! Do you want anything?” you shout to be heard over the music pumping through your veins. He shakes his head and continues dancing by himself before some cute, petite guy twirls into his arms and starts grinding into him.

You push your way through the throng of bodies, wanting to get away from that scene quickly. You’re glad he has someone to dance with but you really don’t want to see your best friend getting some. The floor is so packed you get hips and elbows connecting to your body with every step. You’re having troubles navigating around everyone when suddenly a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist. The mystery person manages to pull you past everyone and out of the raving crowd.

You don’t know who grabbed you, you don’t recognize the back that’s in front of you, but you’re thankful they got you out of there so quicky. The heat was starting to make you dizzy and your stomach twist. Mystery man pulls you to a quieter part of the room, against the wall farthest from the dance floor. He turns around and to your excitement it’s the same guy who bumped into you outside.

His dark eyes are now glassy and bloodshot from a night of drinking and you’re sure your eyes look the exact same. His mouth moves in such a nice way that you can’t tear your eyes away from it. The things you want that mouth to do to you has the blood running through your veins turning to fire. His cologne which is now mixed with alcohol and the faintest traces of cigarette smoke. Not what you’d usually go for but for some reason you find it so sexy and intoxicating. Your already drunk mind feels ten times more fuzzy standing this close to him. You’ve never wanted someone so badly before. His perfect mouth is still moving when you realize he’s trying to talk to you.

“Sorry, what?” you yell, tearing your gaze away from his mouth and to his eyes. He smirks and leans closer. You take a deep breath in, drinking in as much of him as you can.

“Do you want to get out of here? Find somewhere quiet where we can… talk?” he asks, his eyes moving to your lips. He ignites something so ferocious in you that you don’t even recognize who you are right now as you nod your head.

This isn’t like you. You don’t drunkenly hook up with random people, that’s Jungkook’s thing. He’s so shy but once that alcohol hits, he becomes a sex maniac and anyone with a vagina between their legs will do. But that’s never been you. You’re always careful and you at least like to know the person you are sleeping with. You’ve always preferred knowing the name you’ll be moaning out.

But maybe you’ve been missing out on the anonymity. You’ve never seen this guy before on campus so there won’t be any of those awkward smiles and forced small talk when you run into each other. You’re kind of looking forward to it as he pulls you by the hand again towards the stairs.

But when he turns to the door instead of the stairs, alarm bells start ringing in your head. Maybe Jungkook was right and there is something wrong with him? He pulls you outside but before you get too far, you plant your feet on the ground, trying not to sway too much. What if he goes around to university campuses and lures girls in with his incredible smile and hopes of hooking up and then murders them? He stops and turns to look at you in confusion.

“Where are we going?” you ask cautiously, reaching your hand down to your jeans pocket to feel for your phone.

“To the diner just down the road. I asked if you wanted to go and you said yes. Did you change your mind? We can go back in if you want? I just don’t really like parties and thought talking over a burger and fries sounded like a better way to get to know you. But if you don’t want to go with me, that’s ok,” he drops your hand and takes a step away from you. “You don’t even know my name, of course you don’t want to go with me. I’m so sorry, I’ve probably scared you,” he runs his hand over his face and through his hair while grimacing. “Let’s just go back inside. I’m such an idiot,” he whispers and starts to walk past you, but you grab his hand to stop him. He’s either a really good actor or he’s being sincere. It might be the alcohol, but you feel like you can trust him.

“Let me just text my friends where we’re going and then we can go, ok? I didn’t hear you properly inside so when we went outside, I didn’t understand what was happening,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile. He lets out a relieved sigh as you pull you phone out. But then his smile drops, and he looks back at the house.

“I, uh, don’t know how to say this, or if I should be the one saying this. I mean, I don’t know your relationship, but if it was me, I’d want to know, so I should just tell you, right?” he says quickly, almost to himself.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. Your relationship? What is he talking about?

“I, um, saw your boyfriend making out with another girl,” he winces as he looks into your eyes and squeezes his hands together.

“My boyfriend? I’m not dating anyone?” you shake your head in confusion. And maybe if you weren’t so drunk you would have realized instantly that he was talking about your best friend.

“But… earlier… he…?” he stumbles over his words. “When I almost knocked you over? That big guy? Isn’t he your boyfriend?” he scratches his nose, and you notice for the first time that he has a small mole on the end of his nose and now how you definitely want to kiss it.

“The big guy?”

It takes you a painfully long time to understand who he is talking about but when you finally do, you burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. You and Jungkook? Never in a million years. The bewildered look on the guys face is too much for you and it makes you laugh harder. Tears prick at your eyes and you don’t even know why you find it so funny, but you do, and you can’t stop the giggles.

“Me and Jungkook? No!” your head falls backward and the tears streak down your face. “I’m sorry for laughing so much! But he’s like my brother! I’d never date him!” you wipe at your eyes with one hand and hold your stomach with the other.

“Oh… yeah?” he says, his face brightening.

“Yeah. We’ve known each other since we were babies. We’re basically siblings so the thought of us dating is just hilarious but also so gross,” you say before taking a deep breath. “Oh, you’re so cute. That was the best. Thank you for that!” you giggle again while unlocking your phone. You miss the blush the covers his cheeks as he smiles shyly and looks away. You quickly send a message to your group chat letting them know you left and where you’re going.

“I’m Taehyung by the way, but my friends call me Tae,” he says sheepishly. You add his name to the text before sending it.

“I’m Y/N,” you hold your hand out for him to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you, Tae.” His big hand engulfs yours and he shakes your hand. You really want those hands on you but right now this will do. “So, this diner, they have desserts?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he nods his head, smiling.

“Then let’s go!” you take his hand and pull him down the walkway.

It’s a little chilly out with the sun down which you didn’t think about when you agreed to walk, but Tae senses you’re cold and pulls you closer. He puts his hands, with your one hand still clasped tightly together, in his jacket pockets. The warmth you get from him and the lingering heat from the alcohol in enough to keep you toasty.

The two of you talk the whole way to the diner, never once falling into an awkward silence. Because both of you are inebriated, the conversation isn’t too serious. You mostly talk about your dreams and crazy things on your bucket lists. Laughs and giggles fill the night air as you stroll along the sidewalk, a few cars passing you by and illuminating your close figures. Everyone driving by probably thinking you’re dating, and you honestly don’t mind the mix up.

As a pretty outgoing person, you’re used to talking to people easily, but something feels different with Tae. There hasn’t been any awkwardness between you despite the fact that you’ve just met ten minutes ago and you’re huddled together so close that once your icy breath reaches his, they mingle together before disappearing into the night. You normally make friends easily with your cheerful disposition, so you’re not sure why this feels different, but it does and you’re not complaining. It feels like you’ve known Tae for years.

It’s just a hunch you have, and maybe it’s so strong because you’re so drunk, but you feel good things coming your way with Tae. And you really can’t wait.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed that chapter and how they met. I can’t wait to show you the rest of the flashbacks I have planned!

Tagged: @anatron9000, @sugalarity

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts taehyung #bts namjoon #break up imagine #taehyung #namjoon

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lux-i-fer · 5 years ago

Text

Believer of Faith and Mortality

Ao3 link

Synopsis: Lucifer and Chloe's victim shouldn't be alive, but the fact that he's currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren't being spared out of the goodness of his Father's heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.

Rating: T

Notes: Here we are a year later lmao. Sorry it took so long, you guys know how life is. Unbetaed

Chapter Number: 5

By the time Chloe arrived at the crime scene--a small convenience store just inside city limits--the paramedics had already packed their third zombie victim into the ambulance. Dan was on the scene, conversing with some of the techs and occasionally gesturing at the ground. He hadn’t noticed her pull in yet, and for that Chloe was eternally grateful. Arriving here undetected meant that she could have a few moments to herself before having to go out and act like her world wasn’t just turned upside-down the night before.

Chloe closed her eyes and let her mind drift. Thoughts of her father and Nicholas Keller and Maria Poncé mingled with dinner menus and Trixie’s upcoming parent-teacher night. For a moment, Chloe felt normal again. She mentally sorted through the laundry that needed done and configured the drive time between Dan’s apartment and Lux, just as she would have done any other day. Her meditation was almost successful until she opened her eyes to ask Lucifer if he could pick Trixie up from school next week, only to find an empty seat in his place.

Right, she’d put Lucifer on babysitting duty today.

A stab of guilt shot through her heart when she recalled both John and Lucifer’s bewilderment at being put on house arrest. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to exclude either of them from her day but honestly what did they expect her to do? Chloe wasn’t about to turn a 1990s John loose on a 2020s world without supervision. It wasn’t her fault that the only person who could fill that supervisor role was Lucifer.

But even with her self-reassurances, Chloe couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a horrible daughter and an even worse partner.

“I am a good daughter,” Chloe finally said aloud. “There is nothing wrong with leaving Dad with Lucifer. They’re grown adults, everything is perfectly fine.” But everything was not perfectly fine. People didn’t just come back from the dead. Especially not the fathers of divine miracles. Chloe had tried to ignore this whole clusterfuck and focus strictly on work, but the more she pushed it off, the more unbearable it was becoming.

Chloe banged her head lightly against the steering wheel. How did this become her life? She was supposed to be taking Trixie to the beach on the weekends and having dinner with Lucifer after a long day at work, not dealing with resurrected fathers.

Chloe groaned. Ugh, who was she kidding? She was a horrible daughter. Lucifer and John were strangers at best and enemies at worst. If the awkward silence in the kitchen was anything to go by, it was leaning more towards the latter. And instead of trying to diffuse the situation, she’d confined them to a tiny apartment with only each other as company.

Chloe knew it was wrong to just dump John on Lucifer like that, but when she’d come downstairs to see her father still alive and talking to Lucifer, she’d just panicked. Whether she chose to acknowledge it or not, Chloe wasn’t ready for her past to meet her present. John’s death had always acted as a divider between her wild-child acting days and her normal life on the force. Packing away all of her grief into her life before the force had been the only thing that could ease the sting of John’s death. When Perry Smith had tried to shatter that wall around the first nineteen years of her life, Chloe had retreated further into her budding relationship with Lucifer to cope. The method had always worked. The day after Perry Smith’s trial, Chloe was back at work and all thoughts of John Decker were firmly locked out of sight. That wasn’t the case anymore. Now those clear lines between before and after were blurred and there was no telling what kind of unresolved emotions would slip through the cracks.

Knock knock.

Chloe jumped at the sound. She whipped her head around to find Dan, fist poised to knock on her window a third time. She stared blankly at him for a second as she collected her thoughts. Dan made an opening gesture with his other hand, and Chloe cracked open her door.

“Hey,” he said in greeting. He stepped out so she could open her door completely.

Chloe unclipped her seatbelt and got out. “Hey,” she said back. “What do we have?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Our vic’s name is Alandra Chase. She’s twenty-four.”

Chloe cringed, she hated the young ones. That was their second victim under thirty this week. “What happened?”

“Well around 6:30am Chase stopped by this convenience store to buy a coffee and when she came out a guy came out from around the corner and tried to take her purse. There was a struggle and eventually the mugger ripped the purse out of her hands. Chase fell backwards and hit her head on the edge of the sidewalk. I guess she was laying here for about fifteen minutes before anyone noticed.”

That made Chloe double take. “Nobody heard the struggle? Not even the clerk?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “The guy at the counter says he didn’t hear anything, but you know how people just turn a blind eye to stuff like this. Especially in this area.” They came to a stop by the convenience store door. “But we did manage to catch the altercation on the security cameras, so it’s not a total loss.”

Chloe nodded and knelt down to examine the small blood spatter on the concrete. Had it not already been marked, Chloe doubted she would have noticed it. These types of fatalities rarely had a lot of blood, but this was on another level. It was as if she hadn’t even hit the ground. “Was she ever pronounced dead?” she asked him.

“Yeah. The coroner established her TOD like twenty minutes beforehand. The next thing we know, she’s thrashing around in the body bag.” Dan made a face and Chloe mirrored him; what an awful way to wake up. She sat back on her heels and surveyed the scene again, trying to imagine the uproar Alandra Chase caused.

“So why am I here? You guys seem like you have everything under control.”

“Well initially we thought this would take a lot longer than it did. Obviously that’s not the case. But you being here actually works out. The lieutenant wants us to go interview the first two victims. The sooner the better, he said.”

“Alright let’s go then.” As she stood back up, Chloe caught a whiff of something sweet. “Hey do you smell that?”

Dan inhaled. “What, the pot?” He chuckled. “Yeah so?”

Chloe waved her hand. The scent seemed to grow stronger with the motion. “No, no. It smells like--” she inhaled. “--Like the fairgrounds? Like that thick, disgustingly sweet smell that’s always hanging around the cotton candy stall.”

“Uh no, sorry, didn’t smell that.”

She shook her head. Whatever it was, it was familiar. Chloe knew she’d smelled it before, and it wasn’t at the fair. It couldn’t be. That conclusion just seemed too...easy. No, she told herself, we’re putting a stop to that train of thought right now. She was being paranoid. Her, Dan, and Trixie had just visited the fairgrounds a couple of weeks ago. Her brain was just mixing memories.

She swore quietly to herself. Here she went again, letting her imagination run away with her sanity. Everything about this case was putting her on edge, and Chloe vowed that she was going to take a long vacation after it was finally closed.

“Hey do you care if we ride together?” Chloe said, changing the subject.

Dan seemingly took the change in stride. “Yeah sure. Take my car?”

Chloe nodded and they set off towards his unmarked Charger.

The drive to the hospital was uneventful at best. LA traffic made it last three times as long as it should have been, but that was old news for locals like them. On any other day the hold up would have annoyed Chloe like it annoyed thousands of other LA drivers. Today; however, she welcomed the idle feeling of the traffic jam. It was familiar, and boy could Chloe use a bit of familiarity right about now. In fact, the sea of cars and asphalt was so mundane that Chloe could almost forget about the emotional trainwreck that undoubtedly awaited her at home.

Not for the first time that morning, Chloe missed the life she’d had just the week before. Back then, people coming back to life might have been strange but nothing too out of the ordinary for the girlfriend of the Devil himself. But then John had to go and show up at her door and change all of that. Now it was personal. And it was because of that that there was a part of her that wished she’d never answered the door last night.

Chloe bit her tongue at such a selfish thought. She should be grateful that her father was even here to begin with. If Lucifer was to be believed (and Chloe had no reason not to), things like this never happened. Lucifer’s Father didn’t allow such things to happen. This was, quite literally, a once in a lifetime opportunity. But Chloe was a homicide detective and homicide detectives didn’t know how to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

If people found out that John was alive, they’d start asking questions. Questions that would attract unwanted attention. Chloe knew if they weren’t careful, sooner or later the feds might be knocking on their door. And then what? They find Lucifer there, informing anyone who asks that he’s the Devil, and then round them both up for testing? Chloe mulled over her mounting paranoia. That situation didn’t even account for other factors like Penelope Decker.

She’d spent the majority of her morning routine debating whether or not she should even call her mother and tell her the news. Penny was John’s wife after all, if anyone had a right to know that he was alive it was her. But Chloe just couldn’t bring herself to make the call. If John's sudden resurrection came to an equally sudden end, living through John’s death a second time just might break Penny for real.

Chloe remembered the years following John’s death with startling clarity. Her mother, despite being the greater source of income, had relied on John for everything. Penny was a free spirit and often remarked that without her husband, she’d just fly away. John was always the one that made sure the bills got paid on time, that Chloe got to her acting lessons or her school functions, and that the groceries got bought on a regular basis. When he died, it was like Penny’s tether to earth was severed. In the few weeks following the funeral, she’d floated around the house like a ghost, never speaking and staring listlessly at the American flag gifted to them by the LAPD. When Penny had finally stopped being a shadow of herself, she’d thrown herself into her work, booking every convention circuit in the country and leaving Chloe behind to pick up the pieces. It was only in the past three years that Penny had started to make an effort to reconnect with LA and her family.

Chloe thought about the way Penny smiled the last time she’d visited for dinner and decided that she would not call her mother. She knew it was the wrong choice, but the alternative was reopening a decades-old wound that was only just starting to heal. Still, Chloe couldn’t shake the conflicted feelings rising up through her gut. The closer she and Dan got to the hospital, the more noticeable the feeling grew. It had rolled slowly up her throat the deeper her thoughts spiraled and the pressure to voice her fears was almost unbearable now.

When they finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, Chloe opened her mouth. “Dan can I ask you something?”

Dan blew out a breath, the first sound he’d made since they’d left the crime scene. “Yeah, of course.”

“If your tía Josefina was one of our zombie victims, what would you do?”

An uneasy silence swept through the car at the mention of his favorite aunt and legal guardian. Josefina had been dead for only half the time that John Decker had, but Chloe knew that the passage of time changed little about the rawness that followed the death of a parent.

Dan scoffed, and she knew she’d caught him off guard. “Chloe what’s bringing all this on? Are you and Lucifer doing okay?” When Chloe didn’t answer, he continued. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that he didn’t show up to work today.”

“No it’s not that, I promise,” she said quietly, deliberately avoiding his gaze. If anything, Lucifer was the only comforting thing about this whole process.

“Okay then what is it? Because this just didn’t come out of nowhere, Chloe. You’ve been out of it since we got in the car.” He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Look, I know we’re not together anymore and we haven’t been for a long time, but I still worry about you. I know I didn’t do a great job showing that before, but I promise I do.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the heavy hand on her shoulder making them feel like minutes. Finally Dan spoke again, his voice low and coated with emotion. “I would be beside myself if mi tía came back to life today. I fucked up so much right before she died. I would give anything to show her that I finally did something with my life. And that she didn’t waste hers on raising me.”

After hearing that, the guilt in Chloe's heart seemed to seep into her lungs. She took a few deep breaths to reassure herself that she wasn't completely drowning in it yet. Of course Dan would want to see Josefina again, it was stupid of her to think he would answer any other way. Even still, Chloe wished he had, if only to quell the overwhelming feelings of shame that had been boiling under her skin all morning.

An ambulance roared past their car and skidded to a haphazard stop in front of the ER doors, reminding Chloe of the real reason they were here. She took in one last deep breath. Now was not the time to break down, she told herself. Chloe silently collected all of her negative thoughts and shoved them into an imaginary box, just like how John had taught her to do when she was eleven and ostracized by her classmates. After locking the box into the farthest fringes of her consciousness, Chloe covered Dan’s hand with hers. “Josefina would be very proud of you, Dan,” she muttered absentmindedly.

“I know,” he said, mimicking her prior response. “And Chlo’?” She finally turned to look at him. “Your dad would be proud too.”

Chloe nodded. So Dan had known what this was really about.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Without another word, they both got out of the car and made their way into the hospital. The silence persisted through the check in and badge verification process until a nurse called their names and motioned for them to follow her.

“So how about you take Nicholas and I’ll take Maria, does that sound good, Chloe?” Dan asked, shuffling the files in his arms as if to remind Chloe that they still had a job to do.

“Yeah that’s fine,” she said, taking Nicholas’ file from the stack.

Chloe was embarrassed to say that for a second time she had almost forgotten that they were here to interview Nicholas and Maria. She mentally shook herself; she really needed to get a grip. The world didn’t end because her deceased father of seventeen years randomly came back from the dead the night before. Chloe paused and considered her words. Shit, the world really wasn’t going to end because of some pseudo-Rapture bullshit right? Right? She made a mental note to text Lucifer about it after the interviews, praying that his current uneasiness had nothing to do with the potential end of days.

The nurse continued to lead them through a maze of sterile hallways and bustling nurse’s stations until they finally reached a small, secluded hallway. They stopped in front of a room.

“This is Mr. Keller’s room. Ms. Poncé is at the end of the hall, last door on the left,” she said, gesturing at the rooms in question. “I can escort whoever will be visiting Ms. Poncé the rest of the way if needed, detectives.”

Dan turned to Chloe once more. “Meet back at the car when we’re done?” She hummed in affirmation. He dug into his pocket and produced a set of keys. “Here, take my keys so you’re not waiting around. I have a feeling it’s gonna be awhile for me.”

Chloe took the keys and waved him off. She had a similar feeling about Nicholas’ interview. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Dan said over his shoulder, already following the nurse down the hall.

Chloe took a deep breath before stepping into Nicholas’ room. To her surprise, he was awake. She knew at this point she shouldn’t be surprised by anything the zombie victims did anymore, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Tis the folly of humanity, darling she could hear Lucifer saying in her head, mortals cannot help their curious inclinations towards the supernatural.

And if Chloe hadn't been convinced that there was some supernatural intervention involved in Nicholas’ fate, she was now. Nicholas looked like he’d been to hell and back. Chloe couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to that statement. He looked similar to the last time she’d seen him: thick black hair, gangly limbs, and a small scattering of pimples across his face. However, where his eyes had been filled with desperate ferocity at the crime scene, here they were almost vacant, as if drifting on a morphine high. She supposed he probably was after getting stabbed in the chest.

“Hello Mr. Keller,” she began.

His brown eyes dragged over to meet hers, but he didn’t return the greeting.

Not a totally abnormal response, Chloe noted.

“I’m Detective Chloe Decker.” She brushed aside her jacket so he could see her badge clipped to her belt. “I work in the homicide unit, and I’m here to get some more information about your case. May I ask you a few questions?”

Nicholas blinked, but still said nothing.

“Mr. Keller, I need your consent before we can begin,” she prompted.

“Yes,” he said. His voice was softer than she remembered.

“Okay great. Can you tell me anything about the person who might have done this to you?”

Nicholas just stared at her, as if already worn out from speaking. Chloe held his gaze. Finally, as if in slow motion, he opened his mouth to speak again. “Tall. Black stocking cap. White. Male.” He rattled off the list with near mechanical rhythm.

The information was minimal, but Chloe wrote it down anyways. “Anything else? No identifying tattoos, markings, or piercings?”

His eyes glazed over for a moment, and Chloe suppressed a shudder. It was like talking to a corpse. “An outline of a star on his inner forearm,” he said slowly.

Now that was something she could work with. “Do you know which arm it was, Mr. Keller?”

For the first time, Chloe saw a hint of humanity flash across his face. Nicholas’ thick eyebrows knitted together and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Left. I saw it when he…” he absently touched his bandaged chest.

“I understand,” she said.

Nicholas’ hand dropped back into his lap like a stone, face falling blank once more.

“We don’t have to talk about the altercation right now, Mr. Keller,” Chloe told him gently.

He gave her an aborted nod.

“Let’s talk about motive. Is there anyone who would be upset with you or who would want to kill you?” Nicholas said nothing. Chloe shuffled some papers in his file. There had to be something in here that could get through to this kid. And he truly was a kid, she’d realized. Nicholas’ file said he was nineteen. Hell, apparently he even still lived with his mom.

“It says here you live at home and attend community college, is that correct?” At the word ‘home’ Nicholas pursed his lips. Gotcha, Chloe thought. “Nicholas,” she leveled her best mom look at him, “is your father in the picture?”

Nicholas looked as if he wanted to shrink down three sizes. “No. He’s dead.”

Damn it. Another dead end. But at least she’d got him to open up a little bit. He was still stiff but at least now Chloe didn’t feel like she was talking to a shop mannequin. Some of the hollowness had finally left his cheeks and his eyes had gained a little bit of the fire she’d gotten a glimpse of when he’d first come back to life. Chloe didn’t know what kind of chord she’d struck in him when the mom voice came out, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try and pursue it. But first she had to play the part.

She took a tentative step closer to Nicholas. His eyes didn’t move from the spot where she’d been standing. Taking his silence as a good thing, Chloe pulled a plastic chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. For a moment, she imagined Trixie was the one in this bed, waiting for Chloe to come tuck her in or to tell her one last bedtime story.

She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling a little choked up. “You don’t have any siblings either, is that correct?” she said, still a bit shaken.

He shook his head, eyes still fixed on the space she’d occupied a minute ago. “Just me.”

She rested her elbows on the railing of his bed. “And your mom, right?”

Nicholas’ head whipped around, all disassociation gone. “Yes,” he said breathlessly.

“And you would do anything to protect your mom?”

“Yes.”

“Help do the dishes?”

“Yes,” he said more adamantly this time.

“Help bring in the groceries?”

“Yes.” He was panting now.

“Help pay the bills?”

Nicholas jerked forwards, his face contorting into a mask of frustration. “Yes!” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

He was mere inches away from her face. So close, in fact, that Chloe could smell his breath. It smelled sweet.

She took a moment to let them both compose themselves. “How do you help pay the bills, Nicholas?” she finally asked. Nicholas’ jaw clenched. “Because we don’t have any record of you holding an on campus job or any job for that matter.” Chloe paused, watching his face for the slightest flicker of recognition. When there was none, she continued. “I don’t want to assume because you seem like a nice boy, but the street we found you on is a popular spot for--”

“Drugs! Yes I know!” Nicholas’ chest was heaving now. His eyes looked as wild as they had when he’d tried to pull the knife from his chest. His eyes ran a quick length up and down her person, almost on the verge of tears. “I know,” he said again, voice shaking. “It’s been the only thing that makes ends meet.” He said the last word with a sob. “This was only my third time--it was gonna be my last time.” Nicholas gulped down a rattling breath. “The guy didn't like that. He said he wanted back all the money I’d made. When I said I didn’t have it, he pulled the knife on me.”

They sat in tense silence as the weight of the situation seemed to sink into Nicholas for the very first time.

“He almost killed me,” he half-whispered to himself.

Chloe refrained from correcting him.

Something about the way he’d wondered his last thought out loud reminded Chloe of the time she visited Jimmy Barns in the mental hospital. It took everything in her power to keep the discomforting thought from showing on her face. She let the silence stretch out between them for a minute more before she stood up. “I think that’s enough for one day.”

Nicholas whimpered.

“The LAPD will be in touch with you later this week to give a full, detailed account of the events that transpired this morning.” She uttered her scripted closing statement with the same sort of mechanicalness that Nicholas had when she’d first arrived.

Without waiting to hear his response, Chloe fled from the room. She didn’t even bother to walk down the hall and check in on Dan. Instead, Chloe made her way to the car, more than ready to leave and never come back.

To be completely honest, she couldn’t really pin down what was so unnerving about Nicholas Keller. The whole thousand yard stare thing was pretty creepy, but his sudden bouts of mania had been as frightening as they had been unexpected. Either way, Chloe was utterly exhausted emotionally and physically. Her heart had pounded when she’d seen Nicholas’ short fuse rear its ugly head.

His file hadn’t indicated any anger issues or bipolar disorder, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Chloe knew from her experience on the force that men rarely got the source of their anger issues diagnosed, let alone put on a medical record.

When she got to the car, she wasn’t surprised to see that Dan was absent. As far as interviews go, Chloe’s had been relatively short. Even she hadn’t been expecting to get a confession that early on.

To pass the time waiting for Dan to finish up, Chloe made a few phone calls regarding the nature of Nicholas’ would-be murder. Their initial motive for it had been a mugging similar to their third victim’s, due to the fact that Nicholas’ wallet had been missing from the scene; however, in light of his recent confession, it was clear that was no longer the case. Just as she finished up her last call, Dan slid into the driver’s seat.

“Hey so guess what,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Hm?”

“I think I know what you were smelling earlier.”

Chloe’s head shot up. “Yeah?”

“So remember how you said the smell reminded you of the fair?” She nodded and gestured for him to continue. “Well I was interviewing Maria and I kept smelling this weird, nasty sweet smell, and I’m like ‘what is this?’ I couldn’t figure it out for a while until I remembered that the jacket I’m wearing right now was the same one I wore when we took Trix to the fair a couple weeks ago. I haven’t washed it since we were there so I wonder if that’s where the smell is coming from.”

Chloe so desperately wanted to believe Dan, she really did. She had enough weird shit going on right now that she was almost willing to just accept his theory. After all, his reasoning was pretty watertight. Still though, there was one thing that still didn’t make sense.

“As much as I’d love to believe you, Dan, I don’t think it’s your coat,” she said, fidgeting with a few papers in Nicholas’ folder.

His eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”

“I smelled the same thing in Nicholas’ room. It was, like, coming off of him.” Chloe shuddered just thinking about how gross it had been when some of Nicholas’ spit had hit her face.

“What like BO or something?” Dan said in disbelief.

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah trust me, I know.”

Dan shook his head and turned the car on. “I guess that would explain why you caught a whiff of it at Alandra’s crime scene.”

Oh that’s right, she had. Chloe hadn’t even made that connection yet.

As they eased back onto the highway, Dan started back up again. “So not only do we have zombies now we have gross cotton candy smelling zombies. What the fuck even is this case.”

Chloe couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Do you want to know something weirder, though?”

“Hit me.”

“Nicholas’ murder wasn’t a mugging.”

Dan glanced over at her. “What? What was it then?”

“A drug deal gone wrong.”

“Aw, no!” He hit the steering wheel lightly. “Really? That kid?”

She nodded. “Yep, sadly. He said it was the only thing helping him pay the bills at the moment.”

Dan scoffed. “Poor kid.” He glanced in the rear view mirror and changed lanes. “Hey by the way we’re headed to the precinct. I got one of the techs to drive your car there so we wouldn’t have to go halfway across the city.”

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Thank you, I really wasn’t looking forward to going back there.

“Oh yeah, also. How was your interview with Maria?”

“Eh, okay. It was a little creepy if I’m being honest.”

That got Chloe’s attention. “Why?” she asked, trying to keep it as neutral sounding as possible.

Dan made a noncommittal sound. “I don’t know. Maria was just kind of...different.” He gestured to the back seat. “Would you grab her file and see if she has any history of mental illness? I didn’t see any but I want you to double check.”

Chloe did as she was asked. “Nope, doesn’t look like it.”

Dan’s brow wrinkled. “Yeah okay that’s what I thought. Anyway so Maria was just, I don’t know--empty? That’s the only way I can describe it. It was like she wasn’t really there at all.”

“Like she was possessed or something?” Chloe prayed that wasn’t truly the case, she did not need another layer added to this shit sandwich.

“No, not like that. She was just really quiet and had this distant look on her face for a while. I hated it.” Chloe made a face. That didn’t sound good. “The whole thing was just a total Nope for me.”

She couldn’t agree more. “So did you get anything useful from the interview?”

“Yeah I got a few potential leads on who shot her, but that’s about it. You?”

Chloe sighed and threw both Nicholas’ and Maria’s files back into the back seat. “About the same here.”

“Fantastic,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Chloe hummed in agreement.

There was a beat of silence between them. Chloe’s mind drifted back to John and Lucifer, and this time she didn’t try to fight it. She’d have to call and check in with them over lunch. She knew she’d better start preparing herself now. Whenever Lucifer was involved, anything was possible. She frowned at that thought, thinking of just how much the realm of possibility had opened up in the past few days. Chloe glanced out the window at the cars whizzing by and decided that Linda would be getting a long phone call in the near future.

“It’s funny how people can just cling to life like this, huh?” Dan said, quietly breaking the silence.

Chloe forced herself to smile. “It sure is.”

#my fics #fanfic #deckerstar #Lucifer Morningstar #lucifer on netflix

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mybestfriendthedingus · 5 years ago

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Fire Flies with the Fleeting Time ~ Part Three: But I mean nothing to you and I don’t know why

Summary: Reader grew up as an experiment in the Hawkins Lab. Born with the power to manipulate time, the Bad Men train them to be a weapon. But what they don’t realize is, two years from now, their world is supposed to end. And Reader is there to see it. But when Steve Harrington recognizes them among the chaos, an anomaly occurs that drags them both back to the beginning. Now they must retrace their steps and save the world, but one wrong move might be enough to unravel all the time that they have left.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Swearing

Catch Up Here

You stare through the open door at the inner house beyond, frozen in place.

“Uh.” Dustin, who’s been holding the door for the last five minutes — leans towards Steve. “Are they gonna go in or...”

“Just, here. Let me —“ He steps around you, being the first to enter Dustin’s home. Your eyes snap away from the walls and doors to watch him spread his arms, spin in a small circle. “Nothing happened. It’s safe.” He turns back to face you and grins sheepishly, extending a hand and beckoning you forward.

You glance at Dustin and he waves you impatiently forward. A deep breath and you look at the still foreboding clouded sky before you scurry over the threshold, reach for Steve. A shiver runs up your arm as your fingers brush the palm of his hand. Dustin looks between you, shaking his head.

It’s as he closes the door, begins to lock it, that you tense again. But miraculously, like Steve has already read your mind, he blurts, “keep it unlocked.”

“What?”

“Don’t lock it. I’m — I’m claustrophobic!” Steve shifts closer to you. “Feel better if it’s unlocked, y’know,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Easier to uh, get some air in.”

Dustin narrows his eyes, his gaze flicking back to you. “Right...” He steps away from the door though, and you exhale, letting your shoulders drop. Steve squeezes your hand. “This is mental,” Dustin mutters, brushing past you.

“Hey so...you have a first aid kit around here? And a —“ Steve coughs, averting his gaze. “A change of clothes?”

Dustin cocks a brow and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I don’t think that’s really how hand-me-downs work.”

He blushes at your expense and refuses to look at you. “I meant, pea brain, if you have anything of your mom’s laying around. For —“ Steve presses his lips together and waves a hand in your direction.

The expression on his face seems familiar somehow. Like you’ve watched him send Dustin looks of exasperation a thousand times over.

You shake off the feeling.

Dustin’s smile widens into a curious grin and he makes his way down the hall. “Sure, I can go check.”

Steve waits until he’s out of view to go raiding his kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, scouring cupboards and drawers. He perches a knee on the counter and reaches up. “Jackpot!”

“Should - should you be —“

“It’s fiiiine.” He sends you a knowing grin as you follow him to a small table and starts pouring milk and lucky charms into a bowl. “Best friends in the future anyway,” he says around a shovelling mouthful.

“Excuse me, what?” You jerk your head towards Dustin, now standing in the middle of the hallway; nightwear crumpled in his arms, balancing the first aid kit under his chin. He dumps them unceremoniously on the table. “First of all, I leave for five seconds and you’ve already figured out the entire layout of our kitchen and found my sugar stash? Then out of all the cool shit you could’ve revealed about the future and —“ He deflates, slumps into a chair to slam his head into his arms, and waves a vague hand towards Steve. “And I’m stuck with you?”

“Hey!” Steve jabs his spoon towards him and swallows. “I happen to be lovely company alright? And you should be glad I didn’t tell you about Dart.”

“Dart?” Dustin’s lifts his head.

“You don’t wanna know, man,” he says around another spoonful.

“Too late.” Dustin sits up, leans forward. He’s almost bouncing in his chair. “Who’s Dart?” Steve’s mouth turns down in an exaggerated frown and he shrugs. “Come on, you gotta tell me!”

“And risk tearing a hole in the space time continuum? Yeah, no. That’s not happening.”

While the two of them bicker, your gaze wanders around the home. If you’re going to be stuck here for a while, there’s something you need to do. Your gaze snags on something in the kitchen, stuck in a wooden block and maybe that’s just the thing.

You slip into the kitchen. Reach for one of the hilts.

“Hey uh, hate to break it to you dude, but I think your partner might be preparing to stab you in the back,” Dustin says.

“Haha, very -“ Steve’s gaze flicks to you just as you begin to inspect the small blade in your hand “- shit! Y/N!” His chair falls sideways as he leaps up, stumbling towards you.

“Shhh! My mom’s sleeping down the hall!”

Steve glares over his shoulder at Dustin before he slaps the knife out of your hand. It clatters to the ground and your breath hitches. You shy away until the small of your back is pressing uncomfortably against the edge of the counter. Steve steps forward and you flinch. “You didn’t cut yourself or anything, did you?” You look up, tears gathering in your eyes and shake your head. “Shit, Y/N, I didn’t mean to -“

“I can show you the bathroom if you want.” You both turn to Dustin, hovering awkwardly in the archway. “If you want to, um -“ he holds out his arms, offering over the nightwear.

You look down, hands twisting in your stiff, crusty, and blood stained hospital gown, swallowing your rising panic. Your heart slams against your rib cage but you nod. Carefully take the clothes from Dustin and follow him down the hall.

Dustin has the good sense to leave the door open a little, before he leaves you to your privacy. “Okay, what was that?”

You don’t hear Steve’s response as you hurriedly slip the hospital gown off your shoulders and pull the light, frilly material over your head. It nearly swallows you but you realize with dismay that the sleeves don’t reach your wrists.

Wrapping your arms tightly across your chest, you turn towards the mirror. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You don’t look at yourself directly as you turn the tap on, poke at the dark bruises blossoming over your cheek. They ache, your whole body does, but you shield yourself in the comfort of knowing that at least, being back in your time means that any injuries will fade away as time continues to rewind itself.

So long as the Bad Men — and the Upside Down — don’t catch up to you.

The weight of the world falls on you again and a sob breaks past your cracked lips. You don’t know what any of this means and the events are tangling in your head. Was the world crumbling around you? You want to believe that part never happened. But a nagging at the back of your head says otherwise.

You slide down to the floor, hands gripping your knees as you try to steady your breathing.

On the one hand, you’re technically free. You’re out of the lab. You’re not trapped in that empty room anymore.

But then, how soon will you be brought back? There’s no telling what will happen when the Upside Down’s internal clock catches up to you. And those kids...maybe they wouldn’t even give a second thought to taking you back there. Something tells you that would never happen. That even if it did, Steve would never —

Steve.

You close your eyes. Force yourself not to go there. The thing about time is, even if you forget - if that’s what this is - it doesn’t let the problems disappear. They are still there, pressed against the walls of your mind, and no matter what you do, you can’t scrape them away completely. So you live with them, and hope that, because you forgot, they aren’t important enough to address.

You wish that’s not what it had felt like when the two of you were pulled together into this fucked up paradox.

But maybe you’ve torn open more than just the fabric of time.

There’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Y/N?” Your heart drops to your stomach. “Hey, I - I wanted to apologize for scaring you. I just kinda...I saw the knife and freaked out ‘cause I didn’t want you to - to uh...look, I have the first aid kit if you want to -“

You swing the door open. Steve’s wide-eyed gaze darts around the room before he spots you by the sink, and his expression softens immediately. Barely moving into the small bathroom, he crouches and sweeps his gaze over you. “What do you need?”

Your mouth drops open, words nobody has ever given you a chance to say sticking in your throat. You search his expression for any kind of cruelty, hidden meaning. But if there is any, you can’t find it. You furrow your brow and look away.

“I can -“ he licks his lips, inclining his head toward you. “I can leave if you want me to.” You snap your head back towards him and shake your head fervently. Something small and lopsided, maybe not quite a smile but something a bit more hesitant, breakable, curves into his cheek. “Okay. I won’t then. Can I?” He nods to the space beside you.

You scoot closer to the wall on your other side and Steve gracefully flops down. You’re both silent for a while and you take the moment to watch him.

Already the cuts on Steve’s chin are starting to look like old scars from years ago past. A thin line runs from the corner of his lip, down the length of his chin. It won’t be gone forever, you know. As long as the future you left is in tack, it will appear again when the summer of 1985 comes around again, no matter if Steve is in the same fight or not. Even his hair, long enough to curl around his ears with blond highlights running through his thick locks, is starting to revert back to the shorter length his doppelgänger sports; blond beginning to fade and fringe beginning to trim itself back.

“You weren’t really going to stab me, were you?” He asks.

You blink, shaking your head. Besides a cocked brow that could be interpreted as anything, Steve gives no indication that he caught you staring. “No!” You say too quickly. You clap a hand over your mouth, slump your shoulders, slip further down the sink.

He tips his head back and laughs softly. “Glad to hear it.” Your face flames and you duck your head into your arms. ”So, wait. What’d you want the knife for. Never seen one before or?”

For a second, you debate not telling him. But this is the least you should be worried about right now. You lift your head, and pull a chunk of hair forward, moving a finger over it in a slicing motion.

“Wanna cut it?” You nod, biting your lip. Steve looks thoughtful for a moment, then he’s clambering to his feet. “Just, hold on a sec.”

He disappears back into the hall before you can do so much as protest. Murmuring voices float through the door before Steve comes back, a scrunchie over his wrist and an unfamiliar set of two attached blades. He drops them on the floor in front of you.

Your brows furrow and you look up with a frown.

Steve cocks his head, gestures at the objects. “You’ve never...?” You shake your head. “I uh, I can do it. If you want...not that you need to cut it,” he says under his breath.

You bite your lip, considering. What if he could do a lot worse than just a bad haircut though? You lean down and take up the double blades, spinning it in your hands. After a minute of inspection you start to press the outer edge against your hair and saw back and forth.

Steve lets out a breathless laugh and reaches a hand towards you. Your breath catches before he asks, “May I?”

Your heart’s pounding, but you nod, holding out the blades handle first. He takes them, bends down and picks up the scrunchie. You watch closely as Steve carefully positions himself behind you and wait with bated breath.

He starts to gather the hair at the nap of your neck when a not-memory floods your senses.

You’re on a bed in a room you both recognize and don’t. Two girls are giggling behind you, one holding up ribbons against your dark locks while the other breads your hair back with an experienced hand.

“This one?” You realize with a jolt that one of them is Eleven.

“Nah, too dull,” the one you somehow know as Max says. “We want something eye-catching.”

“Eye-catching?” You and El ask in sync.

“Yeah.” You don’t need to see it to know Max is rolling her eyes. “It’s like, rule one in the dating handbook: dress to impress. Don’t ask me why, it just is.”

“Dating?”

“Wh- what?”

In an instant, you’re back in Dustin’s bathroom, kneeling on the tiled floor. Something clatters to the floor. “Shit,” Steve mutters as he quickly retrieves whatever he dropped. “Sorry.”

Silence stretches between you as Steve fiddles with the scrunchie in your hair. Something in you says that you shouldn’t ask, to just stay quiet, but every time you blink you see the not-memory reflecting against your eyelids.

You bite your lip, taking a deep breath. “What...what is it? Dating?”

Steve’s quiet for so long you worry he isn’t even breathing. But then he stutters, “it’s — well I um — I don’t — it’s...” He clears his throat. “It’s, like. You go out with someone, either you ask them out or they do and uh. If — if by the end of the ‘date’ you uh, find that you are interested in getting to know them better or have butterflies in your stomach every time you’re both around each other then...then you continue to go out with them until the interest turns into something stronger like, um.” He exhales a long breath.

“Like?”

“Like attraction or — or love.” His voice breaks on that last word. Love.

Just after his says that there’s a snip and your head tips forward with an immediate lift in weight. You reach your hand back, running fingers through the strands until you reach the newly shorn edges sitting just at the base of your shoulders. You smile and turn to Steve subconsciously. He gives you one in return, something wondrous and sad and different in his gaze.

He lost his love, the voice in your head says.

Steve averts his gaze and raises his hand. It’s your chunk of hair, bound in one thick chopped off ponytail. “What’d you think, put this under Dustin’s pillow tonight?”

A laugh bubbles out of you bright and loud. You clap your hands over your mouth and shake your head. “Don’t - don’t get me involved if you do,” you whisper.

“Excuse you, it’s your hair.”

Another laugh slips past your lips before you have it in mind to stifle it. That is before the door opens. You startle, scooting back until you bump against Steve’s chest, him instinctively wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.

You both stare with wide eyes as Dustin pops his head in. He looks to you, then to Steve, and back again. “Ah, shit,” he groans. “Really? Now? Here I was thinking you —“

“It’s not what you think,” Steve blurts, pulling away from you and standing.

“Right.”

“Really, man. I’m being serious.” He offers you a hand and gently helps you to your feet.

Dustin sighs. “Whatever. Just came to say that whenever you’re ready, your bedroom is second down on the left.” He gestures towards the hall, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You can have the couch. Gonna be pissed if you burn the house down, Steve.”

“Lucky for you, I wasn’t —“ he folds his arms, “— I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“What?” You and Dustin spin towards him.

“Oh really? And uh, where do you plan to go Steve? Back home where your so-called doppelgänger currently lives?”

Steve scoffs. “No.” He averts his gaze and says under his breath, “Was gonna break into my car and scope around the neighbourhood.”

Dustin laughs. “Do that and I’m not gonna be the one bailing you out.”

“Hopper would help —“

You grab his arm and look up at him, shaking your head. “Don’t. Please.” One unspoken word lingers on your tongue that scares you more than anything you have faced today. But Steve meets your gaze, a hidden conversation and promise in his eyes, and nods.

“Fine. Just, let’s finish patching you up yeah?”

You shake your head with a knowing smile, prepared to tell him about the physics of time. “No need.”

******

Steve Harrington is incredibly, irreparably fucked.

Really, his entire life has been one big massive Fuck You. Raised with parents that didn’t give a shit, friends who were willing to drop him at the slightest provocation — and did eventually — with a girlfriend that loved him enough to cheat the minute he chose his own self worth.

But before all that had started to break him, he met you.

You showed up, almost without any kind of trace of where you came from, what your past was — on November 8th, 1983.

Steve never really paid close enough attention to know you. Well, he *did* in some respect. You were ridiculously smart, nearly reciting your shared history class textbook word from word at every question the teacher posed, and perceptive. Almost none of the boys in your chemistry class ever got away with fooling around with experiments, least of all Steve himself.

There had been something about you, but he never knew that it could possibly have been tied to El, or the lab, or the Upside Down.

But he guesses now, that you had been called the Reset Button for a reason considering everything he had come to learn — or will or would’ve learnt if not for the timeline set out in front of him now — that the Bad Man had asked of you.

The kids hadn’t trusted you the second they saw you. It took all of his and Eleven’s efforts to change their minds.

But now it’s like none of that ever fucking mattered anyway.

Because you didn’t remember him.

The mantra that he’s spent years building his walls around, rears it’s ugly head.

It’s all just...bullshit.

Steve rolls onto his other side, face pressed into the couch cushions. Of all the times he has spent sleeping here and it still amazes him how uncomfortable Dustin’s couch really is.

He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to be dragged into a dreamless sleep for once.

No sooner is exhaustion tugging at his brain that he hears it.

Whimpering.

His eyes fling open and he jerks up, searching around the living room, the kitchen, his gaze darting to the hallway.

It isn’t until he hears his name, choked and muffled, that he springs off the couch. Lunges for his bat.

That isn’t there.

He curses softly, dragging his hand through his messy bed headed hair. Still will never understand how he could’ve gone all summer without his beloved bat.

So, instead, he picks up the kitchen knife you had found, and creeps down the hall. Snores can be heard the entire length of it, but Steve stops at the second door on the left, door ajar just as he had left it.

He watches through the sliver for a moment, the sight clutching at his chest. You’re squirming in your sleep, blankets tangled around your legs as sobs shudder through your body.

Steve takes a shaky breath and slips the knife into his pocket. Gently pushes open the door and pads over to your bed.

“Y/N,” he says, lowering himself to the edge of the mattress. He drops a hand to your shoulder. “Hey —“

You jolt up, hands twisted in the sheets, trembling, and gasp. “Steve!”

“Hey, easy. It’s okay.” His brows furrow as you meet his gaze. “I’m here.”

“Steve,” you breath. Before he knows what’s happening, your clawing at his shirt and pulling him closer. He tenses for a moment when you press your face into his chest, but carefully wraps his arms around you all the same. “I - I thought - and they - they took —“

A knot twists in his stomach and he holds you tighter, rubs circles into your back. He’s had his fair share of nightmares. Can feel the demo-dogs launching themselves at him every time he closes his eyes.

He’d never wish them upon anybody so seeing you — hair clinging to your neck and tears soaking into his scoops shirt — it does nothing to quell the longing buried in his chest, sending a pang straight through his heart.

Steve wouldn’t hesitate to go through everything all over again if it meant you were free from all that pain.

Even if there was still a possibility of you never remembering him.

He shakes away the thought and shushes you, rocking you back and forth exactly the way he found out you liked all that time ago. “You’re safe,” he murmurs, tucking your head under his chin. “Just a bad dream.”

“It didn’t —“ You tip your head up to look at him and shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” You’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breathing and sniffling. Steve grabs for the first words he can find. “Tell me more about the time physics.”

You pull away with a frown, and Steve already misses the feeling of holding you, safe and protected, in his arms. “What?”

He shrugs. “Getting my mind off things usually helps.”

You rub a hand across your eyes. “Like what?”

“You tell me.” He grins. “What’s the weirdest thing about time travel?”

It takes you a while to answer and Steve tries desperately to not be distracted by you biting your lip. Eventually, you say, “I got to see the day I was born when I was 12.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Shit, really?”

You nod, averting your gaze. “First time travel. Not fun experience.”

His face falls. He’d struck a nerve. He tries a different tactic. “So does that mean that you have like, a doppelgänger or something?”

“No. Or never seen them?” You rush to explain before Steve gets the chance to ask. “It’s like - it’s like this tether that was given by the Bad Men? Like the up - upside down. It doesn’t —“ You shake your head. “Don’t have one.”

“But I do?”

You nod. “Dunno know how it’ll effect you.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Panic surges through him as he remembers broken fragments of the plot of Back to the Future, the only comfort knowing him still being alive right now. He laughs to soften the blow and you look up, confusion etched in your expression.

“You’re um...never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon,” he repeats what Dustin told him earlier. “You gotta tell me now.”

You sigh. “You’regoingtostartlookinglikehim.”

“Excuse me.” He blinks. “What?”

His voice raises too loud, echoing through the room. He bows his head sheepishly and keeps an eye on the door. It doesn’t open any further.

“Your hair,” you say as explanation.

Something clicks and his gaze is drawn to the scratches along your arms and legs, remembering what you told him about injuries. “I’m...” He licks his lips. “I’m gonna change in relation to how time rewinds?” You nod again. “Jesus christ. I mean, I grew my hair out for a reason!”

“It’ll grow back,” you offer.

“Not the point! Believe me you don’t want to see the fucking...” He searches for the right words. “Glue head I had back then.” He looks up and does a double take. You’re grinning. “What?”

“Glue head.”

“It’s true!” You both begin to laugh softly. “Look. My mom was a stylist back then. She had way way too much hairspray and gel lying around.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Polos too?”

“How did you —“ you give him a pointed look “— right, doppelgänger. But hey! Leave my polos out of...you know what? In my defense —“

“Is there one?”

“Okay, yeah no. You’re right.” He laughs. “How can you defend a fucking polo?”

Your laughter slowly dies down and you look back at the bed. “We should probably —“

“Oh. Oh, yeah, totally.” Steve scrambles off the bed, heart pounding. “You okay? Need anything else before I —“

Your meet his gaze, response quick on your tongue. “Stay.”

“I — are you...” Steve looks between the empty side of the bed and you. “You sure?”

“I think...” You bite your lip again. “What if the - the Upside Down tries to take me in my sleep and...and you’re not here?”

“Would it?”

You shrug. Don’t meet his eyes. “Happened before.”

“I won’t leave. Okay?” As answer, you scoot closer to the edge of the mattress and lay down, back facing him.

There’s something you aren’t telling him, Steve thinks, but for now he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna try to keep you safe.

——

Tag List (click to be added/removed): @jxnehxpper @harringtown

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington au #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #dustin henderson #julia writes fics

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gofordrakgo · 5 years ago

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Dwelling Chapter Fourteen

“She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, ‘What the fuck is this?’ ”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Thirteen

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

The last thing he remembered super clearly was Shea thanking him again, in that gentle, nervous little way she did when she really meant it. He remembered opening his mouth to respond and then bolting off the couch instead. He hoped he’d actually made it to the bathroom before he’d been sick, taking the fact that he was lying on the floor with his cheek pressed against the cool tile as a good sign that he had.

His blanket was thrown over him almost half-hazardly. That wasn’t right… Haphazardly. It was thrown over him haphazardly. As he curled his shaking fingers around the fabric and pulled the blanket tighter around himself he vaguely recalled Shea following him into the bathroom.

He wasn’t sure if he’d begged her to go away or had just wanted to beg her to go away but he was sure that she’d gone and put a glass of water down by his hand and patted his hair in a way that bordered on genuinely sympathetic. And of course that made him a whole different sort of fluttery inside and he had to remind himself again that she was sixteen, and then he told himself that the fact that he had to keep telling himself that was… worrying.

After poking his tummy a few times to be sure he wasn’t going to throw up again he dragged himself to his feet and wibble-wobbled his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly listing expectations, but seeing Shea dangling upside down over the back of the couch like a bat with a book in her hands wouldn’t have been high on the list if he was.

The sight of her made him dizzy, and instead of the greeting he meant to say, he grumbled, “Would you sit properly? You’re making me nauseous.”

She scoffed but did some twisty-turny motion he couldn’t quite make out that landed her sitting up properly on the couch. “Happy?” she said, with that lilt to her voice that told him she was only teasing him.

He grunted and staggered the rest of the way over before flopping onto the couch next to her. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me that at least once every hour since six this morning.” Shea laughed, but he didn’t see what was so funny, so he just glared. More grimaced at her really - the sunlight hurt his eyes. “Did you brush your teeth?”

In lieu of answering, he asked a question of his own, his fingers fluttering to his face as he realized there was more than just a hangover to blame for his blurred vision. “Where are my glasses?” He sounded whiny again. Why did he always sound so whiny? At least it didn’t seem to make her angry.

He had to stifle a gasp at her fingers grazing against his skin, as instead of answering she slipped his glasses over his face for him. Blinking away his shock, he reached up to fix them on his face, mumbling, “Oh. Um… Thanks.”

“You look better,” she commented dryly, and after catching her looking him over almost critically he was quick to look away.

“Just do me a favor.” He pulled the blanket tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t ever let me drink again.”

“Yeah, no kidding…”

He managed to crack one eye open just enough to glare at her which, as happened more often than not with her, made her smirk at him. “Please, tell me you at least got a little bit sick.”

Shea shrugged. “If you want me to lie to you I will, but…”

“You drank as much as I did!” Well, did she really? He wasn’t exactly sure how much he’d had to drink before she joined but he knew for a fact she’d been the one to finish his last glass when she was showing him how she breathed fire. “How could you not have gotten sick?”

She shrugged again. “I think my body may just burn off the effects if that makes sense. It happens with poison too.”

“With…?” He felt his eyes shoot open. “You’ve been poisoned before?”

Her face flushed a wonderfully alien shade of green, and she looked away.

“But you just said! Um… I mean…” He let his voice trail off at the look on her face. Gulping he asked instead, “Do you burn off medicine that same way?”

“No,” she repeated, grumbling under her breath.

“How is that–”

“Some friend of yours called,” she informed him, quickly changing the subject despite the fact that he’d been smart enough to fall silent at her glare - even if she was lying to him.

Drew blinked. “Who?” He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of friends, and the three he did have rarely called out of the blue. Maybe she misunderstood his mother or one of his cousins. Eddie, maybe? Smart as he was, and as much as Drew admired him, he tended to be loud and brash and rushed when he spoke, and he had a hard enough time understanding him even with perfect hearing.

Shea paused for just long enough that he started to wonder if she was just lying to change the subject. Finally, with a one-shouldered shrug, she said, “I think he said his name was Robby or something? I dunno, the guy just started talking before I could say anything.”

“Bobby,” he corrected reflexively, then paused, blinking as surprised curiosity overwhelmed him and made his headache start to fade. So, it really was one of his friends. Strange that he would call, especially on a Tuesday of all days - if they did call it was on weekends, to talk about upcoming plans. Or sometimes for help studying, but it seemed too early for that. “What did Bobby want?”

“He was wondering if you were taking some dorky class with a name too long for me to bother remembering.”

“That’s not exactly– What time is it?”

Shea reeled back, hopefully just surprised by his sudden shouting and not scared or angry at him for it. “A little before one,” she told him, snatching his wrist to shove his watch in his face.

Nearly cursing his earlier reckless stupidity, Drew jumped off the couch. Well, he attempted to. It shouldn’t have surprised him that his foot caught on the blanket and he went tumbling face-first in the direction of the floor. He didn’t get the chance to scream before Shea had shot out her arms and caught him mid-fall with a hand planted on his chest.

His ears were burning as he retreated to his room in an increasingly flustered rush. He could still hear her giggling about his tripping over the blanket a second time by the time he shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure.

He hadn’t been so drunk earlier that he’d forgotten his inebriated decision to skip class, but he wasn’t so hungover now that he still thought it would be a good idea. It was only the second day of the semester! He couldn’t miss the second day! Especially considering his only class on Tuesdays’ was one his boss taught.

Grape juice was reason enough to change clothes entirely and he nearly fell several more times yanking a clean pair of jeans on. Without looking he reached into his dresser to pull out a t-shirt, but the soft, worn-out feeling of the fabric made him slow down for just a moment. The Mighty Martian shirt he’d grabbed, still too big on him a decade and a half later, was reserved for only the worst of days. As much as it meant to him, he didn’t want to risk ruining it.

Carefully folding it again, Drew turned and grabbed a white polo shirt, hoping it would help make him look a little more presentable. There was hardly enough time to brush his hair, let alone water it down to slick it back the way he liked it, so he needed any appearance boost he could get. Was that why robots needed to be so shiny? Because if they got rusted and dirty they’d be more evil-looking or scary? No, he decided, yanking the shirt over his head. No, they were shiny because being shiny is what made them scary. They were just too perfect.

Perfect just like Shea when she smiled at him from her place on the couch. Perfect and scary. And yet somehow, he couldn’t resist smiling back, even as his brain pounded in his skull like it wanted to escape out his eyeballs. Ew. Another word to never use again, Drew decided. Eyeballs. Weird.

“Food,” he stated, realizing only after he did that he said it out loud. “Um… Have you had any?”

She hummed, though he couldn’t tell if she was answering him or just acknowledging that he’d spoken as she turned back to her book. Deciding she would eat if she got hungry - though the day before had disproven that theory - he poured himself a bowl of cereal, which he ate with one hand while attempting to tie his shoelaces with the other.

Milk dribbled down his chin and his laces were more knotted than ever, but his real mistake came after he’d dumped his bowl in the sink. Well, it sort of came the night before, when he’d done his homework on the couch rather than in his room, and had been stupid enough to leave his backpack unzipped. But asking Shea to toss it in his direction certainly didn’t help.

He realized as she reached down for it that her looking inside would probably not end well for him. He never got the chance to tell her to wait. Sure enough, though she didn’t bother looking up when she grabbed it for him, the loose contents of his backpack spilled out as it hurtled through the air in his direction. Paper flyers fluttered to the ground much the same way fleets of spaceships on Mighty Martian and Captain Constellation landed, which was not a comparison he should have been mentally noting at that moment, all things considered.

Just his luck, his notebooks and textbooks all stayed safely inside, and he ended up stumbling back a step as the still-heavy bag smacked him square in the chest, a yelp escaping him as he futilely tried to grab for the papers. Shea glanced up at the commotion.

“I’m– Just let me!” Drew snapped in a panic, rushing forward to grab her hand in an attempt at stopping her from inspecting the papers. He missed completely, not that she seemed to have noticed him trying to stop her as she plucked one of the fluttering flyers out of the air.

“Ever heard of closing your—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and he risked a nervous glance at her face. She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, “What the fuck is this?”

He was fairly certain, for a brief moment, that her eyes were glowing with her anger, and he continued to move backward toward the door.

“I don’t– It wasn’t– I thought I– Nngh!”

And with that he shoved open the door and fled, leaving Shea glaring at him from inside his apartment as he raced down the hall. He stopped running halfway down the first flight of stairs, his lungs burning already. There’d been no sound indicating the door had opened, so, for whatever reason, she wasn’t following him.

Chastising himself for being such a coward all the while, he made his way to the bus stop, ripping yet another flyer from the billboard while he waited. Shea wasn’t stupid, he knew, so she knew exactly what she was seeing. He’d just hoped she wouldn’t have to see it, was all. He hoped even more that taking them down had been the right choice, even if not telling her what he knew wasn’t.

He had figured out the truth the day they went to the library. Her story about getting struck by a comet had intrigued him, and having just seen her fascinating superpowers he was inclined to believe it. But he was sure something like that would have been reported. So, while she searched for books, he spent his time searching for… well, her. Her comet, at least.

Drew rested his head against the cold window, despite the fact that it pressed his glasses into his face and knocked his head hard enough to hurt. He still didn’t understand how she’d made it all the way to Lowerton from someplace called Go City in seemingly just one day, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up. Even harder to bring up was Shego, which he’d been able to tell was her even with the mask covering her eyes in the glossy black and white photo.

It wasn’t that he had a problem with it! The opposite, in fact! He wanted to talk to her about it. It was pretty cool, considering the coolest thing he’d ever done was… he wasn’t sure he’d done anything people considered cool. But she hadn’t brought it up, and he wasn’t sure she wanted him to know.

He thought he was sure, at least, that she wouldn’t want flyers hung up everywhere they went. When he saw the first one on his way to class the day before, he’d ripped it down in a panic. And then he’d exhausted himself running around trying to find any others around MIST’s campus. He’d been strangely offended on her behalf when they all called for help finding Shego. Then he’d questioned if she just made up the name Shea so he wouldn’t figure out who she was earlier. He still wasn’t sure.

All he really knew now, he thought as he wandered off the bus and in the direction of the neuroscience building, was that people were definitely going to want the reward attached to handing her in, he didn’t want her to disappear (even though she was a pest), and that, now, she was mad at him. And he really, really, didn’t want her to be mad at him.

An arm thrown around him suddenly made him yelp, pulling him out of his thoughts about how he was going to explain himself to Shea when he got home. So long as she hadn’t run away…

The shiny metallic rims of round glasses came into his view through the corner of his eye and Drew forced a smile at Bobby Chen who hardly spared him a glance as he dragged him faster toward the neuroscience building. “So, you are in Advanced Neurobiological Chemistry with me right, Lipsky?” Bobby asked. “I’m thinking I could use that brain of yours.”

“Sure, I am,” Drew muttered, only just paying attention to what was being said to him.

Bobby elbowed him gently in the ribs, and he blinked, focusing his attention on him. “Family visiting or something? I tried calling, but you weren’t the one who picked up.”

“Oh, that was just my new roommate,” he explained, with what he was sure was an unnoticeable hint of resentment in his voice. He didn’t want to remain upset about his three friends ditching him all the way out in Lowerton for a house on the outskirts of Upperton, but he was hardly able to help it. It wasn’t even that he was mad at them, so much as at the fact that he couldn’t possibly afford to join them, even splitting the cost between the four of them.

Although, he thought brightly, if he had moved in with them he never would have been able to meet Shea. So far, he didn’t think he’d make that trade. Sure, he was more than a little nervous about going home after class now, but he still liked her. She was interesting, even before the superpowers. There was just something about her that he was drawn to. Hell, even the night they’d met he had been secretly thrilled when she continued to follow him after he’d told her to leave him alone.

“Your roommate sounded an awful lot like a girl,” Bobby said with a slight grin, and before Drew could point out that that was because she was, they’d entered the classroom and were immediately hushed and told to find seats. Cringing back slightly at the glares shot their way for the disruption - although class hadn’t officially begun yet - the two shuffled to seats at the side of the room, as close to the front as they could get, wearing matching blushes.

“This will not be an easy class,” the accented voice of the professor declared, as he walked to the front of the classroom. “As students here at MIST, I expect all of you to be able to handle the work.”

Dr. Cyrus Bortel, a short, dark-haired, man in his early forties, was a genius in every way, and Drew had never admired another human being more. Dr. Bortel had been the one to scout Drew out when he was just thirteen, offering free tuition for him to attend some of his introductory courses.

Although it took a few years for his mother to agree, the offer was never dropped. In exchange, Drew had had the privilege of working alongside him since his very first day of college. Sure, sometimes he wished his tasks went beyond grading, fetching lab equipment, and teaching the occasional lecture, but he still knew he was incredibly lucky to watch the man work at all. Not to mention the perk of practically being paid to attend college.

“You can come to me if you’re ever struggling,” Bortel droned on. Much as Drew admired him, even he couldn’t find a way to make syllabus day entertaining. “There is no TA in this course, however,” the man wandered towards where Drew sat, gesturing to him briefly, “I trust Mr. Lipsky here to be of aid to any student who needs it if you ever cannot reach me.”

Drew gave a tense nod at his mentor, and then another in the direction of the room, hoping his ears weren’t as red as they felt. He pushed his glasses up higher on his face, as Bobby snickered beside him and gave his arm a light shove as the professor walked away.

Twenty minutes later, having learned little more than if Dr. Bortel would accept late work (he wouldn’t) and if he would be giving assignments every week (he would), Drew found his eyes closing against his will. Exhaustion combined with the panicked nerves still making his heart thunder inside his chest at sporadic moments seemed to catch up to him all at once.

The next thing he knew, he felt someone kick his shin under the table and his whole body went rigid as he blurted out, “I’m sorry!” Giggles started up from the few tables around him, but the rest of the room hadn’t seemed to notice his nodding off.

“At least you don’t snore,” Bobby mumbled to him with a shrug, as he wiped drool off his cheek. It was of little comfort (though he appreciated the effort) as Dr. Bortel’s gaze turned to him.

Drew gulped. The only time he’d been yelled at by a teacher of any sort had been when he was seven. He’d bitten another child who’d been sitting in the waiting room at the speech therapist's office. He still stood by the fact that the kid had deserved it, but his therapist had screamed and screamed at him until he was crying even more than the boy with teeth marks in his arm.

He resided himself to being yelled at by one of his favorite people in the world, willing away tears already. But then, Dr. Bortel just shook his head, laughing as he said, “I told you, you didn’t need to grade those exams so quickly, Drew. Look at you, you’ve exhausted yourself!”

He shrugged meekly back in response, perfectly content to accept that over shouting.

As the class came to an end, Bortel waved goodbye to the students as they shuffled out past him, giving Drew a pat on the back as he walked by which made Bobby snicker, “Teachers’ pet,” under his breath. Much as he knew he was kidding, it still worried Drew to think others would see him as a suckup. Teachers had always liked him and typically that meant students… well, didn’t. Thankfully nobody else said a word to him if they paid him any mind at all.

Bobby’s arm came to rest on Drew’s shoulder, and he slumped a bit to allow it. “Are you joining the rest of us for lunch, Drew?”

He almost agreed. He almost agreed for the sheer fact that he didn’t want to go back to his apartment and explain himself to Shea. But that same fact was exactly what had him shaking his head and saying, “No, no. I um… I need to talk to my roommate about something, actually. Tomorrow though!”

“We’re all busy tomorrow,” Bobby sighed. “But we’ll be over at your place on Saturday, right? Your… roommate won’t mind?”

Something about the way he hesitated before saying, “roommate” made Drew pause. It almost sounded like he didn’t believe he had one. He dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. He had no reason to disbelieve him. He’d even spoken on the phone with her! Just because she wasn’t paying rent didn’t mean it didn’t count. Not that Bobby knew that, he assumed.

“I’ll ask,�� he said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He hoped so at least. They always got together on Saturdays to watch the newest episode of Captain Constellation and play Hideaways and Hydras.

Worse, he remembered halfway to the bus stop, tearing down three more flyers on his way, was the possibility that she was already gone. He didn’t know, though it had only been a few days, how he was meant to move on if she’d decided she didn’t trust him anymore. If she was gone… He didn’t know what he’d do with himself. They’d never even gotten to get their ice cream…

Running the rest of the way to the bus stop did absolutely nothing to get him back to the apartment any faster, considering he still had to wait for the bus. Of course, he managed to forget that. Some genius he was! He bounced from foot to foot the entire time he waited, at least until an older woman asked him if he “needed to go potty,” which embarrassed him enough to make him sit down and wring his hands until his bus arrived. He all but threw himself down in the back seat, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the old woman.

He moved as fast as he could while still being able to breathe, all the way back to the apartment. Six flights of stairs later, he cautiously tried the door. It was closed now, unlike when he left, but it was still unlocked.

The creak of the door as he pushed it open made Drew cringe. Coming face to face with Shea standing cross-armed and clutching a fistful of the flyers in her hands on the other side of the door made his mouth go drier than the surface of Mars.

“Hello,” he managed, his voice croaking like a frog going through puberty. Ha. If she didn’t hate him he’d have to remember to tell her about that thought. She’d probably think it was funny too… eventually. At the moment she didn’t exactly look ready to laugh at anything. She just thrust the flyers at his chest - more pushing him than anything else - knocking him back a step. Her quirked eyebrow was perhaps the only indication he had that she was giving him the chance to explain himself. “Can I– Can I come in?”

“It’s your apartment,” she muttered, sarcastically gesturing him inside.

“We should change your bandages,” he blurted, pointing at her hands, still bandaged from the small fire the night before. He knew he was jabbering in what he also already knew was a terrible attempt at getting out of the upcoming conversation.

The flyers still clutched in her hand caught fire and fell around their feet in a pile of ashes. She tore the in-tact bandages off her left hand, throwing them at him. “My hands are fine and you know it!” Shea said, in a low voice that he decided was far worse than if she’d yelled at him. “What else do you know?”

Drew squeaked and moved away from her a few steps. “I… I know you aren’t an alien.” Now that he thought of it, he was surprised the idea hadn’t occurred to him before he’d looked her up. “I was only trying to help,” he pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender. Her glare softened, fading just enough for him to risk stepping closer, repeating himself as he reached a hand out toward her.

She stepped away from him as if suddenly he were the one with dangerous superpowers. It made him want to cry even more than the fear of Dr. Bortel yelling at him had. “You know,” she snapped at him like a… like a snapping turtle, “it makes sense that I wouldn’t know how to bring this up but you knew. You knew and didn’t say anything. And here I was planning on telling you the truth like some kind of idiot.”

“I was going to! I was going to tell you! I’m sorry,” he pleaded. The sight of her eyes brimming up with tears - more out of anger, it seemed, than out of sadness - made his own begin to fill up too. He feared his chance to explain had been lost.

At least when she stormed away it was into her bedroom, the door slamming childishly behind her, rather than out of the apartment and out of his life altogether.

#drakgo #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #shea go #fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #shego x drakken #drakken x shego #Dwelling #chapter fourteen #gofordrakgo #14 pages #4361 words

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