#far from home and no way home never happened | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vivwritesfics · 22 hours ago

Text

Smooth Is The Descent

All your father did was talk of rest, but the emperors didn't take that well. Punishing your father didn't do much, so you were punished instead. It's a shame the champion gladiator they gave you too has no interest in being anything but sweet to you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Warnings: sa (not explicitly written but heavily implied), Canon typical violence, use of the name whore (let me know if I've forgotten anything)

You were never supposed to bear the weight of his words. You hadn't been the one to say them, to let such blasphemies leave your lips. Yet here you were, facing the punishment for them.

"No!" Your father cried when Geta turned his attention to you. "Emperor Geta, please! The words were mine! Do not punish my daughter for them!"

But the general was ignored and you were taken away.

For such punishment, you would have thought it treason your father had spoken. But no, he only spoke of rest, of spending some time at home with his wife and his daughter. His wife, Lucilla. She was not your mother, but you respected her still. The woman your father had chosen to marry after your mother's tragic end.

No more details of your punishment were given to General Acacius. The twin emperors, with sickening smiles on their painted faces, sent your father away before you could utter a word to him, before you could assure him that you would be okay, that you were strong.

Of course, if he knew the true nature of your punishment, he would have stormed the Palace to get you back. He would have taken on every man that stood between him and the twin emperors, slain them then and there.

Whatever your fate was, you knew no harm would befall you. Well, no lasting damage, nothing that would send you to the afterlife. For the moment your hand was placed in Death and you allowed her to lead you to a forever slumber, their control over your father would have been lost.

But it was still a punishment.

With your wrists shackled together, you were led away. Emperor Geta had controlled his men with nothing but the flick of his wrist and you realised that your punishment had been preplanned, prepared for the moment your father stepped out of line.

You had no idea what awaited you. Lashings, beatings. Maybe Caracalla would have you dance for them, for their entire court, the senate, and your father, wearing nothing. That had happened before. Your face had burned with humiliation and your father had been unable to look at you.

Instead, you were taken from the Palace. The control the twin emperors had over your father was no secret, the reason why their hold over him was so strong was no secret.

You. It was all because of you.

"Feed her to the barbarians," the man pushing you out of the Palace had said once you'd made it to the Colosseum.

Feed her to the barbarians.

Suddenly, you struggled. "No!" You cried as you tried to twist out of their hold. "No, you can't!" Barbarians. Once slaves from conquered nations, now gladiators, fighting for their freedom.

Your father had been the one to conquer their lands, the one to take them prisoner. There was no telling what would happen once they found out who you were.

"Please," you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, they'll kill me! Once they find out who I am, they'll kill me." Clutching the soldiers armours, you dropped to your knees, still sobbing. "Please," you cried. "Please."

He kicked you away, his sandal hitting your chest. It knocked the very wind from your lungs, left you struggling for breath as you tried to get up. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he spat.

The men outside of the Colosseum, the ones that had watched you pathetically sob, grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You couldn't help they way you cried, your feet dragging and the gravel digging into your skin.

They carried you into the darkness, the only light source being the flicking lanterns along the walls. When you were far enough into the labyrinth beneath the Colosseum, they let you go and pushed you to your knees. The dirt and the gravel bit into your palms as you were pushed forward.

"Come and get your fill," one of the men that had dragged you called, but they weren't talking to you.

One hulking gladiator stepped forward. The very ground shook with every step he took towards you. He crouched in front of you, fingers beneath your chin forcing you to look at him, to look into your eyes. He took in the finery of your clothing, the gold atop your head and the bracelets around your wrists. A girl of status, that was clear.

When he smiled, you saw mostly gums. The smile was ghastly, twisted and evil. The sort of smile you had only seen the twin emperors wear. "She'll do," he said and dragged you to your feet.

"No!" You cried again, screaming in his face as your struggled against your grip. But he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he dragged you away.

A night of torture. That was what it was, nothing more. Torture that never seemed to end. Gladiators that never grew weary, gladiators that kept your torture going through the night. Torture that kept you from the reprieve of sleep.

The sun might has risen, but you weren't to know. It was only when soldiers came to fetch you, threw you a cloak to hide your tattered clothing and your broken state, that you allowed yourself to breathe.

Breathe without the foul scent of gladiator surrounding you. Breathe without tasting death.

Your body ached as you were again shackled and taken back to the twin emperors. Geta and Caracalla revelled in pain and torture, this you knew. Even as General Acacius's daughter, you were not exempt.

You were dragged before the twin emperors, cloak pulled from your body. Geta grinned at the sight of you, at the bruises marring your skin, at the way your legs trembled in exhaustion. At the way your clothing hung in tatters, showing too much of you. It was nothing they hadn't seen before, again down to your punishment.

"A fitting reminder to your father of what will happen should he dare to question me again," Geta said and held out his hand. You couldn't help but tremble as you took it and kissed his ring.

He pushed you away with a demand to clean up before the games. They were in your father's honour, after all. Sick and barbaric games, all for the pleasure of the emperors. Games meant to be in your father's honour, yes, but you knew how much he hated this.

Your horse walked slowly, as if he was aware of just how much pain your body was in. Your patted his neck in appreciation as you rode towards your home. The gates opened as you approached and you rode through. You were slow as you jumped from his back and handed his reins off to your groom.

Holding your cloak closer to your body, you headed inside. As much as you didn't want your father seeing you like this, as much as you wanted to run to the baths before your father or Lucilla could catch sight of you, you couldn't avoid it.

There your father was, dressed all in white. Ready for the games, you realised. He wore concern on his face when he took in your appearance. "Oh, my daughter." General Acacius couldn't hide the sadness from his voice as he strode towards you. "I swear they'll pay for this." When his hands touched you, touched the bruises you were trying to keep hidden, you hissed and pulled away from him.

"Do not speak such things, father," you said as you stepped away from him. "I will be ready for the games shortly."

You bathed as quickly as you could, desperate not to make your father late. God, you could only imagine the anger on Geta and Caracalla if you made him late, could only imagine the punishment that would be placed onto you. Lucillas staff helped you to dress, helped replace the jewellery the gladiators had stolen from you and helped you to fix your hair.

Gathering your skirts, you joined your father and Lucilla. Things were quiet, you refusing to speak on your way to the games. Games, what a silly word for it. What a silly word for men fighting each other for the pleasure and amusement of other men.

You sat silently, head bowed as you rode towards the games. Your father said nothing, you said nothing to him. It was better that way, better if you didn't talk about it. The less he knew, the better. The better for the both of you.

At the Colosseum, you were led to your seats. Led to the Emperors box. Geta and Caracalla stood, observing the crowd as the games announcer announced your father. The crowd roared as your father stepped towards them at the request of Emperor Geta. A request he answered when Geta looked to you in silent threat. They cheered his name and clapped their hands.

"Speak to them," said Emperor Geta as your father turned to return to you and Lucilla. Another request your father couldn't deny, another silent threat made towards you.

It was hard to listen to your father as the Colosseum surrounded you. Mere hours before, you had been here, you had been tortured beneath her walls. The men that would come and fight in the name of your father had been your tormentors through the night. Your eyes stung with fresh, hot tears, but you didn't let them fall.

You were all too aware of the man sitting behind you. Macrinus, the gladiator king. The title did not come from his ability to fight, you knew, but his ability to choose. Choose the best fighters, the one that would win him the most coin. These were his fighters, you realised as your father finished speaking. He came and took his seat between yourself and Lucilla. The crowd was still cheering his name, showing him more love and loyalty than they showed their emperors.

The barbarians from Numidia. That was what the games announcer had called them. You watched, none of their faces those of your tormentors, they they strode into the middle of the Colosseum. Their armour was minimal, some carrying swords, some carrying a sword and shield. Some pointed at the crowd tried to get their attention, tried to elicit cheers, and the rest were more concerned with what was to come.

And one looked towards the Emperors. At least, you thought he was looking towards the Emperors. But Lucilla stilled, and polite smile dropping from her face. "What is it, my love?" Your father asked her, but she could not bring herself to answer.

The rhino and its rider. You knew the face of it's rider, the face of the man that had taken you first the night before. Your blood ran cold as you watched. For the first time, your support when to the barbarians, to Macrinus.

The rider pulled a weapon, something sharp and deadly. The crowd around you cheered for him. Your focus was for the Numidian front and centre, instructing the other gladiators. Unable to hear what he was saying, you sat forward in your seat.

The rhino charged and the gladiators broke, running for the wall. The Beast kicked up sand, preventing you a clear picture of what was happening. "Do not watch the brutality, my daughter," your father whispered, but you couldn't help yourself.

Violence and death didn't fascinate you like it did men. But to see the rider of the rhino brought to his knees? You weren't looking away for one second.

But there was a reason he was undefeated.

You watched the Numidian pick up the gravel and sand in his hands. The rider was focused on him, you realised. He charged but the gladiator stood there, unyielding. He was going to get himself killed.

At the last moment, he threw the sand and it spread out around him, blocking him from view. The rhino still blindly charged, but the Numidian man leapt out of the way. Suddenly, hope soared within you. If anybody could bring down the rider...

With its horn smashed and its rider no longer on its back, the rhino sat in pain. But the two gladiators were on their feet, racing towards the sword. You held your breath as the Numidian grabbed it first, repeatedly used its hilt to hit your tormentor in the head.

But then your tormentor twisted in his hold and grabbed the sword. He kicked the Numidian until he was on the floor and then roared to the crowd.

No.

"The gates of hell are open night and day," Geta said with a grin as he looked down at the Numidian man. "Smooth is the..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember the rest of it.

"Sooth of the descent, easy is the way."

You tore your eyes away from the Numidian man as Lucilla stood.

But the fight was still happening and you were entranced by it. The Numidian was given a shield to aid in his fight. You couldn't help but watch him, eyes roaming over every inch of muscle as he fought back. He was strong, but so was the rider. An even match, the end result came down to skill.

But the Numidian was on the floor and the crowd was chanting. "Mercy! Mercy!" You heard them chant again and again.

"Blood," Caracalla said to his brother wearing a twisted grin. Caracalla always wanted blood.

Geta turned his attention to you. "What shall we do? Shall we show the barbarian Mercy?" No matter your answer, Geta was going to do what he liked.

"Mercy," Lucilla said suddenly, before you could give your own answer.

Geta brought his hand down, channelling the Gods. It was a farce, your God's wouldn't allow this. He clenched his fist, his thumb sticking out. As he did so, the crowd fell silent, waiting with trepidation.

His thumb raised. Mercy. The Numidian man was to stay living, and so was your tormentor. Your breath caught in your throat from the unfairness, the injustice. If the Gods were out there, how could they le this happen?

"No mercy!" The Numidian man shouted as he got to his feet.

"Your life has been spared by the Gods-"

"I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!" The Numidian shouted, interrupting Emperor Geta. Foolish, foolish man.

But the fight resumed. The Numidian man dodged out of the way. He picked up his own sword, and the fight truly began.

It wasn't long until his blade went through the stomach of the rider. Undefeated, yet all it took was a man from another land to end his life. As he sat there, on his knees, the Numidian man took his head from his body with a mighty shout.

He was dead. The man that had taken you so forcefully last night was dead. Many of your tormentors were still alive down there, but not for much longer, not with this barbarian around.

You released a choked sob as the barbarian gladiator walked away.

Emperor Caracalla turned to you, still wearing a sick smile. "Perhaps we should give our new champion a prize," he said, lounging back in his seat. "An insensitive to keep winning."

"You know, brother? I think you are right," Geta agreed and looked back to you. "A fitting prize for our new champion, wouldn't you say?"

Hands gripped your arms and pulled you from your seat. "No!" Your father cried. "Emperors, please! You have no reason to punish her! We have done nothing wrong!"

Emperor Geta levelled your father with a vicious, horrible look in his eye. "If you care about her life, Acacius, you will stay quiet." Geta snapped his fingers and you were dragged away, unable to look your father in the eye. If there were Gods, why weren't they helping you?

They dragged you to the baths and pushed you inside. You fell to your knees in front of the baths and the guards backed away from you, locking you inside.

There he was, already in the water. His eyes tracked you as you stood up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. If you could stand to look at him, you would have seen just how beautiful those eyes were.

"You don't belong down here," he said,

You held your hands in fists by your sides as you watched him, waiting for him to move in some way. But he was completely still, watching you. Waiting for you to move, just as you were waiting for him.

"You're right," you said, holding your chin up high. "I don't belong down here."

He stood, water dripping from his skin as he stepped out of the baths. You looked at your sandals, unable to properly gaze upon, to see how much of a man he really was.

The gladiator laughed when you averted your gaze. But he got dressed, bothering with everything but his shirt. That you could look upon. The defined muscles of his chest, his thick arms. He was beautiful, you realised.

"You don't belong down here, yet you are here. Why?" He asked as he stood before you. You couldn't help but shrink under his gaze as he took another step.

You couldn't press yourself any closer to the wall. But you raised your chin, as if in defiance. "I am here as punishment."

His fingers touched your chin, face close to yours. Even after his bath, he still smelt like the Colosseum. "What did a little thing like you do to deserve punishment?"

Finally, you tore your eyes away from his intense, blue stare. "My father spoke of rest," you spat as you stepped away from him, arms crossed over your chest. "Rome is hungry, she must be fed."

The gladiator released a laugh, bitter and sad all at the same time. "Tell your emperors I don't want the general's whore." He walked away, leaving you in the baths.

Again, you were alone in the Colosseum. If last night was any indicator, it wouldn't be for long. You released a sob as you sat there and desperately wiped at your eyes. 'The general's whore.' The gladiator had no idea who he was talking to. Good.

Footsteps, sandals against the stone floor of the baths. You looked up, your eyed looking into the stormy blue of the handsome gladiator. "Come on," he offered you his hand.

Swallowing, trying to act like you hadn't just been crying, you placed your hand in his. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you against him as he walked you through the Colosseum. The other gladiators stared at you, their eyes hungry. But you looked away, kept your focus on the gladiator holding you. "Why are you doing this?" You whispered.

"You wouldn't survive a night wandering around down here," he murmured as the door to his cell was pulled open.

You swallowed as you walked in. The door was shut behind you as the gladiator walked in. "Sit," he said and gestured to the bed.

You did what you were best at and obeyed. Sitting on the bed, you looked as he sat before you, his hands clasped together. He wouldn't touch you, not in the way the emperors intended for him to. That much was clear.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He stared at you, unspeaking for a good long moment. It was unnerving, the way he just stared. His stormy eyes focused on you. "Hanno," he answered and turned away from you. "I was taken from my home by the general whose bed you warm."

"I do not warm his bed!" You shouted, suddenly on your feet. The notion had bile ready to rise in your throat.

Hanno laughed. "Yet you enjoy his company. You sit with him while you watch us, get sick pleasure from watching us maim each other.”

"I was there by order of Emperor Geta!" You challenged, standing up. "You act as if I have a choice, as if I want to sit there and watch men get slaughtered. No, I hate it! I don't see why you have to fight!"

He stood, too, towering over you once again. "I fight for my freedom." His voice was so low, dangerous, even. "I fight because my home was taken from me by your general. My home, my wife, taken from me because, what? Because Rome was hungry. Do not lecture me on choice."

You sat back down, tears in your eyes. You knew what your father did, but being told such details was something else. "I'm sorry," you sobbed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. "On behalf of Rome, of the general, I truly am sorry."

A sigh left his lips as he sat beside you. "It's not your place to apologise for what the general has done," he said and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Rome has been a corrupt place, long before you came along."

You blinked up at him, tears resting on your lashes. "What was your home like?" You asked and turned your head towards him.

He told you everything, told you about his wife, his home. The chickens he chased away from the crops and the harvest. The conversation always steered back to his wife.

You didn't ask what happened, didn't force him to relive the trauma so soon. But you couldn't hide your yawns, or the way your eyes were drooping. "Rest now," he said as he stood from his cot. "I will not disturb you."

You laid down, but you didn't sleep, not immediately. Your eyes were shut, but you weren't asleep. Every time Hanno moved, you opened your eyes to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to use you. Not that you could stop him. But he didn't. He never laid a hand on you.

Eventually, you drifted off, eyes shut and breathing steady. Hanno watched you for a moment. It wasn’t your fault, what Rome had done to his land, to his home. It wasn’t your fault, what the general had done, and he wouldn't take it out on you.

a/n: definitely more parts to come! I won't lie I didn't mean to find Paul hot but his charms have bewitched me

#lucius verus #lucius versus x reader #lucius verus imagine #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus aurelius #lucius verus aurelius x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #marcus acacius

198 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 2 days ago

Text

COURAGE | OP81

an: i warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse, if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

warnings: substance abuse, religous themes, mentions of death & hospitals.

wc: 4.6k

The church bells rang out over the small town of Willow Creek, their low hum rolling through the autumn air like a solemn hymn. Oscar stood at the edge of his front porch, adjusting the cuffs of his Sunday shirt as he waited for her. He always waited for her.

She emerged moments later from her house next door, pulling her shawl tighter against the chill. The hem of her modest dress caught the breeze, brushing against her knees as she approached. She didn’t say much, she never did on Sundays. Her gaze, solemn and steady, flicked toward the church steeple visible from the end of the street.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her braid catching the sunlight as they started down the gravel path.

The girl was his best friend, his constant, the one person in this quiet town who felt as real to him as the chipped paint on his window frame or the threadbare pews at St. Anne’s.

Their routine was always the same: church in the morning, quiet afternoons spent sitting on his porch or hers, talking about scripture or nothing at all. It was an existence that felt safe and good, built on a foundation as steady as the faith they shared.

But something had shifted in her lately. He couldn’t place it, not exactly. She still walked with him to church. She still bowed her head during the prayers, her lips moving silently along with the hymns. But her eyes were somewhere else, distant and restless, as though her thoughts had wandered too far and couldn’t find their way home.

“I heard Father O’Connell mention the youth retreat next month,” Oscar said, breaking the silence as they neared the church steps. “He said he’s hoping for a big turnout this year. Are you thinking of going?”

She hesitated. The pause was brief, but it was there, and Oscar caught it like a pebble in his shoe.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Then she offered him a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Oscar didn’t press her. He never did. But as they entered the church, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand lingered at the edge of her shawl, clutching it like a tether.

It started with small things.

Oscar didn’t think much of it when she skipped their afternoon talks one Sunday. Her mum had said she wasn’t feeling well, and that made sense. People got sick; life happened. But then she missed the next Sunday, too. And the one after that.

She stopped coming to the Wednesday youth group meetings at church, which was even stranger. For as long as he could remember, she’d been one of the first to volunteer for scripture readings or help organise bake sales. Now, her name wasn’t even on the signup sheets.

Oscar wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like they had a friendship built on confrontation. They’d grown up side by side in the same pews, their lives as intertwined as the ivy creeping up the churchyard walls. But it was a quiet bond, one where words weren’t always necessary.

That’s what made the silence feel so loud.

One Friday afternoon, after work, Oscar saw her for the first time in weeks. She was sitting on the front steps of her house, legs crossed, the heel of her shoe tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.

“Hey,” he called as he approached, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you around.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

Busy. The word felt wrong coming from her, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

“Your mum said you were sick,” he said, testing the waters.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “Yeah. That too.”

He leaned against the porch railing, watching her closely. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t pin it down. Her braid was still neat, her dress still modest, but the way she sat—loose, almost careless—was unfamiliar.

“You coming to youth group next week?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like she was seeing through him instead of at him.

“Just not my thing right now,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice he didn’t recognise.

Oscar frowned. “You’ve been going for years.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, standing abruptly. “People change.”

And just like that, she disappeared inside, leaving Oscar alone on the porch with the sound of her footsteps echoing in his ears.

Over the next few weeks, Oscar saw less and less of her. When he did see her, she wasn’t the same.

The first time he noticed the guy, it was at the diner on Main Street. She was sitting in a booth near the window, her back to him, but he recognised her laugh instantly. She wasn’t alone.

The guy was tall, older, with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He leaned in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Oscar stood outside the diner for a long time, watching them through the glass.

When she turned her head and laughed again, Oscar caught a glimpse of her face. There was something wild in her expression, something unrestrained and electric. It scared him.

He didn’t tell her he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure why.

But the next Sunday, when her mum stopped him on his way to church, the worry in her eyes told him she’d seen it too.

“Have you talked to her?” her mum asked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “She’s… I don’t know what’s going on with her. She won’t talk to me.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” he offered weakly.

Her mum smiled, but it was the kind of smile people gave at funerals.

“I hope so,” she said.

The next time Oscar saw her, it wasn’t at church or on her front porch. It was behind the convenience store on Elm Street, just after dusk.

He had been walking home, the kind of mindless stroll he often took when his thoughts got too loud. The streets were mostly empty, the only sounds the faint hum of a streetlamp and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughter—sharp, jagged, and nothing like the laugh he remembered. It came from the alley behind the store, followed by the low murmur of voices.

Oscar turned the corner, and there she was.

She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The glow of the lighter in the guy’s hand caught her face just long enough for Oscar to see the hollow beneath her eyes, the strange way her smile curled at the edges, like she wasn’t entirely sure it belonged there.

The guy was the same one from the diner, older and out of place in this small town. He said something to her, and she threw her head back in laughter, her voice ringing out into the quiet night.

Oscar froze. She looked so different. Her braid was gone, her hair loose and tangled, framing a face that seemed sharper, thinner. Her clothes were casual but careless, like she’d grabbed the first things within reach. She didn’t look like the girl he’d grown up with—the girl who bowed her head in prayer and scolded him when he skipped scripture reading. She looked like someone else entirely.

The guy noticed Oscar first. He smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Friend of yours?”

She turned her head, her smile fading when she saw him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than he expected.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his throat dry.

She rolled her eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“It is my business,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my friend.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle sound, lacking any real warmth. “Yeah, well, friends don’t follow each other around like lost puppies.”

Oscar felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t back down. “This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with him?”

The guy smirked again, clearly enjoying the tension. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

“No one asked you,” Oscar snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.” He handed her the lighter, brushing her fingers with his in a way that made Oscar’s stomach turn, and walked off down the alley.

She didn’t look at Oscar right away. Instead, she stared at the lighter in her hand, turning it over like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but still distant. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Oscar said, his frustration bubbling over. “You’ve stopped coming to church. You won’t talk to your mum. And now you’re…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly toward the cigarette still in her hand.

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t need a lecture, okay? I get enough of that at home.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and for a brief moment, he saw something raw in her eyes—pain, anger, maybe even fear. But then she blinked, and the mask was back.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect little Catholic girl,” she said, her tone light but cutting. “Did you ever think of that?”

Oscar stared at her, searching for the girl he knew beneath the stranger in front of him. “This isn’t you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the alley, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

That night, Oscar lay awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever dark place she’d fallen into, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t let him.

For the first time in years, he prayed not for himself, but for her.

“God,” he whispered into the stillness of his room. “Please. Bring her back.”

It became a pattern.

Oscar would see her slipping further away, each time a little less like the girl he had grown up with and a little more like a stranger. Sometimes it was behind the convenience store. Other times he saw her stumbling out of a car that didn’t belong in their quiet town, the headlights cutting through the dark as it sped off, leaving her swaying on the curb.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

When their paths crossed now, she barely looked at him. Her words, when she offered any, were short and cold, like she was daring him to stop caring. But he couldn’t stop.

So he prayed.

Every night, he knelt by his bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes shut so hard it hurt. He prayed for her to come back, for her to see what she was doing to herself. He prayed for the strength to find the right words, the right actions, anything to pull her out of this spiral. But every morning, when he saw her again—laughing too loud, her eyes bloodshot and empty—it felt like no one was listening.

One night, well past midnight, there was a knock on his window. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, and stumbled to open it. She was standing there, her hair tangled and wild, her face streaked with something he couldn’t tell if it was makeup or tears.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice slurred but venomous.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Praying for me,” she snapped. “I know you’re doing it. Just… stop.”

Her words stung, but what hurt more was the way she looked at him—like he was the enemy. Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him standing in the cold.

A week later, it was her mum who knocked—not on his window, but on his door.

Oscar opened it to find her standing on the porch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She looked older than he’d ever seen her, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi, Ms,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, clutching the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Oscar,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

He felt his stomach sink. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her,” she said, her voice cracking. “She’s… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She barely comes home anymore. And when she does…” She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Oscar didn’t need her to finish. He’d seen it all himself.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Her mother continued, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve begged her to stop, to come back to church, to tell me what’s going on, but she won’t listen. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. And now…” She trailed off again, her shoulders shaking as tears filled her eyes.

Oscar reached out instinctively, placing a hand on her arm. “Ms…”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. “I don’t know what to do, Oscar. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it. I thought maybe you could… I don’t know. Talk to her. Get through to her. She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

The desperation in her voice was like a knife in his chest.

“She used to,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But not anymore. She won’t let me help her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times.”

Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “She’s all I have,” she choked out. “It’s just me and her. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Oscar hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He wanted to promise her that he could fix everything, that he’d bring her daughter back, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his own voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the house silent except for her quiet, broken cries.

When she finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, she gave him a look so full of raw hope it made his chest ache. “Please, Oscar,” she said. “Don’t give up on her.”

He nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. “I won’t.”

But as he watched her walk back across the front garden to her house, the weight of the promise settled over him like a stone. He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want saving.

So that night, like every night before, he knelt by his bed and prayed.

“God,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. “Please. Show me what to do.”

That night the ringing of his phone jolted Oscar out of a restless sleep. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm, but the screen glowed faintly in the dark: Unknown Number.

He rubbed his eyes and answered, his voice groggy. “Hello?”

The sound on the other end wasn’t words at first. It was crying—deep, heaving sobs that clawed at his chest before he even recognised her voice.

“It’s me,” she managed between gasps.

Oscar sat up so quickly the blankets slid off his lap. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out. “I’m… I’m at this party, and I—I took something, and now I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she let out another sob. “I feel so weird, Oscar. I feel like I’m dying.”

His heart dropped. “You’re not dying,” he said quickly, already grabbing his keys from the nightstand. “You’re not. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

She mumbled the address through her tears, barely coherent, but he caught enough to recognise the street. It was across town, the kind of neighborhood he tried to avoid.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and bolted for the door, his chest tight with fear.

The streets were eerily quiet as he sped through town, the glow of his headlights slicing through the darkness. His mind raced faster than the car, flashing through every worst-case scenario he could imagine. He gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When he turned onto the street, he knew he was in the right place. Cars were lined haphazardly along the curb, some with doors still hanging open. Music blared from the house, but the sound was disjointed, chaotic.

And then he saw them.

A wave of people surged out the front door, spilling into the front garden and onto the street. They were shouting, laughing, some tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Oscar pulled over and jumped out of the car, his heart pounding.

“What’s going on?” he yelled at one of them, grabbing a guy by the arm.

“Cops are coming,” the guy slurred, shaking him off. “Some girl OD’d, man. It’s bad.”

Oscar didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved his way through the crowd, pushing against the flow of bodies until he reached the front door. The smell hit him first—alcohol, smoke, and something sour underneath.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The music was still blaring, but most of the partygoers were gone, leaving behind overturned cups and broken bottles. He stepped over a pile of discarded coats and followed the sound of a frantic voice.

In the living room, he found her.

She was lying on the floor, her face pale, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. A girl about their age was kneeling beside her, pressing her hands against her chest in a desperate rhythm.

“Come on,” the girl muttered, her voice shaking. “Come on, don’t do this.” She glanced up briefly, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, I’m doing compressions,” she said into the receiver. “Please, hurry.”

Oscar froze for a moment, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. She looked so small, so fragile. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips tinged blue.

The girl performing CPR looked up again, her eyes wild. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Her words jolted him into motion. He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached for her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” the girl snapped. “She took something—pills, I think. Someone said it was laced, but I don’t know with what.”

Oscar’s hands hovered uselessly over her, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been trained for this, never thought he’d need to be.

But he knew he needed to do something, looking at the girl in front of him, he watched her hands and pushed them aside, continuing for her.

“She went upstairs to take a phone call, walked back in and collapsed.” The girl sat back on her heels, then leaned forward to blow two breaths into her mouth. “They thought it was a joke at first, but it all got so serious all of a sudden.” Oscar continued the same rhythm on her chest, watching as the girl flexed her hands nervously. Underneath his breath, he was silently praying that someone was listening, because in the last couple of weeks he was beginning to lose faith. No one listened to him when he was desperate, begging for someone to save her.

“Stay with me,” the other girl murmured, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you dare give up.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the chaos, growing louder with every passing second. Relief flooded Oscar’s chest, but it was fleeting. He looked down at her pale, lifeless face and felt the weight of every prayer he’d ever whispered.

“God,” he said under his breath, his voice breaking. “Please. Don’t take her.”

The sirens grew deafening as the paramedics burst through the door. Oscar was pulled back, forced to watch as they took over, their voices calm but urgent as they worked to save her.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips.

As they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door, Oscar followed, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. He wasn’t leaving her—not now, not ever.

He watched them close the doors of the back of the ambulance and ran back to his car to follow them when he saw the girl weakly walk out of the house. He could have just left her, but she had just saved his best friend’s life. Instead, he walked back up to the house, hugged her and offered her a lift.

When Oscar finally got to the hospital, it was cold and quiet in a way that felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. Oscar sat in the hard plastic chair next to her bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He had barely spoken to anyone since they arrived, giving only short, clipped answers to the nurses’ questions.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her pale face, willing her to wake up. The IV in her arm looked too big, too intrusive, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered.

He shot upright, his breath catching as she groaned softly, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy, but when they landed on him, recognition flickered.

“Oscar?” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he let out a shaky laugh that was more relief than joy. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He never cursed.

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the IV in her arm, the sterile hospital room around her. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She shook her head weakly, then winced. “I… I don’t know. I was at the party, and then…” Her voice trailed off, her brows furrowing as if the memory was too painful to touch.

Oscar leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would…”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them.

A nurse came in not long after, checking her vitals and saying she’d be discharged soon. Oscar nodded numbly, his mind already racing.

When they stepped out of the hospital, the chill of the early morning air hit them both. He helped her to the car, her steps unsteady, and buckled her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, her eyes glassy and distant.

“I’ll call your mum,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse but firm.

Oscar paused, his hand on the wheel. “I need to tell her. I stopped the hospital from calling her.”

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t face her right now.”

He hesitated, the conflict written all over his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

“Just drive,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

So he did.

They didn’t talk as the car rumbled down the empty highway. The radio was off, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of her shifting in her seat.

She didn’t cry, but her silence was heavy, and Oscar didn’t push her. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

After a couple of hours, her breathing evened out, and when he glanced over, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her face turned toward him, her expression soft but exhausted.

He sighed, his chest aching with a mix of relief and sadness. He took the next exit and drove toward her house.

When they arrived, it was still early, the sky a pale gray as dawn broke. He parked in front of her house, then got out and walked around to her side. Carefully, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping an arm under her knees and another around her back.

She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her head lolled against his chest, and he carried her up the porch steps and knocked softly on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and her mum stood there, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. When she saw her daughter in his arms, she let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She’s okay,” Oscar said quickly, his voice gentle. “She’s just sleeping.”

Her mum nodded, tears streaming down her face. She stepped aside, and he carried her inside, laying her gently on the sofa.

Her mother sank to her knees beside her, sobbing quietly as she brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at Oscar. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Oscar knelt beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

They sat there for a while, her mum’s quiet cries filling the silence.

Eventually, Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you have a spare set of sheets?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay,” he said. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Her mum nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Later, after setting up a makeshift bed on the floor beside the couch, Oscar lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, her mum having gone to bed, but he could hear her breathing softly above him.

He closed his eyes and whispered another prayer, one of gratitude this time.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving her another chance.”

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone was listening.

the end.

129 notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 14 hours ago

Text

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Summary: when your car breaks down, you’re forced to ask Frankie for help. You’re not sure what you hate more- that you have to ask him for help, or that there’s a part of you that maybe can tolerate him

Word count: 6.2k

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Angst, tension (in a good way??!!), yearning (AHHH), teenage Frankie (and current day Frankie, for that matter) are down so bad, Santi and Benny play Dr. Phil

A/N: okay I said there would be smut this chapter, but I am a liar, and I am sorry 🤥 I flip flopped some scenes around and it ended up making more sense for some ✨things✨ to happen next chapter instead 🤷🏼‍♀️ I seriously love these two more and more every chapter, and this may have been my favorite one to write so far!! Thank you SO much for all the kind things you’ve had to say about this story- it really means more to me than you know 🥺💛 (sorry for any errors, I didn't have time to edit this chapter as well as I should have!)

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Age 18, Summer of 2007

“Jesus Christ, Morales, you got bricks for feet, or what?”

The Garcia’s newly installed basketball hoop had been a welcome addition to the neighborhood rotation of afterschool hangouts. Santi knows just as well as Frankie and Benny that it’s really nothing but a ploy to keep the boys occupied and out their parent’s hair, but the three have gladly accepted the olive branch Santi’s parents have extended to them, regardless of motive.

Now that the heat of late May has begun to sear off the pavement of Everett Street and the dwindling motivation of senior year is in full force, basketball has quickly taken over as the new after school activity.

Benny and Santi love it because it gives them a chance to get out the competitive angst they’ve had locked away since football season has come to a close.

Frankie loves it because it gives him something to keep him occupied until you come home from soccer practice.

Even then, he still finds himself anxiously counting down the minutes until your car pulls into the driveway, stepping out of the driver’s seat to give him that same goofy wave of approval that frees him from his friends’ constant bickering about where the three point line lays on the cement.

Ever since he told you he was leaving, there’s a part of him that debates forgoing basketball all together, just so he can make it to your house that much quicker when you get home. Now more than ever, he’s hyper aware of every second he has left with you, the internal countdown constantly nagging in the back of his mind before it’s four hundred miles that separate the two of you, not four houses.

Because now, not only does he have 74 days left to figure out how to say goodbye to his best friend, he has 74 days left to figure out how to tell her that he’s head over heels in love with her.

That’s what’s on Frankie’s mind as the pass Santi’s thrown at him rolls right past his shoes and down the driveway.

No shit, he’s got bricks for feet.

“Helloooooo? Earth to Frankie? You gonna get the fuckin’ ball, or what?” Santi shouts, wildly waving his arms, trying to snap his friend out of whatever weird daydream he’s stuck in.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Frankie stammers, half jogging for the bouncing ball, tossing it back to Benny, also barely paying attention enough to keep the rubber from smacking him upside the head.

“Fuck, dude, you tryin’ to kill me, or somethin’? A heads up would be nice next time!” Benny scoffs, trying to downplay the fact he’s nearly just shit his pants from the ball that came out of nowhere and almost took him out.

“S-sorry. My bad.” Frankie grimaces, sheepishly running his hand through his thick, messy curls before rubbing the back of his neck.

Santi and Benny exchange confused glances with each other before turning their attention back to their clearly pre-occupied friend.

“Hey, you good, man?” Santi asks, scrunching his brow at Frankie’s tortured scowl.

“Yeah dude, you’ve been like, super out of it the past couple of days. Everything okay?” Benny adds. He tries to discreetly nudge Santi, givinging him a look that’s meant to ask if there’s something he’s missing. The best Santi can give him back is an ambivalent shrug, just as lost as his friend as to why Frankie’s mentally residing on another planet.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m fine.”

Sure, Santi and Benny aren’t as emotionally mature as their friend, but they also aren’t stupid. It’s obvious there’s something he’s keeping from them, and they’re far too relentless to let it go until they find out.

“Dude… C’mon.” Santi prods, taking a step towards Frankie to poke him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, spill the fuckin’ beans, Frank. What the hell’s goin’ on?” Benny chimes in, following Santi’s lead with another forceful poke.

“It’s nothing! Jesus, will you drop it?”

Santi smirks at how agitated Frankie’s become, spending enough years with his friend to know there’s one thing, and one thing only that’s got him this worked up.

“Is this about Kenz?”

Frankie’s eyes dart rapidly between his friends, the sky and his feet, too afraid to settle in one place as he’s consumed by his own silence, crossing his arms over his chest as he braces himself to defend against the onslaught he’s about to be faced with.

He could lie, say no, keep arguing with Santi and Benny until he’s blue in the face, but he knows it’s no use. Deep down, he has a feeling they already know what he’s going to say. He also has a feeling he’ll never go a day for the rest of his life where they won’t give him ten pounds of shit for it, but Frankie’s desperate. If he doesn’t figure out what to do, there’s a good chance he just may explode.

“You have to swear you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” Frankie sternly sighs, eyeing down his friends with a deathly glare, “Swear you won’t.”

“We swear, man.”

“Yeah, we swear.”

Benny and Santi nod in agreement, too shocked at his agreement to tell them anything rather than asking them to fuck off and leave him alone. They wait in patient silence as Frankie takes a long, shaky deep breath in.

“I um- fuck. Fuck.” He stammers, terrified to hear himself admit what he’s had locked away in his brain for years out loud for the first time, “I’m uh- I think I’m in love with MacKezie. I think I’m in love with her and I don’t know what to do.”

Frankie’s mortified by the silence from his friends in the seconds that follow. He’s even more mortified by their howling laughter that comes after that.

“That’s it? Oh, thank God!” Santi cackles, him and Benny clutching their chests to try and keep themselves standing, “Dude, I thought you were gonna say something fucking crazy. You looked like you were gonna fucking throw up.”

“W-what? Santi, did you not just hear what I fucking said? I literally just told you-”

“That you’re in love with MacKenzie? News flash, Morales, we’ve known you’ve been in love with her since like, the eighth grade. Holy shit, I can’t believe you finally fucking admitted it!”

Frankie’s face grows hotter by the second, his cheeks ablaze with bright reds and pinks, not sure if he’s more embarrassed by what he’s admitted, or the fact that he’s worked himself up for weeks to finally tell his friends something they’ve already known for years and Frankie was too blind to realize it.

“Well, okay- I just- what am I- what am I gonna do?” Frankie stutters, throwing his hands up to the sky, very aware that the admittance of his love for you is only a small part to his greater problem.

“Whatta you mean, what are you gonna do?” Benny questions, he and Santi still giggling over how frantic and flustered Frankie still was.

“It’s not fuckin’ rocket science, Frank.” Santi smirks, giving him a playful nudge, “Just tell her that you love her.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Santi?! I can’t just tell her I love her, that’s- fuck, that’s crazy!” Frankie’s all but shouting at his friend for what feels like the most outrageous idea he’s ever heard, crazily pacing up and down the driveway, as if he’s asking his friends for advice on where to hide the body he’s just killed.

“And that would be crazy because….?” Santi teases, anxiously awaiting whatever ridiculous answer Frankie has to finish off the rest of his sentence.

“Because?!” Frankie asks, storming so fast up and down the driveway, he’s about to make fresh cracks in the concrete, “Because, b-because- fuck, Santi, what if I tell her that I love her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship forever and then I get my fuckin’ heart broken and lose my best friend? Jesus Christ, that’s why.”

“You wanna tell him or should I?” Benny proposes, shrugging at Santi.

In a silent agreement, Santi gives Benny a nod, taking a step towards Frankie to grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still enough to capture his full attention.

“Frankie, lemme ask you this.” Santi pauses, bringing Frankie’s gaze from his feet up to his friend, thinking for once in his life, he may actually be willing to give him some serious advice.

“Yeah?”

“Are you blind, or are you stupid? ‘Cause I think you may be both.”

“What the fuck, dude?!” Frankie scoffs over Santi and Benny’s snickering, outstretching his arms to push Santi off of him.

“Damn, maybe he is.” Benny grimaces overdramatically, playing into Santi’s theatrics.

“Fuck off, Benny!” Frankie frowns, starting to regret asking his friends for help.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I really have to spell this out for you.” Santi sighs, squeezing his temples between his thumb and index finger.

“What!?” Frankie presses, nearly fed up with his antics.

“Shit, you’re right Benny, he may be dumber than we thought.” Santi snorts before quickly turning his attention back to Frankie, “Frankie… You do realize MacKenzie’s in love with you too, right?”

Frankie feels his heart stop. He’s partly convinced it’s flatlined indefinitely. The only thing that’s keeping him alive is even the tiniest chance that what Santi has to say is actually true.

That maybe, just maybe, you love him, too.

“Santi, c’mon. Be- be fucking serious. There’s no way.”

Frankie won’t let himself believe anything yet, no matter how badly he wants to. Knowing Santi, he wouldn’t be shocked if he’s trying to pull him in to some sick sort of joke, but the looks on his, and Benny’s faces is all the earth shattering reassurance Frankie needs to know that Santi’s telling the truth.

“He’s being serious, I swear.” Benny chimes in, trying to aid in convincing Frankie.

“Think about it, Frank. The two of you spend every fucking second together. You’re basically already dating without actually dating. And not even just because of the fact you like, pretty much go on dates to the movies or ice cream, or whatever. Didn’t you say she cried for like, an hour when you told her you were leaving?”

“I- I mean, y- yeah, I guess.”

“Or the fact that she’s never dated anyone else and has had you locked in as her prom date since last year.” Benny adds.

“Don't even get me started on the fact you two cuddle every time we watch a movie together, because God forbid you’re not touching each other for an hour and a half.”

“I- I- I- don’t know. I mean, sure, yeah, but just because she does that doesn’t mean she’s in love with me!”

Frankie can feel his insides churn, like someone’s put them in a blender and cranked it on high. He’s not sure what’s more terrifying- that you do all those things but you’re not in love with him, or that you do all of them because you are.

He quickly comes to determine the second is much scarier than the first. Mostly because there’s a part of him that believes maybe you’re just as in love with him as he is with you.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Frankie’s knees wobble as he sinks to the ground, bottom hitting the pavement with a thud.

“Well shit, don’t do it on the driveway, my mom’s gonna kill me. If you gotta yak, at least do it on the grass.”

Santi and Benny settle in on either side of Frankie, the trio of boys squatting at the edge of the driveway. Frankie buries his head in his hands, scrunching his face so hard into his sweaty palms that maybe, some sort of reasonable idea will pop into his brain if he squeezes hard enough.

“You guys really think she likes me? Like, actually?” Frankie asks, peeking his head up to look back and forth between Santi and Benny.

“Uh, yeah.” The pair agree in unison, each giving their friend a pat on the back, trying to keep their all-knowing laughter at bay to soothe Frankie through his distress.

“Fuck. Holy shit. So- So what do I do? Just- Do I just tell her?”

“I mean, I’m no love guru, but you like, may wanna be a little more subtle than that.” Benny snickers, giving Frankie a little nudge, “I mean, do you wanna tell her?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Fuck, I wanna tell her so bad.” It spills out of Frankie’s mouth without any hesitation. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he is.

“Like, you’re already going with her to prom and stuff. You could do it then?” Santi suggests with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Damn, alright, Mr. Romance over here with the advice.”

“Shut up, Benny. You got any better advice? At least I’ve fuckin’ had a girlfriend before, you dingus, have you? Didn’t think so.”

Frankie’s completely blocked out their bickering, lost in his own train of thought, where all he can picture is you- Your smile, the little strand of hair that you tuck behind your ear when it falls in your face, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, the little curl in your lips you get when you smirk at him when he tells a stupid joke.

How badly he wishes his lips could meet yours to feel that smirk pressed against his face.

“Do… Do you- Do you think I should kiss her?”

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, what are we, twelve?” Yeah, man, fuckin’ kiss her.” Santi snorts, Benny joining in with muffled laughter in his throat at the innocence of his question, “God, with how nervous you sounded, I thought you were gonna ask if you should like, have sex with her, or somethin’.”

It’s then his brain truly short circuits, his heart about to fall out of his ass and lump in his throat the size of a softball.

He has enough balls to admit he’s thought plenty of times about kissing you.

But right now, he certainly doesn’t have enough balls to confess to his friends, (or even to himself, for that matter) he’s spent just as much time thinking about doing a lot more than just kissing you.

He’s spent even more time thinking about just how badly he wants to.

One step at a time, Morales.

You, Present

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Turning over your ignition to the sound of empty rattles once wasn’t anything to worry about.

Turning it over twice to the sound of silence you could chalk up to bad luck.

But after six different attempts to start your car to no avail, you were fairly certain your issue wasn’t based solely on user error.

“Fuck…” You huff to yourself, yanking out your keys and slamming the driver’s side door behind you as you storm back into the house, now in a race against the clock to get your car not only started, but driveable enough to get you to work on time.

It’s the stupid things like this you haven’t mentally prepared yourself for when it comes to your father’s impending death- Not having a built in mechanic at your disposal to help solve your car issues when something goes awry. It seems selfish to take from the few precious moments you have left with him to pester your dad about your car troubles, but you know for a fact, your dying father has a better chance of diagnosing your issue from his bed than you do hands deep in the engine.

“Hey, Dad.” You grimace, gently rousing him from his half-awake state in front of the TV, “Dad, can I ask you something, or are you too busy dying?”

Your joke is enough to crack a sleepy smile in the corner of his lips, grunting as he turns his head over to see you hunched over the edge of his bed.

“Depends. Is it worth my time, or should I go back to decaying?” He fights with everything in him to let out the softest laugh, a sputtering cough following as his chest rises and falls, trying his best to not let his final days prevent him from being the helpful dad you’d always known.

“My car won’t start. Do you have any idea of what it could be?”

“You gonna wheel me out to the driveway to have me figure it out?”

You both know it’s ridiculous, what you’re asking him to do. You’re not sure what compelled you to think that he’d be able to help solve your problem, but your yearning for the normalcy that’s been absent in your life for so long seems to outweigh any logic.

“I think we could probably crank the bed high enough for you to look under the hood.” You shrug with a sad type of sarcasm, anxiously fiddling with your fingers to try and brainstorm a solution to your time-sensitive issue.

“You know there’s someone four houses down who is very capable of solving your problem who isn’t dying.”

For as hard as your dad fought for his half huffed laugher, he fights even harder for the smug smirk pinching the corner of his cheeks.

“Dad…” You let out a deep breath, trying to not let your eyes roll to the back of your skull from even pondering the idea of admitting to Frankie Morales that you need his help.

“Mackenzie Grace?” He questions back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of your reason for dramatic pause.

“Dad, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, actually. Dead serious. And right now, I’m at a point in my life where that statement can’t be any closer to the truth.”

Unfortunately, that’s an argument you can’t fight.

You sigh again, chewing at your lip to see if your brain can muster any other plausible solution before you admit defeat, but you know it’s no use. Your dad is kind enough to accept your silence as a white flag, sparing you the embarrassment of admitting he’s right. What he’s not kind enough to do, is to let you off without making sure he gets the last word.

“You can’t stay mad at him forever, honey.”

“I can, actually.”

Right now, your dad better thank his lucky stars he’s dying, because any other circumstance, and you would have already been halfway out the door before you put yourself through this conversation again.

“MacKenzie,” He pauses, the frail and wrinkled ends of his fingertips reaching out just enough to rest on the hand you have wrapped around the bar of his bed guard rails, “if I give you some dying words of wisdom, do you promise to listen, actually listen to what I have to say?”

You know he’s about to tell you something you have no intention of wanting to hear. You want so badly to lie, to say “yes”, just to appease him without really meaning it. But the guilty conscious eating you alive in the pit of your stomach won’t let you get off that easily.

“Yeah, I promise.”

It’s soft enough for only you and him, just quiet enough to keep the world out of your shared secret.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either. I’d be willing to bet he’s still holding one against you, too. There’s two sides to every story, MacKenzie Grace, and you can’t keep blaming him like you didn’t have a part in what happened, too. He’s already accepted he’s in the wrong for what he did. God bless the fact you ended up just as stubborn as your old man, but at some point, you have to get off your high horse and do the same.”

It’s unsettling, the feeling that washes over you- it makes every inch of your body twinge and wince in a strange sort of self-inflicted pain you can’t shake, the indescribable discomfort that makes you want to crawl out of your skin and evaporate into thin air. The tormented sensation stirring in your gut makes you want to scream and cry and run away, all at the same time.

Because it’s not the truth of your dad’s words alone that make you feel this way- you’ve come face to face with this truth more times than you’d like to count.

It’s the fact that for the first time, you’ve come face to face with the truth, and there’s a part of you that can accept it.

You stand there for another moment at the edge of his bed, eyes peeled to the ground, trying to find the words you’re too scared to admit. Maybe your silence is a loud enough confession.

“I’ll see you when I get back from work, okay?” You lean down and kiss his head, giving your dad’s hand a final, gentle squeeze before you’re halfway out the door, car keys in hand.

“I thought your car wasn’t working?”

Your dad has never been one for “I told you so’s” . The stifled smile and playful glisten in his tired eyes will do just fine.

“Bye, Dad.”

Your dad’s words echo in your brain as you begin your journey down the driveway, terrified by the tiniest amount of weight it’s lifted off your shoulders.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.”

Maybe he’s got a point. But that’s easy to say when you’re only dealing with the idea of Frankie you’ve built up in your head, not when you’re about to come face to face with him in real time.

There’s a part of you that debates just walking to work. Hell, the hour walk it would take you to get to work would probably be easier than the thirty second walk you’re about to take four houses down.

You’ll be lucky if you don’t gnaw off your entire thumbnail by the time you make it to the Morales’s doorstep, trying to clench your fists as tight as possible with every step you take towards their house to attempt to keep your nerves (and nails) intact.

You’re not sure you’ve ever walked this slow to his house. There was once a time that you couldn’t sprint there fast enough, legs leaping over cracks in the sidewalk to meet Frankie at his front door. Now, it feels like you might as well be crawling with the time you’re trying to waste before you ring his doorbell.

You practically tip toe up the steps to the porch, like it’s some sort of crime to be at his house and you’re terrified of being caught. Your finger hovers over the doorbell, outstretched and ready to press, too frozen in fear to move the extra inch it will take to press the rounded button.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You curse under your breath, furrowing your brow at your inability to face his front door. You ball your free hand up to a fist, slamming your knuckles against your forehead with a sigh so heavy, you’d probably give that wolf from The Three Little Pigs a run for his money, “‘C’mon, MacKenzie, just ring the damn doorbell.”

Your heart stops as the tip of your index finger finally pushes hard enough to force the high pitched chime, forcing yourself to keep your feet planted on the doormat below you instead of booking it half way across town.

“One sec!”

The bellow of his voice from behind the door is enough to jumpstart the stand still of your heartbeat, so much so that in an instant, it’s gone from flatlining to nearly beating out of your chest.

At this point, even if you wanted to run, you’re not sure your body would let you.

As the knob turns and draws back towards the house, Frankie’s broad body fills the doorframe. He looks almost as frozen as you, so stunned by your presence, his tongue darts between his lips as a placeholder for the words he lacks.

“H-hey?” He asks it so cautiously, eyebrows scrunching in confusion while he looks you up and down, too scared to say anything else until he figures out why you’ve shown up at his front door.

“My um- My car won’t- I have to go to work and I can’t get my car to start.”

You don’t dare phrase it as anything other than a statement of fact. You’ll die before the words “Frankie, will you help me?” escape from your lips.

“O-oh. Shit.” He cocks his head, the pinch of his face immediately easing along with the rest of his body, standing up a little straighter as he leans against the doorframe.

“Sorry, i-if you’re busy or whatever, don’t feel like you-”

“No- No, I mean, yeah, no, I don’t- shit-” He stutters, pausing as he shakes his head with a little laugh at the ground, trying to compose himself before he trips over his words again, “Yes, I um- Yeah, I can help.”

“O-okay. Thank- Thanks.” You try to fight the tug you feel in your lips creeping towards the corner of your cheeks that mirrors the grin Frankie’s trying so desperately to hide on his face.

The two of you stand there for a moment, feet wriggling in the tips of your shoes and fingers twiddling in your pockets, using every ounce of strength you have to ignore the heat flushing through your cheeks that makes you want to hate him just a little bit less.

It’s hard to suppress when Frankie’s trying to keep up his facade with the world’s worst poker face as he’s beaming ear to ear.

“Let me just uh- Lemme grab some stuff and I’ll meet you over there?” He asks, tiptoeing around what seems too good to be true.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”

You give each other a little nod before he disappears behind his door. You tilt your head to the sky, eyes closed as the deepest sigh of relief you can take escapes your body. It feels like the first gasp you take when you peak above the surface after holding your breath underwater, remembering what it feels like to finally breathe again.

It takes everything in you to pretend you don’t feel the strange pang in your chest as you watch Frankie walk to your house after you’ve made it back to your driveway, his gray shirt clinging to his biceps as he carries over his bucket of tools and brown curls spilling out from under the worn, Standard Oil hat he’s obviously still refused to throw away.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed over your chest, trying your best to seem ambivalent about the whole ordeal.

If you were nominated for an Oscar in the “Pretending to be aloof in front of Frankie Morales while he fixes your car” category, you most surely wouldn’t be winning.

“Hey, again.” He grins as he sets his tools down, mirroring your stance to cross his arms over his chest.

“Hey, again.” You parrot.

“So, uh… Your car?” Frankie asks, nodding over to the vehicle you’re leaning on.

“Yeah, uh- yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I tried starting it like, five different times and it doesn’t do anything. I’ve never had this happen to me before and of course it’s when I’m trying to leave for work.” You shrug, trying to play into the fact you at least tried to do something before coming to find him.

“Huh. Alright, well, lemme see what I can do, okay?” He nods again, leaving your fingers to play with your sleeves to keep yourself occupied, instead of staring at him, mesmerized by the way you can still hear the gears turning in his brain as he processes. “Can I uh- is it okay if I have the keys?”

You fumble through your pockets, digging out your keys to place them in the palm of Frankie’s outstretched hand, the linger of your touch on his skin just long enough to make you subtly jerk your arm back in embarrassment.

You step back to let Frankie slide past you, watching him try to squeeze himself into the driver’s seat to start your car, half his body still hanging out the open door.

“Are you- are you not teaching anymore?”

“Wh- huh?” His question catches you off guard, the scowl of confusion painted across your face making him quickly elaborate before drawing his attention back to your car.

“You just uh- sorry, you said you were going to work. It’s 5 P.M. on a Thursday in June, so, ya know, figured you probably weren’t going to school.”

He gives the key one more turn before sliding out of the car, carefully passing your keys back off to you before making his way to open the hood. You cautiously follow behind him, arms still crossed against your chest as he props the front of the car up to reveal the engine.

“Oh. Uh- no, yeah. No, I’m uh- I’m still teaching. Normally I do summer school to make some extra money, but because of my dad and everything and not being home, it just, ya know, I just couldn’t. I still wanted something to do to make money and keep me busy, so um, Katie’s Dad still owns The Parrot’s Nest on 14th, so I asked him if I could just do some part time waitressing and bartending and stuff. It’s nice ‘cause he’s been really flexible with everything going on.”

Your eyes dart to the ground as Frankie shifts his view from the inside of the car back to you. The air fills with a heavy pause, like neither of you are really sure how to react to the fact you’re managing a semi-civil conversation that’s more than just one word responses.

Frankie lets out a quiet huff, trying to hide the soft smile curling in the corner of his scruff covered cheeks before turning back to the car, silently tinkering for a few moments before mustering up the courage to speak again.

“That’s nice of him. Didn’t even know that place was still around.” There’s a little grunt as he leans deeper into the car, reaching around to search for some sort of part he wants to check, “I’m uh- I’m glad you’re still teaching, though. That’s um, that’s good.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Your hands have shifted from folded across your chest to in your pockets, a subconscious move you’ve made as a brick from the wall you’ve built between yourself and Frankie Morales seems to crumble without you realizing.

You let him work for a few more moments before he’s diagnosed your issue, carefully closing the hood and wiping the engine grime on the towel from the tool bucket he’s brought with him.

“So uh- good news is, you just need a new battery. Easy fix. Bad news is, your battery’s dead, and your car’s not gonna start without a new one.” Frankie shrugs, hoping he’s not pushing his luck with the little laugh he gives himself at his joke.

“Fuck. Okay, uh- shit, okay.” You mutter, not necessarily upset with Frankie for delivering the news of his discovery, but angry at the fact you need to buy a new car battery and have no way to get to work. “Um, sorry, give me a second, I’m gonna call Jim and let him know that I can’t make it in today.”

“I- I can drive you.”

You’re sure Frankie’s just as surprised as you when the offer comes out of his mouth, freezing your thumb over your boss’s contact you’re about to dial. Frankie clearly interprets the look on your face as one of skepticism about his idea, quickly trying to backpedal before he preemptively digs his own grave.

“No, I mean, um- if you want. I can- I can drop you off. So you, uh- that way you don’t have to miss work.”

“No, Frankie, it’s fine, you- you already helped figure out what’s wrong with my car, it’s not a big deal, don’t wo-”

“I want to.”

You don’t mean for your sigh to be as audible as it is. It only seems fair, considering there was no world in which you ever considered having to contemplate not only asking Frankie for help, but also spending a fifteen minute car ride together so he can drop you off at work. You chew at your bottom lip as you contemplate the lesser of two evils- be stuck in Frankie’s metal death trap of a car, forced within a 3 foot proximity of him for the entire ride, or miss out on the most hours you’ve been scheduled in the past two weeks for money you really do need.

Swallowing your pride is the toughest pill you’ve had to swallow in quite a long time.

“Fine.”

It’s not even your answer you think shocks him the most. It’s how little he had to argue with you to agree.

You want to roll your eyes at the little smirk of satisfaction he gives himself, knowing you’ve gone 0-2 on your hardened stance of despising Frankie’s guts since talking with your dad. It only stings more that you’re sure Frankie is getting endless amounts of satisfaction that you’ve given into him so quickly.

But fuck, if you didn’t miss that stupid, goofy grin of his when he knows he’s beaten you at your own game.

“Only if your car isn’t gonna kill us first before we get there.” You groan, eyeing down Frankie’s beater truck he’s been driving since he got his license. It was in questionable shape over a decade ago, you’re not sure what kind of deal Frankie made with the devil to keep the hunk of junk up and running.

“She’s fine. Haven’t managed to kill you in her yet, have I?” Frankie rebuttals, grabbing his tools as you follow behind him towards his car.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” You sigh, shaking your head in annoyance that Frankie’s still driving this damn thing on principle alone, “How the fuck is this thing even still running?”

“‘Cause you don’t give her enough credit. Got me here from North Carolina just fine.” Frankie scoffs, the two of you settling into your perspective seats inside his truck.

His comment makes you frown at your lap as you buckle your seatbelt, not because of the sass he’s inflicted, but because it reminds you that he’s moved himself states away just to further the distance between you two.

“S-sorry, it was meant to be a joke.” Frankie mutters, looking over at you as he drives and noticing the way you’ve gone quiet, eyes peeled to the ground.

“No, I know.” You reply back, anxiously digging under your nails with your stare still locked on your feet. “How’s um- how’s North Carolina?”

“Oh. Um, It’s uh- It’s fine, I guess.”

It’s then you notice Frankie’s realized the reason for your silence, uncomfortably fidgeting in his seat and grip tightening around the steering wheel as he processes your disappointment.

It’s hard to decipher what he means by “fine.” Fine, like he’s more than fine and doesn't want to rub it in your face how well he’s doing? Fine, like actually a normal amount of fine and he just has nothing of interest to report? Fine, like he’s not fine at all, but doesn’t have the balls to admit it to you?

With the way he can’t bring himself to look at you, it has to be the first or third option. You’re not sure which one is worse.

You’re also not sure why you feel so compelled to find out.

“You still uh- doing um, mechanic stuff for the Army?” You ask, glancing over just enough to watch Frankie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. Helicopter maintenance, mostly.”

It’s still not enough to give you the definitive answer you’re looking for. You’re too stubborn for your own good to just quit while you’re ahead. Because of all the questions you could have asked him, the one you ask him next is like voluntarily putting a gun to your head and asking him to shoot.

“Are you, uh- you um, seeing anyone? Samantha, or whatever her name was?”

It’s the first time he locks eyes with you since you’ve gotten in the car. Frankie looks you up and down, tongue running across the top of his teeth under his lips and raising his brows just enough to let you know you’ve got his attention.

Every second of silence that lingers before his answer only leads you to believe he’s trying to let you down slowly before he has to pull the trigger. You brace yourself for the bullet.

“No. I uh, shit- I- Sarah and I broke up a while ago. After um, after Santi’s wedding, actually. No, I um, I’m not seeing anyone. Haven’t really been since then, I guess.”

Your body stays tense, still bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, but it never comes. Not only has Frankie taken his finger off the trigger, he’s put away the gun all together. You’re so stunned you’ve made it out of the question alive, you aren’t quite sure how to react.

“O-oh. I uh- I didn’t know.”

“Are- are you? S-seeing anyone?” He stutters, the words heavy in his throat as he gulps.

“No. After how things ended with Liam, I just- I haven’t either.”

It’s uncomfortable, the silence that fills the car and seeps between you. Not quite awkward, not quite upset, not quite relieved, either. It’s heavy, like a backpack full of bricks you’ve had strapped to your shoulders that you refuse to put down- you’d rather keep burdening yourself with the weight than just take it off, too used to the ache it spreads to every inch of your body.

Maybe, the silence is so uncomfortable because you’re starting to realize how stupid it is to let these types of things keep weighing you down.

Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.

You’ve been so lost in your own head, you’d barely even realized the car had come to a stop, the soft orange and pink glow of The Parrot’s Nest sign illuminating the inside of Frankie’s truck with muted neon snapping you back to reality.

Your hand wraps around the door handle, ready to break free into the parking lot before Frankie’s voice stops you.

“What time are you done?”

You look back over your shoulder, taken aback.

“Why?”

“So I can pick you up.”

It’s so matter of fact, like he had never contemplated any other option from the moment he’d offer to drive you, his soft, brown eyes sinking as you shake your head at him.

“Frankie, it’s fine. I can have someone else drive me ho-”

“Please?”

Your head wants to say no. It wants to push open the door with a half hearted “thanks for the ride” and pretend like the past 15 minutes had simply never existed, wiping the strange pang in your chest and swirling in your stomach from its memory.

Apparently, your heart’s decided it has other plans.

“I’m done at ten.”

“Then I promise to be back here at ten.”

Frankie Morales is a man who’s broken many things.

Your heart, your trust, your friendship.

But out of all the things Frankie has broken, he’s never broken a promise.

And that’s how you know at ten o’clock sharp, you’ll find his beat up Chevy in the parking lot of The Parrot’s Nest, waiting for you.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

83 notes · View notes

jakeroo123 · 2 days ago

Text

Thank you to everyone who voted! This kind of... blew up way more than I expected it to. As promised, here are the answers and the episodes in which everything occurred.

Firstly, I'm going to reveal the status of the winning option, which was "Pikachu devolves into Pichu and becomes a literal Pocket Monster.": It is real, that actually happens, and I will give more context below.

Second, the trick behind the quiz is that all of the weirdness is real. Everything strange or impossible actually happened. For the actual answer, I simply changed the context around said weirdness. In this case, I swapped out one running gag for a very similar one.

Which means the correct answer is...

Brock falls in love with an old lady who uses ninja magic to look young.

While the old lady who uses ninja magic to look young is indeed real, first appearing in XY099, The Legend of the Ninja Hero!, Brock hadn't been part of the main cast and had not physically appeared alongside Ash for two hundred and forty episodes by then. Instead, it was Bonnie who did her whole "you're a keeper" thing.

Thoughts:

A few people did figure out that Brock not being in XY was the key to the whole thing. I was really surprised at how many people voted for Pichu the literal Pocket Monster, though, I thought that one was better known. It does break the established rules, yes, but there was an exception that allowed for it to happen! I will explain it in the context section.

Team Rocket winning was another popular choice. That option was included because it was just too funny not to include, I expected most people knew that one was real. Kudos to anyone who voted it solely because it was funny!

Out of all of them, the option that lasted the longest with zero votes was Ash getting turned into a Pikachu, which managed to last the entire first day with no one voting it. I expected people to know this one was real, but it's a shoo-in as far as lists of weird stuff in this show is concerned.

The Misty vampire hunting gear was a last-minute addition. I originally had something else there, about Ash entering the dreams of an unhatched egg and seeing its memories with no explanation, but I deleted it once I confirmed that I misremembered it. The egg had already hatched by the time that happened. I mean, there was a completely separate instance where an unhatched egg talked to him, so maybe that was where my confusion came from.

I mentioned in a reblog there was one I slightly misremembered and so stretched definitions a little, that one was "Ash, Pikachu, and Team Rocket help some aliens fix their crashed spaceship.". While you could describe Team Rocket as "helping", it wasn't quite willingly, and so I wouldn't have worded it the way I did had I remembered that detail.

Screenshots, episode numbers, and context below the cut!

Pikachu devolves into Pichu and becomes a literal Pocket Monster.

JN090, Showdown at the Gates of Warp!

Dialga's powers caused time to reverse, which in turn caused Pikachu to devolve back into Pichu. Ash puts him in his pocket to carry him, making him a literal "Pocket Monster". Interesting note, Ash never actually refers to him as "Pichu" during this time.

On his way to school, Ash somehow ends up in a parallel universe instead.

SM100, Battling the Beast Within!

Weirdly enough, this didn't actually happen because of an Ultra Wormhole, Ash just met Tapu Koko on the way to school, challenged it to a battle, and then Tapu Koko opened a rift with the help from the parallel universe's Tapu Koko. This was actually the first half of a two-parter, Ash only makes it home at the end of the next episode and it turns out that no time has passed.

Pikachu, Meowth, Piplup, and Croagunk pilot a spaceship for evil Togepi.

DP142, Where No Togepi Has Gone Before!

... Just watch the episode.

Pikachu nearly catches Meowth as his first Pokémon.

XY079, A Frenzied Factory Fiasco!

Meowth got a hold of Pikachu's Poké Ball while in a Poké Ball factory, and keeps trying to return him to it. At one point, Pikachu hits an empty Luxury Ball at Meowth with his tail to stop this. Meowth is very annoyed at how Pikachu nearly caught him once he breaks out of the ball. Pikachu even says "Pi-Pikachu!" (roughly "Gotta Catch 'Em All!"), the same thing he says when Ash catches a Pokémon.

May and Meowth bring a man back from the dead with a time-traveling locket.

AG157, Time Warp Heals All Wounds

The locket sent them back in time, and they change the past so that the locket's owner's husband doesn't die in an accident by preventing him from boarding a train. No, I do not know why the locket can do that. No Pokémon did this, it just happened. And then May's Eevee hatched at the end of the episode.

Ash gets turned into a Pikachu by a witch's magic potion.

EP241, Hocus Pokémon

It was actually supposed to be a spell that let him read the minds of Pokémon temporarily, but it went wrong and he turned into a Pikachu instead. Ash freaks out until he learns that it's temporary, at which point he decides to just have fun and play. It wore off at the start of the next episode.

Misty brings vampire hunting gear to a ghost fight.

EP020, The Ghost of Maiden's Peak

I don't really know why she did this either. Everyone else, including the talking Gastly that she brought the gear to fight against, was also very confused about this.

Ash and Goh have a rap battle that results in a golden pot of noodle curry.

JN097, An Evolution in Taste!

In hindsight, my description makes this episode sound much more normal than it actually is. I should have, instead of mentioning the rap battle, mentioned the fact that the noodles and curry start out separate and do a fusion dance with glowing and morphing and everything to become a giant golden pot of noodle curry.

Ash and Pikachu die and comes back to life by possessing their own corpses.

EP023, The Tower of Terror

I'm not sure they actually died, it was really unclear, but that's how I mostly see people describe this. Their spirits were definitely separated from their bodies for a good while after they got crushed by a chandelier.

Ash, Pikachu, and Team Rocket help some aliens fix their crashed spaceship.

BW133, Capacia Island UFO!

The Beheeyem are actual aliens, and, well, they crash landed. They hypnotized everyone on the island to help look for the missing part of their UFO, though due to being idiots Jessie, James, and Ash were immune to the hypnosis (Pikachu wasn't but Ash snapped him out of it). Ash agrees to help, and... well, Team Rocket didn't agree, exactly, but they were the ones who found the missing power source.

Ash actually loses a Pokémon battle to Team Rocket.

SM012, The Sun, the Scare, the Secret Lair!

After catching Mimikyu and Mareanie, respectively, Jessie and James actually manage to beat Ash's entire current team for the first time ever. And then Bewear jumps out of the water and takes them home before they're actually able to do anything with the victory.

Which of these didn't happen in Pokémon the Series?

So, this is an idea I had based on seeing someone do one for a different show a while back. Out of all of the options in this poll, eleven are real things that have happened over the course of Pokémon the Series during Ash and Pikachu's stints as protagonists. One of these is fake, and I want to see how many people can figure out which one! Or who are big enough nerds to have watched everything and know which one isn't real.

#pokemon #pokemon the series #anipoke #pokeani #ash ketchum #pikachu

224 notes · View notes

yiichan · 15 hours ago

Note

I'd love to see an almost inverse version of effortlessly- where chan (feels odd to say his name in this context lol) is a submissive stalker- almost pathetic and desperate for the reader to pay attention to him, and by extension, be claimed/posessed by the reader. Think limerence. I'm excited to see what you write next!

😶‍🌫️

pairings. yandere!sub!chan x top!m!reader (ft. jeonghan & vernon). word count. 2.7k genre. yandere, request, smut.

warnings. obsessive behaviour, manipulation, the (in)famous drunk dino and kneeling jeonghan story, stalking, drunk sex, no protection (pull out game, sorry. please use a condom, people, ik mpreg doesn't happen in reality but you might never know), anal fingering, biting, chan is feral, reader is younger (idk but i feel like lee chan should be a hyung here), oral sex (chan receiving), use of drugs.

writer's notes. it took me a long time to figure out how i should write this. i might have went out of the theme im sorry hehe. normally im all down for bottom chan (esp wonchan or allchan) but i prefer uke male readers (rip my current and future ocs' and readers' asses). i hope that you are satisfied with this, though. let me know about your thoughts through my inbox, the anon who sent this in!

mentioning my imperial beta reader, @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

Chan needs you like a fish needs water.

You are his air, his world, his everything. His heart races wildly every time he catches a glimpse of you walking down the lecture hall.

But his love—no, his obsession—runs far deeper than simple admiration. He knows everything about you: your schedule, your favorite seat in the lecture hall, the snacks you nibble on between classes. He’s memorized the little quirks that make you you—the way you twist your pen between your fingers when lost in thought, the slight tilt of your head as you read, the soft furrow of your brows when something puzzles you.

Before he even realizes it, his phone is in his hand, snapping another photo of you. A snapshot of you deep in thought. Another of you sitting alone at the cafeteria. One of you walking home.

And then, there’s the one that sends his pulse racing the most—a picture of you standing by your window, reaching out to close it.

The pictures are printed and carefully pinned across the walls of his room, a shrine dedicated to you. Chan has convinced himself it isn’t wrong. He’s not hurting anyone, after all. He just wants to keep a part of you close, something to hold onto during the hours you’re out of reach.

But it isn’t enough.

The pictures, the fleeting glimpses of you, the stolen moments he captures through his camera lens—they only feed the growing void inside him. He needs more. He craves more.

He doesn’t just want to watch from the shadows anymore. He wants you to see him. To look at him the way he looks at you. To need him the way he needs you.

You were looking at your phone when you bumped into someone.

“I’m so sorry!” you quickly apologized, boxes tumbling to the ground as papers scattered everywhere. The man you knocked onto the floor coughed, peering up at you with narrowed eyes.

“It’s okay. Could you help me find my glasses, please?” His voice was soft and warm—and your heart skipped a beat. You bent down, quickly retrieving a pair of golden-rimmed glasses from the floor, gathering his scattered papers in the process.

You recognized him.

Lee Chan, from the finance department. He was a popular student—quiet, yet effortlessly attractive.

You held out your hand, and Lee Chan grabbed it, using you to pull himself up from the floor. “Thanks.”

“No worries, I wasn’t looking my way…” You passed the papers back to him, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment. You were slightly taller than him, and as he stood close, you couldn’t help but notice a faint, sweet strawberry-like scent coming from him.

Your ears burned. What were you thinking?

“It’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention either.” Lee Chan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh, I know you. You’re from the sports department, right?”

“Yeah. You’re Lee Chan, right?” You made a quick bow, which he returned. “I didn’t know someone famous in this college would know someone like me, haha.” You tilted your head, scratching at the back of your neck again.

Lee Chan raised a brow, his tone surprised. “Are you trying to brag or something? You’re famous for that baseball match, you know?”

“Am I?” You laughed. Lee Chan nodded.

“Anyway, I should be on my way.” He glanced at his watch, ready to leave. You eyed the boxes and papers still scattered around, feeling guilty about knocking into him.

“Actually, I can help you, you know?” you said, flexing your toned arms with a grin. Before Lee Chan could protest, you quickly grabbed the heavy boxes from his hands. Seeing that you’d left no room for argument, Lee Chan reluctantly allowed you to carry the boxes for him.

By the time you reached the finance department, you had already started calling him "Chan hyung"—a natural transition since you two were now exchanging phone numbers. The walk had been brief, but there was something about the way Chan kept glancing at you, his lips curling into a small smile every time you caught his gaze, that made the air feel charged, even in the mundanity of it all.

"Thanks for helping me out," Chan said once you reached the door. He paused, the corners of his mouth still lifted in that soft, almost shy smile.

You grinned. "No problem, hyung. I’ll see you around, then?"

He nodded, and you gave him a quick wave before heading back towards the sports department.

From that day onward, Chan was always on your mind. You could almost always smell that intoxicating scent of sweet strawberries whenever you walked down the corridors. You found yourself checking Chan’s social media, or searching for his figure when you passed the finance department.

Chan texted you from time to time—sometimes to congratulate you on a game, other times to ask if you'd be up for a casual coffee. You would invite him to watch your games, eagerly looking for his familiar figure among the crowds.

Until one day, when you got a phone call from him.

You had just finished practice and were washing up at the dorm when your phone rang. Stepping out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around your waist, you quickly checked the caller ID. Your eyes widened when you saw who was calling.

Without hesitation, you answered, putting the phone on loudspeaker as you grabbed another towel to dry your hair. "Chan hyung?" you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone was unfamiliar. You frowned, pausing in your actions as you glanced at the screen. The background noise was chaotic—loud music and indistinct chatter. “Sorry, are you Chan’s friend? Could you come pick him up? He’s, uh, really drunk—VERNON! HOLD HIM!—sorry, he’s very, very drunk right now.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening. “Oh.” The unexpected turn of events threw you off balance.

There was a brief pause, and you could hear muffled voices in the background. Whoever was on the phone sounded frazzled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out... but he’s not really making any sense right now. He keeps asking for you. Can you come?”

Your hand tightened around the towel at your waist. Chan, drunk? And asking for you? It was a lot to process in a moment. “Uh, yeah, I’ll be there. Just... send me the address.”

The call ended abruptly, and the address was quickly sent to you. You threw on a casual shirt and black pants, grabbed your jacket and wallet, and headed out of the dorm. You hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.

As you neared your destination, you saw three figures standing at the roadside outside a nightclub. You instructed the cab driver to stop and wait for you, then quickly opened the door and rushed over.

Chan was holding onto a lamppost while one man supported him. The other man was kneeling before him, almost as if begging him to let go of the poor pole. You rushed forward, calling out, “Chan hyung!”

Your heart pounded as you neared the scene. The man who had been kneeling quickly stood up, pointing toward you. “He’s here! Chan-ah, please, let go of the lamppost—”

Chan’s head snapped up, his glassy eyes locking onto yours. A small, drunken smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it seemed distant and unfocused. His grip on the lamppost tightened for a moment before he slowly, shakily let go and staggered toward you. “You... You came,” he slurred, his voice slow and heavy with alcohol.

You instinctively reached out to support him as he wobbled toward you. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol and something else—something sweet, like strawberries. He tried to stand on his own but swayed dangerously, his body pressing too heavily against yours.

The man who had been kneeling sighed in relief, a slight smile on his face. “Thanks for coming. He’s been asking for you for the past half hour. We thought he might knock himself out with the pole at some point.” He sighed, while the other man nodded coolly. You recognized them as Yoon Jeonghan and Vernon Chwe from the marketing department. As Chan leaned heavily on your shoulder, you gave a quick bow to them. “Nice to meet you, sunbaes. I’m—”

“We know you.” Jeonghan gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re the rising star of the baseball team, Cheolie’s most reliable striker. Besides, Channie told us a lot about you.” He sighed at the man currently trying to hide his face in your neck. You quickly wrapped your jacket around him as he tightened his arms around your waist. “I see. Do you have the address to his dorm?”

“About that,” Vernon spoke up. “Chan’s dorm room is undergoing renovations. He’s been crashing at Jeonghan hyung’s place, but since he got drunk, he refused to leave with him. If you don’t mind, could you bring him back to your dorm instead?”

“Sure.” You nodded. Jeonghan looked relieved. “Great, I’ll leave Channie in your hands.” He said, before dragging Vernon off in the opposite direction. You gently guided Chan’s hands off you and led him back to the cab.

By the time the cab reached your dorm, Chan had already fallen asleep. The driver, kind enough to assist, helped you carry Chan onto your back, and you left him a generous tip. Once inside, you laid Chan gently on your bed.

As you straightened up to grab a warm towel, a hand gripped your shirt tightly. You looked down to see Chan staring up at you, a faint blush across his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just getting a towel for you, hyung,” you replied, taking in his appearance. Chan wasn’t wearing his usual glasses—his eyes were wide, pupils dark, pulling you in like a siren. You swallowed, suddenly aware of the sweet scent of strawberries filling the room.

“Stay,” Chan insisted, his head tilting slightly to the side. You nodded, a bit dazed, and before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled you onto the bed, positioning himself to straddle you.

When your lips crashed, you froze, your hands laying helplessly at either side of your hips. You could feel Chan grinding on you, his hands gripping your shirt as his lips moulded with yours. When Chan finally pulled away from you to gasp for air, you quickly held him by the waist, stopping his movements. “Hyung… You’re drunk-”

“‘M not drunk,” Chan replied, his hands snaking down your chest. Your face burnt as he reached the hem of your pants, teasingly pulling at the band. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hyung…” You swallowed. The air thickens as Chan frowned, leaning so close that your noses touched. “You want me to beg you? Please, fuck me?” He growled, grinding harshly at the tent in your pants. You let out a groan, your grip around his waist tightening. “I-”

“I’m giving you permission to put your cock in my ass right now. I like you.” Your eardrums ringed as Chan confesses, one hand pulling up his shirt while the other working on your pants. You choked on your own saliva at the sight of his body, quickly turning your head to the side. “Hyung, sl-slow down.”

Articles of clothing were soon removed, pooling at the ground of your bed. Chan is now lying beneath you, one hand grabbing the sheets as he moaned loudly, his other hand now tightening around your hair. You hollowed your mouth, your tongue flicking against his tip as you gave a harsh suck.

Chan whimpered, arching his back off your sheets as his thighs clamped around your head. You ignored the tightness around your head, your finger working relentlessly on his hole as he thrashed around the sheets, wailing loudly before spilling into your mouth. “Ah…ha…”

The taste of salty musk and sweet strawberries filled your tongue as you lolled them out, letting them spill onto your fingers. Using Chan’s cum and your saliva as lube, you continued to venture in him, earning a loud cry from the older man. “Wait- T-too mu-”

“You were impatient just now, hyung.” You replied, forcing his knees to open for you again. Chan panted, looking at you through his hooded lids and wet hair. His upper body was littered with hickeys and bite marks, his nipples red and swollen. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

You added another finger into him, stretching him out as he moaned your name in earnest. A particular sharp jab of your fingers caused him to arch his back yet again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You poked around that soft muscle for a few more times, before pulling your fingers out.

“You…” Chan looked down at you, a confused yet fucked out expression on his face. You stood between his legs, your expression suddenly mortified. “Um, hyung, I don’t have condoms…”

“Just do it raw.” Chan deadpanned, rolling his eyes. He raised his knees up, hanging them over your shoulder and hooking you closer to him. “It’s not like I would get pregnant.”

Your cock twitches at his words and you hummed in reply. “You do know the colour system-”

“Green, now hurry up and fuck m- ah, shit,” You guided your hardness towards his hole, burying in Chan’s warmth with one slow thrust. You could feel him sucking you in as you groaned, pushing gently so as to not hurt him.

Once you bottomed out, Chan’s eyes were unfocused. You leaned downwards to nibble at his swollen lips, and his hand quickly wrapped around your neck, supporting himself. You took this as a sign to continue, and your hips started to move.

Moans and groans bounced off the walls as you rammed Chan into the sheets. Chan felt like a drug, his addictive scent filling your nose and brain as you continued to plant hickeys along the sides of his neck. It didn’t take long for Chan to arch his back again, and so you stopped.

“Wha- Y-” Before Chan could say anything, you flipped him around, still impaled in him. Your hips moved at an unforgiving speed, as Chan could only cry your name out in both pleasure and mercy. “Can’t… Please- close…”

“I’m close too, hyung.” You pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder, your hand reaching down to grab at his cock. A few lazy tugs and Chan was cumming, his head on your shoulder as he sobbed, falling to the bed. You groaned at the sudden tightness, pulling out before tight ropes of your cum spurt over Chan’s back and ass.

“I’ll clean you up, hyung,” you whispered softly as Chan’s heavy eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. Carefully, you lifted him off the bed, guiding him toward the bathroom.

With patience and gentle coaxing, you managed to shower him with warm water, wash away the remnants of the night, and dry him off. By the time you were done, Chan looked peaceful, dressed in clean clothes, and already half-asleep. You laid him gently on your bed, now fresh with newly changed sheets.

Sliding in beside him, you couldn’t resist wrapping your arms around his resting form. His familiar strawberry-like scent lingered, soothing you as you nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

Contentment swelled in your chest. Tomorrow, you would ask him out on an official date. For now, though, holding him close was more than enough.

bonus:

02:23 a.m.

hannie hyung🐰: so... how did it go? did you get cheol’s favourite junior?

hannie hyung🐰: judging from your lack of response, i guess you got what you want. i really need that strawberry perfume back, you know. besides, if he smells it too often he might get really, like really addicted to it.

hannie hyung🐰: and bononie just cleared out the stash of photos in your dorm, you can bring him back any time.

hannie hyung🐰: we didn't throw it away though, it's at shua's.

hannie hyung🐰: and text me back when you're awake. i can't believe i had to kneel down to you in public, you little freak. do we really have to go all out to that extend?

hannie hyung🐰: hyung loves you, anyway.

74 notes · View notes

do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 2 days ago

Text

In honor of @littlepaws9's birthday, we will pretend the break-up never happened... this is very short and hopefully as fluffy as you like your BuckTommy ;)

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

"I wanna take you out tomorrow," Buck breathes into Tommy's ear, half-hidden from the bedsheet.

The answer is a mere grunt, he takes it as approval.

"It's a nice restaurant," he continues to chatter, "a bit outside of town, not so fancy, pretty cozy, I think you'll like it."

Squinting, Tommy questions his pillow with a muffled, "Tomorrow’s New Year’s?"

"I've made the reservation a couple of months ago."

This confession seems to crack Tommy’s eyes finally open. He’s still wearing this adorable scrunched-up sleeping face, but Buck can tell something is working behind his brow. A couple of months ago, they almost broke up over a stupid argument, preceded by an evening at Miceli's. It was easy to guess that Buck – after their very hot reconciliation – had made a kind of vow for the future: never to go to that restaurant again, and to never leave anything to chance.

"Fine, but why are you telling me this at..." Tommy lifts his head briefly to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand, "six in the morning?"

"I've got a shift. And you live closer to Harbor than to the 118."

"Huh?"

"One of us has to get up early, sleepyhead," Buck says with a laugh, pressing a kiss on the fuzzy head sticking out of the sheets.

The restaurant really proved to be beautiful, far from all the chrome and glass that modern places in L.A. considered aesthetically pleasing. This special day seems to call for wine, so they settle for red. At the tables around them, only couples are to be seen. Buck finds Tommy to be unusually taciturn, and he starts to wonder why.

"You tired?" he asks, causing Tommy to look up in surprise from the salad he’s been pushing back and forth with his fork. "We can always have dessert at home, if you want."

He winks, and Tommy scrunches his face in his pretty little smile.

"I'd like that," he returns. "But that's not it."

Putting a hand on Buck’s, he softly explains, "New Year’s Eve is always so… charged. Everybody’s making vows and resolutions, and it’s become some kind of couple event, almost worse than Valentine’s." With a nod, he gestures to the guests around them.

"Too corny?" Buck offers.

"Hm, too many expectations," Tommy cautiously replies. "And... Sometimes you don't know how to fulfill them."

"Expectations," Buck echoes, pondering whatever this might mean. "Look, all I'm expecting is for you to sit there, enjoy your free meal and look at your handsome boyfriend."

"Oh, I can do that," Tommy says with a smirk, raising his glass.

"Totally cool if this isn't your holiday," Buck continues, a little more serious now. "Just wanna be with you, like... every day, you know?"

Tommy tilts his head and seems about to reply, but Buck quickly interrupts him.

"Don't freak out, because yeah, I do admit I'm a fan of holidays, any kind of them. And I… I brought you something. You can find that kitschy, be my guest to hide under the table, and I expect nothing in return, but…"

Suddenly, there’s a small box in his hand, and Tommy’s features slip.

"Evan," he breathes, a trail of disbelief in his voice. "We agreed on no presents."

"I said don't freak out! That was Christmas, by the way. And it’s not what it looks like."

With a sheepish smile, he opens the box. Inside lie two very discreet, very pretty silver ear studs in the shape of the letter E.

"Remember when I once asked you about your pierced ears? You said you got them in your youth but didn’t dare wearing any earrings because of your career choices. And, w…well. You're no longer in the closet. And I know that I'm not the reason for it, but... I'm the reason you admitted it to some of your old friends, and those are my friends too, and that's kind of a big deal somehow. I’m sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"It's embarrassing, especially after you’ve made it clear Christmas and New Year’s aren’t your … favorites."

"Well," Tommy stretches, reaching for one of his pockets, pulling out quite a similar little box.

"They’re not," he admits. "There’s a reason I like to volunteer for shifts on those days. Until… well, until you, Evan. I know I kinda chickened out of Christmas, just didn’t feel right to be with your family. You were so understanding, I felt bad. And it was obvious you had something planned for today. It’s adorable when you try to keep a secret. This wasn't exactly what I was expecting... well, that's a conversation for another day. And even if I don't particularly like the day, that doesn't change my affection for you, Evan. I've spent the last few days thinking about how I could show it to you. Pondering what you would like. And, uh... great minds think alike, I guess?"

He flicks open the box to reveal a set of small, silver ear studs. They look like tiny T’s.

"Cheesy, isn't it?" he says with a broad grin that can hardly hide the fact he’s about to burst out laughing.

"Pretty much," Evan laughs before blurting out, "I don't even have pierced ears, babe."

"I know a good tattoo artist."

"Oh, me too. You know what? We'll go there together. Ear piercings for me and a new tattoo for both of us."

"Bold, Evan. You better not get my name engraved, who knows if you’ll still want me next year?"

"Don't worry," Buck replies with a smile. "You're a keep, no doubt about that."

#happy birthday #writing #fanfiction #my fics #BuckTommy #BuckTommy fanfic #buck x tommy #Buck/Tommy #Evan Buckley #Tommy Kinard #kinley #tevan

70 notes · View notes

zaine-m · 2 days ago

Text

I like to think that Jayce and Viktor get a happy ending in the other universe too

Jayce feels awful that hextech took a life. Especially seeing powder (who is around the same age he was when him and his mom were saved by hextech) holding her dead sister's body

He says similar things as in the start of the trial but now fully meaning them and never mentions trying to create magic

Vander comes to Jayce's trial and stands up for him, saying he's just a stupid kid with a dream to help people who didn't know what he was doing

"Vi's with her mom now, let Jayce go home to his"

He does still sneak into his lab to attempt suicide but this time Viktor's "am I interrupting?" doesn't do anything, Jayce just turns back around and jumped, not being able to handle the guilt of accidentally taking a life while also realizing his life's work only caused harm

He survives the attempt and wakes up in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down with his mother crying next to him

Viktor comes in a bit later while his mom is out making some food for him

His tone is completely too cold for the situation. Jayce is in complete despair and Viktor refuses to match the mood

He says most of the same stuff about how hextech can change people's lives but Jayce responds "yeah, well so far all it's done is a take the life of an innocent child"

"ehh, she was from the undercity. I grew up there, many children did not live to see adulthood"

"How does that make anything better?"

"Because this has the potential to change that. One explosion? There are toxic fumes and polluted waters slowly killing hundreds of children each year"

"Even if I wanted to I'm banned from the academy and ..." *waves at legs*

"pshh, you think trenchers are supposed to be at the academy and everything I did in my life I did while being disabled"

"Listen, I can't help you"

Viktor leaves Jayce's bracelet by his bed and heads towards the door. Jayce takes one look at it and throw it across the room in anger. "you probably shouldn't throw that", "GET OUT!"

A while later Vander comes to invite Jayce to Vi's memorial at the last drop

Jayce feels so guilty when he first comes into the last drop, everyone is staring at him

He sees Ekko, the kind little kid who had sold him such reasonably prices wares just days before his experiments accidentally killed his friend

Powder just starting going at him when she first sees him, her weak child-who-has-never-punched-before fists do very little damage especially because she's going so fast she doesn't fully pull her hands back

Jayce just lets her at it, crying and apologizing between the blows

Vander comes to pull Powder off of him, "it wasn't his fault, he didn't know how dangerous the materials were" she just looks back and screams at him before going back to her bedroom

Vander takes Jayce on a walk through the undercity to talk,

"Everyone in there knew what I did?"

"huh, no?"

"they were looking at me like I was a monster"

"yeah, that's cause you're dressed like a piltie"

"ohh, ha... I'm so sorry about what happened to Vi"

"It's a shame, but she's with her parents now"

*Jayce looks down, only feeling worse finding out the girl he killed was an orphan*

"You want to know how her parents died?" *they arrive at the bridge* "I thought I could help the undercity, create a better world by fighting for sovereignty. I led us across this bridge and lost so many people in the process, the undercity is still recovering"

"I'm so sorry"

"I was like you, I was young and ambitious and I wanted to help people. But you know what I learned. You don't need to make giant leaps to help the people around you"

On the way back Vander points out all the ways he's helped different people in the undercity, helping them make a business plan, caring for their kids when they were sick, helping them find a community at the last drop

He also points out all the things that could be helped like roofs with holes in them and cliffs that should have railings

"You don't need hextech to help the world, Jayce"

Jayce spends his time between his family's forge doing hammer work and around the undercity working as a handyman, building what he can to help people

Eventually he tracks down Viktor, hoping to find ways to make a more systemic change for things like the dirty water and polluted air

Viktor works on studies surveying the living conditions of those in the undercity and seeing what affects it has on expected lifespan and the likelihood of developing different diseases to present to the council

That along with the more pro-Zaun push that's been happening since Vi's death he gets quite a bit of work done

While he's doing this Jayce does what he can to start implementing changes by making water filters and distributing masks to those in the slump levels

After a few years Jayce petitions to be let back into the academy to help Viktor with his work on a formal level and with outstanding testimonials from many people in the undercity he's let back in

When their work making the undercity safer is done they move onto studying how to treat the various illnesses people in the undercity have suffered from living there

first starting with Viktor's various physical health issues and finding that a lot of his issues come from it never being studied how to use mobility aids and how improper use can put a strain on other parts of your body so he switched to a forearm crutch to help his back

I'm gonna say in this universe Viktor just has severe asthma which they're able to find medicines to treat so he still has issues breathing in a lot of the undercity, he just wears a mask most of the time and keeps his medication with him

Viktor and Jayce end up dating but it happens to slowly that it's hard to realize, they just spend all their time together working on their research and then they get an apartment together because they were both looking for roommates

Jayce stopped looking for people to date after the accident because he was going through a big life change and never got back in the game and Viktor always rejected anyone, saying he was too busy with his studies

Jayce is just physically affectionate in a way where hugging Viktor a lot turns into Viktor sitting on his lap whenever his leg is sore turns into Jayce playing with Viktor's hair when he's bored turns into them cuddling on the couch turns into them cuddling in bed turns into kisses on the forehead when one of them is sick turns into kisses when they're not sick

They're at the last drop one day and Viktor gets up off Jayce's lap to use with washroom and Vander asks Jayce, "so you think you'll propose soon" Jayce almost spits out his food, "what, what do you mean?"

"I mean you've been dating for like what 5 years now. You gotta pop the question sooner or later"

"umm... yeah" wait fuck are we dating, have we been dating for 5 years, what

In bed that night: "Viktor, I... I think I might like you... like romantically. I guess I never thought about it but I was talking to Vander and... and you've been the most important person in my life for the past like 6 years"

"Jayce, I thought we were dating? How are you only realizing this now"

"ohh"

"I called you my partner"

"I thought you meant like research partner"

"we kissed a lot"

"I thought those were like just for comfort... between friends"

*Viktor kisses him passionately but not the most passionately they've kissed before*

"Does that seem like it would be between friends?"

"heh, now that you mention it I guess not"

#arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #jayvik #just scroll to the bottom to read fluff

145 notes · View notes

janiehellion · 2 days ago

Text

New Blood In An Old Place

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The quietest souls have the loudest hearts, and you just found yourself staring at the sky—wondering if Daryl Dixon might be the one to make the stars in the night feel a little closer and less out of reach.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SELECTIVE MUTISM / FLUFF / MILD ANGST / SLOW BURN / CANON DIVERGENCE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.515

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: LATE S9 & EARLY S10

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You’d always been the quiet type, even before the world fell apart. Silence wasn’t something that scared you; it was where you felt most at home. And it made survival easier too. The less noise you made, the harder it was for anyone—dead or alive—to find you.

But the sudden loss of your voice wasn’t something that had happened overnight, and it wasn’t a head injury either. No, it came quietly, over time, like a shadow that only grew darker.

You’d always had a voice—loud and clear. You’d argued with friends, laughed at the dumbest jokes, and sang along to songs so loud just to annoy people in a karaoke bar alongside your friends.

You had a life.

But then, just a few weeks before the world ended, you started to notice it. At first, you brushed it off—just a little hoarseness, maybe a harmless cold. Then, when you tried to speak like you used to, nothing came out. Not even a whisper.

The feeling was like swallowing a stone, with you choking on the problem to get the words out. The doctors couldn’t explain it at first. They said it could be stress-related, maybe an anxiety disorder and coming from trauma. They called it selective mutism in adulthood, but that didn’t help you feel any better about the situation.

You could still speak, technically, since your vocal cords weren’t damaged. But when you tried to speak, it felt like something in your brain held your voice hostage. It would just come out weak.

In moments when you were alone, you could speak freely, but it wasn’t as perfect as you wanted it to be. Your voice trembled like it wasn’t used to its own sound. Still… it was there. But around other people? You just couldn’t use it anymore.

And the silence became more than just silence—it became a prison between you and the world.

In the final days before the world ended, you stopped trying completely. The fear of trying to speak only to fail took its toll. So, you leaned into it. It was easier. You could still communicate, just not with words. You had learned sign language before, but now it was something that felt more like a lifeline than a language at times.

Even after the world fell apart, after the deaths and all the losses during all those years, you still clung to being quiet. It was safer that way. It just kept the world's horrors far enough from you.

But sometimes, late at night, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, your voice would slip through, quiet and unsure, with nobody else but the stars in the sky around to listen.

When you crossed paths with Magna’s group, you’d been alone for so long that trying to talk again seemed almost foreign. But Connie understood that without you ever having to say a thing. She figured you out right away and never tried to get you to talk; she never pushed you toward expectations.

When you met, she just looked at you and raised her hands to start signing. She’d seen right through you, understanding that your silence wasn’t a weakness. For you, it became like a secret language, something shared between survivors who didn’t need words to know how to hold each other up.

In a way, it felt good—like being given permission to go back to silence, but without the loneliness that had followed you for so long. The group simply took you in and accepted you without any restraint.

Magna was a bit hesitant about you, but you caught the looks she’d exchanged with Connie when it came to you. Kelly, on the other hand, was curious from the start, even though she held back her questions. Luke was kinder than he had any right to be, filling in all the gaps that words used to with music. And Yumiko—well, she kept her distance at first but always nodded in respect whenever you shared a knowing glance.

For once, you didn’t feel like a liability just because you weren’t talking about every thought that crossed your mind. You found friends within them. Maybe it was Connie’s warm smiles or Kelly’s easy acceptance. Or maybe it was the way they didn’t stare too long when you used your hands instead of your voice—how they gave you room to be silent without feeling the need to fill it.

There was a safety in it—an invisibility that let you see things without being seen yourself. The new world was loud enough; you didn’t need to add to the noise. Besides, words were like a last resort. Hand signs and body language could fill in the rest.

And so the days in the new world passed by. The old one had ended, and with it, so many things you had once known. But your silence remained, and you thought it would always be that way.

Until one night changed everything.

The first time you saw Hilltop, it felt like a miracle—a place that actually looked like it could hold the world at bay. People worked the fields, tended to livestock, and repaired anything that needed to be repaired. It was almost overwhelming—the noise and the life.

Your eyes wandered, taking in everything. Connie nudged you once, signing quickly, "Are you okay?"

"Just watching," you signed back and nodded, quick enough to not draw attention. She gave you a thumbs-up and returned to whatever was happening around you.

That’s when you noticed him.

You held your ground under his stare, tilting your head slightly as if to say, "What are you looking at?"

He didn’t answer, of course, just turned back to the person he’d been talking to. His crossbow was slung over one shoulder, the weapon looking as much a part of him as his worn leather vest. He seemed like the kind of man who belonged in this world—strong, observant, and… silent.

Connie followed your eyes and smirked. She signed quickly. "That’s Daryl Dixon. Quiet, almost like you. You’ll like him."

You rolled your eyes, but a part of you wondered if she was right.

To say Daryl was wary would be an understatement. You’d watched him from a distance at first, both of you not interested in any kind of interaction at all.

But over time, it changed. Maybe it was because he saw the way you signed with Connie, or maybe he just figured he’d get more out of you by observing.

At first, it was small things. Daryl would catch you signing something to Connie—a quick exchange about the day, a comment on the weather—and his brow would furrow like he was trying to decipher a code. He didn’t do anything, not right away, but you noticed how his eyes looked at your hands more often.

He was practicing off to the side when he thought no one was looking, his fingers stiff and awkward as he tried to do a hand sign he’d seen. Once, you caught him fumbling through what looked like 'hello' and 'thank you' with some kind of concentration that might’ve been funny if it weren’t so earnest.

Sometimes, you’d sign something small—'Good morning.' or 'How are you?'—just to break the silence, and he’d respond in kind, while you’d answer with a nod or a slight smile, just enough to let him know he didn’t have to worry.

But he stuck with learning it, stubbornly repeating each sign until he got it right.

And when he finally worked up the nerve to really use it? Well, it didn’t go as smoothly as he had planned.

He approached you one afternoon, just as you were sitting down with Connie once more. He looked between the two of you, then at his hands with a bit of panic. Slowly and unsure, he signed, "Ya… okay?"

Connie held back a grin as she nudged you. You smiled, nodding at him before replying, "Yes. And you?"

The look on his face changed—relief, but still with a bit of embarrassment. "Good," he signed, then quickly ducked his head and whispered to himself, "'M still learnin’ for ya…"

But Connie wasn’t going to let him go just like that. She leaned over, her hands moving fast. "Not bad. But maybe do it even slower the next time?"

Daryl just scoffed in response, but he kept at it. His signs grew smoother over time, less clumsy, and much more confident. He’d even started picking up on the little things—how you’d tap your fingers when you were nervous or how Connie’s signs slowed when she was tired.

It wasn’t perfect, but something. And you couldn’t help but notice how often his eyes found yours during those quiet moments, like he was searching for something in the silence you shared.

And that’s how things were—a wordless connection that nobody questioned.

As the months passed by, helping with farming became your hobby. There was something relaxing about it—the rows of crops and the people working. You weren’t much of a farmer yourself, not yet, but sitting next to the fields, watching, or lending a hand when someone needed it, gave you something you hadn’t felt in years.

Sometimes, you just needed to be near it—something that grew, something that reminded you of life’s persistence, even in the darkest of times. The fields, the plants, the insects, and the small living things—they gave you a sense of belonging you couldn’t quite explain.

And Daryl? He started showing up more regularly, his eyes staying less on the dirt and more on you. He’d make little comments about the crops to himself or sign quick questions to you about what you were doing.

You found yourself signing more as well, explaining things through gestures and expressions, and he watched you like he was trying to remember every movement of your hands and fingers. Occasionally, he’d try to sign back something new he learned.

"Yer patient," he signed, seemingly out of nowhere. "With me."

You glanced at him in return, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Teachin’ me," he clarified, quickly scratching the back of his neck. "Most woulda given up by now."

You shrugged with a small smile in response. "You’re trying," you answered. "But you understand me just fine. And effort matters, too… even with your heavy accent."

He didn’t respond right away; he just ducked his head away and went back to work, but you saw the tiniest bit of a smirk before he did.

With him, the quiet moments started to feel… different.

By the end of the latest day, after almost everyone else in Hilltop was already asleep, you were still there, with Daryl, but now too lost in the way the stars twinkled in the night sky.

He had an uncomfortable look about him—the one that said, 'I’m not good at this, but I’m here.'

Daryl hesitated, sitting a few feet away, not sure whether to just hang back or leave. His eyes looked between you and the sky, clearly uncomfortable but trying not to show it.

"Ya… uh, ya do this a lot?" He asked after tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

You gestured back, "Sometimes. Have you never noticed before? I mean, it's… It's peaceful, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Peaceful," he signed back, his fingers shaking a little. "I get it. Don’ get a lotta quiet no more." He sat down closer to you without asking, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, but not too close.

The first two hours passed by, and when the stars began to shine brighter through the cloudy sky, you caught him looking upward.

You nudged him gently, signing. "Pretty, huh?"

He only shrugged. "Ain’t seen ‘em like this in a while. Too much runnin’ 'round, I guess."

You smiled, and the time stretched on, but it wasn’t awkward—it was relaxing. Soon the wind picked up, the breeze feeling colder, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you.

But Daryl noticed immediately. He moved behind you, pulling off his vest with a gruff. "Here. Take it."

You blinked at him, shaking your head and gesturing back quickly. "No. You’ll get cold."

He snorted, putting the vest on your lap stubbornly. "Don’ matter. Ain’t much colder’n usual for me."

You hesitated before reluctantly taking the vest and slipping it on. It was warm and quite soft, with the smell of leather and something distinctly Daryl Dixon clinging to it.

"Big on me," you signed, smiling at him before watching the clouds in the sky pass by.

He smirked to himself, looking away as if he didn't want you to know what he was thinking. "Looks better on ya anyway…"

The stars above seemed brighter somehow, and without thinking, you leaned closer to him, your shoulder touching his.

He froze for a second before relaxing, his eyes looking toward you in confusion. "Ya alright?"

"Feeling cozy already," you nodded, lifting your fingers to answer. "You know… it’s strange how big the world feels."

"Yeah," he mumbled to himself, looking upward before signing back to you. "Big 'nough to make ya feel like nothin’, huh?"

"No, not nothing," you signed, shaking your head. "Small? Yeah, maybe. But not nothing."

He grunted and smirked, though his expression stayed guarded as he signed further. "Suppose so. Don’ mean it’s a bad thing, bein’ small. Keeps ya humble. Like—hell, I ain’t out here thinkin’ I’m bigger’n the stars or nothin’. That’d jus' be so damn stupid."

You bit back a grin, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. If anything, it felt right—sitting close to him and just signing along. But when another shiver went through you, it startled him out of whatever thought had his attention.

He reached out awkwardly, his hand stopping near your shoulder before pulling back to sign, since he wasn't aware of the fact you could actually listen to him, after all. "Ya still cold?"

You nodded. "A little. But I have this." You tugged at his vest, smirking a bit.

The next few minutes passed slowly, his hand touching your arm every now and then before retreating like he didn’t trust himself and thinking he might do something wrong.

You weren’t sure what made you do it, but something in his touch—or lack of it—had you leaning into him. But when you moved to sit sideways on his lap out of nowhere, his whole body stiffened like he’d just stepped into a trap, even though he didn’t push you away.

"Sharing warmth," you signed with an innocent tilt of your head, but you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Daryl flinched beneath you, his hands moving around like he couldn’t decide where they were supposed to go, but one finally moved near your hips.

You smiled at his reaction. "It’s okay if you don’t know what to do. I don’t, either. Believe me."

That seemed to take some of the nervousness away from him. "Ain’t that the truth? World’s gone to shit, and here we are, tryin’ to figure out how to… y’know." He gestured vaguely in front of your face.

"Be human?" You signed back, your hands moving slowly and thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he responded. "S’pose we’re doin’ fine, though. Least, I think we are."

You tilted your head to the side to look at him in the faint moonlight. He looked… softer like this. As if he was opening up in a way you never saw, and it made your heart race.

His hands brushed along your shoulder in a quick, almost hesitant motion before he brought them up again. "Ya good now? Feelin' better n' warmer?"

"Yes, I feel good," you signed, your hands moving slowly as if the moment might be destroyed if you rushed. "You make me feel… safe."

Daryl's Adam's apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away for sure. Instead, he just pulled you a little closer, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

"Safe’s good," he mumbled to himself. "Safe’s good. 'N stars ain’t got nothin’ on feelin' safe."

"But I still think it's strange how small we are," you signed further, your fingers lingering in the air like a painter in front of their work. "How small one can feel in this world."

"Y’ain’t small," he answered with his hands in front of your face again. "Ain’t like we’re jus', dunno… some kinda insect out here. Maybe this world’s gone to hell, but yer… bigger’n that, I guess."

You smiled, your fingers moving quickly. "And you’re not exactly a philosopher, Daryl Dixon."

He snorted at that, shaking his head. "Yeah, well… don’ needa be. 'S jus' the truth."

You shivered again, the cold breeze leaving goosebumps on your skin, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed.

"And ya still freezin'," he signed, almost accusingly, as if you hadn’t already borrowed his vest. You tilted your head, your face making it clear that the wind wasn't the only thing making you tremble.

Daryl shifted a bit, pulling his vest more tightly around your shoulders. His hands grabbed the edges of it, tugging it so it covered your chest better. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose before he looked down, one of his hands twitching before moving to touch your knee.

"Damn wind," Daryl mumbled. "Can’t believe ya let it get ya like this..."

The way he said it wasn’t angry. It sounded more frustrated, like he blamed himself more than anything else as his thumb brushed over your knee, his fingers digging into your pants just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"Shit," he growled quietly, his other hand soon moving to grab your hips as if he were trying to ground himself before he leaned his head in closer. His nose touched your temple and went lower, brushing along your jawline. But Daryl didn't stop there; his lips pressed gently against your pulse point, staying there as if he wanted to remember the feel of your skin against himself all of a sudden.

"Smellin' so good… like somethin’ I don’ deserve," he whispered to himself as his hand tightened on your hips."Too close… Too close…" he growled, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Instead, he pulled you in, but only just enough, like he didn’t trust himself to go any further. "Can’t… Can’t be that close. Shouldn' be."

The muscles in his arm were twitching as if he were afraid you might slip away—afraid that if he let go, you'd disappear. He was trying to memorize it—to memorize you—trying to hold on without breaking anything inside himself.

"Why ya makin' me… feel like that?"

And then—without any warning—his tongue was dragging itself across your throat. It was slow as if he couldn’t get enough, and the feeling was almost overwhelming, like he was marking you with every slide of his tongue, each lick a little longer than the last.

His hand slid further up your back, his fingers digging into his vest around your body as if trying to pull you even closer, but his mouth never left your neck. He growled, and when he got to the curve of your jaw, he couldn’t resist—his teeth scraped against your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

"Fuckin’ hell," he growled again, but his lips never stopped moving over your skin. It was as if he needed to feel you against him, closer than close, just to make sure you were really there.

"Goddamn…" Daryl's voice cracked slightly, and you swore you felt his whole body trembling even more as he pressed closer, burying his face in the crook of your now slightly wet neck.

You wanted to sign something to him, anything, but the way his lips then moved along the curve of your neck instead of his tongue stole the thoughts right out of your mind. His nose nudged closer, and you could swear you felt him inhale deeply, his stubble brushing softly against your skin.

It was tender like a breeze but rough as a storm—the kind of closeness that set your nerves on fire and each cell ablaze.

Daryl leaned back slightly, letting you sit more fully in his lap, and the quiet groan that came out of his mouth when you adjusted your weight made your heart race and sent it into overdrive. His forehead came to rest against your cheek for a moment, his breathing uneven as if he was about to melt, his eyes half-lidded as they took you in.

His hands felt as if they were everywhere—on your back, your hips, your face—but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was looking at you like he was starving.

Before you could even react, Daryl's teeth sank into your shoulder, hard enough to make you wince at the soft pain, but not enough to hurt you. His mouth followed the mark he made, soothing it with his tongue before, gentle and wordlessly, his lips found your cheek.

It was slow at first, almost shy when he nudged you with his nose several times, pressing quick kisses to your cheek. But when you didn't pull away, he deepened it, his lips kissing your face with some kind of desperation that’s been building for far too long.

His fingers tangled in your hair, keeping you close to him, while his other hand still held on to your knees, holding you close enough to feel every shudder of his breath before burying his face against you again.

"Need ya…" He growled quiet and roughly against your throat, his voice hoarse, like he was trying to communicate through his actions rather than words, as if he couldn’t control himself anymore.

You leaned into him, your fingers grabbing and holding onto his shirt as he kissed his way back up to the corner of your mouth.

"Don’ lemme stop… 'cause I ain’t sure I can," he whispered, his voice soft and his eyes closed like he was trying to shut out the world and focus on the feeling of you being so close.

You could feel the way he was fighting himself, like there was a battle going on somewhere deep inside of him. It was like he was waiting for some sort of permission—while waiting to see if you’d still push him away.

You reached up, your fingers gently touching his chin, then moving down to his neck, feeling the shiver of his body beneath your touch. You didn’t rush, didn’t try to close the distance too fast. You just let the silence take a hold of time, letting him process, letting him come to terms with whatever was going on in his head.

When you finally moved, it wasn’t forceful or harsh. You tilted your head slightly, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. He froze—completely still, like the whole world had stopped.

It wasn’t the shock kind of freeze. It wasn’t fear, or panic. It was the kind that came when someone was trying to hold on to something which could break at any time, unsure if they should let go of the fragile moment. And Daryl was still fighting, still unsure. But when you didn’t pull back, when you stayed close, he let himself relax.

The kiss was slow, hesitant at first. His lips barely pressed against yours, as if testing. But then, when you didn’t pull away, he kissed you a little deeper, a little more sure. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. It was gentle—sweet, like he was giving you all the time in the world to back away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

When you pulled back, his eyes looked into yours—wide, almost like he couldn’t believe it had happened. "Uh… I, uh…" He stammered, while caught somewhere between disbelief and relief.

Neither of you signed a word, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, the world wasn’t such a lonely and dark place after all.

Daryl soon broke the silence, speaking more to himself than to you as he looked up at the sky. "New blood in an old place…"

You stopped breathing for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as you listened to him. It wasn’t a question, just a statement—a realization like the stars had aligned at that very moment.

New blood in an old place.

It could have meant many things, but as you let it sink in, you realized it’s his way of talking about you—about the way you’ve come into this world, this place. You were different from the ones who’ve weathered here, those who’ve learned how to survive in the rain.

Maybe you were a spark—untouched by the bitterness of a storm cloud that never really went away until now. At least… for him. It was like Daryl was seeing you in a different light that shined brighter like the stars in the night.

You leaned in slightly, a little nervous, but you finally spoke—really spoke. "Maybe it's not about being new. Maybe it's just about finding somewhere that feels… like it could be home."

Daryl’s eyes went wide. He stared at you as if he hadn’t fully processed the fact that you’d spoken—that you had actually spoken.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips parted in shock. "Did ya jus'—" He stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Yer… talkin’?"

You could feel the way his hands trembled, his eyes staring at you like he was afraid to blink.

"Say my name," he demanded, cupping your face and looking into your eyes. "Say… my name."

You hesitated, your stopping for a second before the word came out nervously. "Daryl..."

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice trembling with something you couldn’t quite understand. "Jus'... say it again."

You swallowed hard, the sound of your own voice feeling not so foreign anymore with his name on your lips. "Daryl."

He didn’t say anything further. He just held you, now both his arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there to believe it was real.

And then, in that same instant, he leaned forward, one hand grabbing your chin, but this time with a bit more force. His lips found yours again, rougher this time, but still full of that same sweetness, like he was trying to devour you. His tongue slipped into your mouth—not slowly, not careful, just all-consuming.

It was a warning, as if he was reminding you—he wasn’t letting you go—he was marking you, claiming you. It was a kiss that spoke for him without saying any words at all, a kiss that told you that you weren’t just new blood anymore—you were a part of this place, and of him.

The world still seemed dark around you, but with him at your side and bright stars up in the sky, it didn’t seem quite as impossible to face those shadows anymore.

You were new blood—but you were home.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: An attempt at writing fluff, I guess. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. If some parts and scenes feel a little repetitive, that’s me trying to slowly build intimacy because I didn’t want to rush anything.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema @ch3r0k33-r0s3

76 notes · View notes

nanaooyoo · 3 days ago

Text

nct jisung oneshot

request for anon: you have a kid without your highschool boyfriend ever finding out. sorry this request took a long while my life has been so insane lately that I haven’t had time to do much of anything besides work. Anyways enjoy ✨

warnings/headsup: light swearing • teen pregnancy • tiny bit of angst • major fluff fest • 7.8k words • female reader • light proofread • jisung x reader kiss • melodrama • crisp autumn vibes • dad!jisung • D/N = daughters name • miscommunication • so much cheesiness

Moving On: Jisung x Reader pt. I/I

High school was a complicated time for Jisung. He was managing school, keeping up with friends, dealing with his overbearing family, and a slew of extracurriculars, all while making sure to pay attention to you; his girlfriend. Sometimes it all felt like too much, sometimes he felt like he should just quit. Nevertheless, you were always there to support him. You were constantly by his side and that’s what really mattered. Whether it was bringing him snacks in between classes, helping him study during free periods, waiting for him at the dance studio while he practiced, or just being a shoulder to lean on and a safe space to vent whenever he may have needed it you were there... Jisung couldn’t even express how grateful he was for having you around! Even with all his appreciation and love for you however, he still wasn’t aware of just how far you were expending yourself to keep him happy and healthy.

People often joked about just how close you two were, how you were like second mother to Jisung and his entire friend group, the way you were always ready and able to give them rides and take care of Jisung and all the people important to him. Jisung’s mother would have probably said the opposite. Though she was never overt about it you know she didn’t like you. She would scowl whenever Jisung left you two alone together and the smile she forced on her face whenever he brought you home was just about the fakest thing you’d ever seen. Jisung always tried his best to talk you up to his parents, but where his mother was stubborn and resentful, his father was uninterested and indifferent. He didn’t want to believe that the people that had raised him couldn’t see in you what he saw, it pained him to think about so he just didn’t. He was in complete denial most times about the relationship between your two families and the fact that you came from much lower economic means didn’t help your case. When he first pitched the idea of you being his girlfriend to his mom and dad that was the very first thing they pointed out in fact! That didn’t stop him however. He would just tell himself that they were overly protective and that you and his mom were actually quite similar. You two would have to get along at some point… at least he hoped you would…

Jisung almost never failed to point out your motherly instincts: to protect him from bad news, to make sure he excelled in everything he did, to simply keep his head afloat. Unfortunately, no one knew just how that instinct would eventually have to develop. For better or for worse that instinct might have just been the end of the life you were once so used to.

It was late spring when you started noticing a bizarre sense of dread in the air as the reality started to set in for everybody that lives were starting to shift and change, and relationships were experiencing a much different sort of ebb and flow. No wonder you felt a little sick, it was the dread in the air! Right?

Sometimes your period was late… but it was never this late... You had no idea what you were supposed to do in a moment like this! A wave of anxiety washed over you and your body as you began to feel queasy. You felt nauseous, and even a fair amount afraid. This might have been the absolute worst time in your life for something like this to happen! You were so close to wrapping up high school. Senior year was supposed to be the last year of you and your peers lives before becoming "real" adults. You were deciding which university to go to and what subjects to major in. You were getting ready to say goodbye to friends and unfortunately hadn’t yet had the sit down talk with your boyfriend about if he was comfortable going long distance or even staying together at all…

You loved Jisung, you really did, but you also loved the idea of a bit of freedom. You would never explicitly say that to him for fear of hurting him or just sounding like you wanted to complain, but you were tired. Tired of being so busy, tired of so many people depending on you, tired of always being referred to as Park Jisung’s girlfriend, tired of his family looking down on you and yours. You honestly thought that most people had forgotten your name at this point. You wanted something of your own, something to explore outside of and away from Jisung, however sweet he was. You thought that college might be time for a change! A chance to reinvent yourself apart from your high school boyfriend and the hovering hand of his mother. No matter how lovely and accomplished he was, you two couldn’t be together forever right? At least that’s what you told yourself. You thought of your parents, you thought of Jisung’s parents. You were sure that if the Park family didn’t already detest you they surely would now. You dreaded what two little lines on a flimsy piece of plastic might mean for all of that. His parents already thought of you as unsophisticated, a burden to Jisung’s future and this would not help your case. You knew you had to tell Jisung while he was still around but you just didn’t know how… but first you had to be sure what you were planning on telling him.

You sat on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat all alone but face still flushed with warmth from embarrassment. You got up and washed your hands and gave yourself a once over in the mirror. You barely recognized your own visage. The bags under your eyes had bags, and the dark circles looked more like new permanent attachments than temporary indications of sleepiness. You subconsciously prayed to whatever god was out there that your period was just late again this time. “It’s just two or three weeks” you told yourself looking back to your reflection in your bathroom mirror and plastering on your best cheery smile. It only lasted a moment but for a fragment of a fragment of a second you were almost smiling genuinely no matter the result.

You went and did a quick lap around your house to release as much pent up stressful energy as possible but also to make sure your parents really were out of the house. You peeked out through the living room curtains one last time just making sure that there were no cars other than your own parked in the driveway. You ran back up the stairs as soon as you heard the faint ringing of the alarm you had set on your phone. You couldn’t stop the trembling of your hands as you picked up the little pink and white pregnancy test you had set on the edge of the counter. You sucked in a deep breath, inhaling sharply through your nose as the sheer terror and excitement of what you were looking at created a blockade in your throat. You felt a tingling sensation all over, unable to properly breathe, only sucking in air for another few seconds before finally letting out your first breath in what felt like several minutes.

Although, it wasn’t just any regular breath, it was a laugh. Well less of a laugh and more or a low groan that slowly turned into a chortle. You practically keeled over as you fell to the ground on your hands and knees, stomach and back heaving as sloppy tears fell down on the sides of your face and almost splashed back into your eyes with the velocity at which they hit the tiled floor. You didn’t know what your reaction would be once you looked at the test but you definitely did not expect this! You were so afraid before, so worried, so adamant that you wanted, needed it to be negative! Now here you were staring at the two thin lines on the near microscopic test screen indicating a positive result and all you could think of was how you hope’d it’d be a girl.

𖦹

“So I have good news and I have bad news” you whispered to Jisung as you two sat in the back of the school library “do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first”?

“Uhm I don’t know… I guess the bad news” he said.

You screamed internally, wondering why he just had to choose the bad option first. Jisung rifled through several books struggling to pick one for a final paper, paying you little mind as he laced his fingers through yours absentmindedly and dragged you down each aisle of bookshelves behind him.

It had been about a day or two since you had taken the test and you had even talked it over with your parents. They were understandably uneasy at first when you said you planned on keeping the child but you assured them that you would absolutely keep working on your studies. You told them you would talk to Jisung yourself and figure out the rest from there, and all your parents could do was support you and whatever decisions you made, the best they possibly could. They could see the stress in your eyes as you mentioned next steps. Though your parents supported your relationship they weren’t too fond of Jisung’s family either. The pretentious nature and lack of grace when talking about their son’s girlfriend, your parent’s daughter, it made them upset to say the least. The thought of having to join your two families was the last thing they wanted to think about right now. You explained to them in detail exactly how you wanted to move forward with your life and what you planned on telling your boyfriend in the process. “Just let him down easy” your mother said, knowing how difficult of a conversation this would be, especially to have so young “don’t tell his mom… tell him.” Your mother’s voice was emotional and awkward and your dad gave you a half hearted smile and stiff hug. Their words rang in your head as you looked up at Jisung.

“Are you sure you want to hear the bad news first?” You asked, hoping that if you told him the good news was that you were pregnant, he would already be on board to end the relationship and you wouldn’t have to say what you had to say next and his mom would never have to be proven right about how messy she thought you were.

“No I want to hear the bad stuff first and just get it over with” he said reaching over you with ease to grab a book off the highest shelf. “Hey do you think this would work?” He clicked his tongue paging through whatever novel he had picked up this time.

You sighed… “okay but it’s really important so I need you to really listen!”

Jisung continued checking out books and only really half listening to you. “Of course” he said as he carried on skimming all the literature around him.

“Jisung I’m serious! I didn’t want to do this here but this is the first time we’ve been alone together all week!”

“Totally…” he responded

“Jisung look at me!”

“I am looking at you…” (he wasn’t). He kissed your hand tenderly, muttering the words on the page he was looking at to himself.

“Jisung!”

“What babe?”

His nonchalance angered you. Couldn’t he tell how upsetting this was for you? “Jisung I want to break up!” You swore you could hear a pin drop on the complete opposite side of the library. You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest in the time it took for Jisung to fully absorb what you had said. Those few seconds felt like an eternity, but once they were over you already wanted to go back to before you had said anything.

“You’re joking…” he said, actively scoffing in your face.

What ensued was potentially the first and only ever argument between you and your then, now ex boyfriend. All you really remembered was how he kept asking "why". You told him all the little reasons, how you wanted space, how you couldn’t do long distance, how your families would never get along, but you omitted the most important reason... Sure those other things were true but you also just couldn’t see yourself raising a child with the first guy you had ever slept with, and Jisung had so much going for him, you knew there was no way a dance career could have him stationed in one place long enough to focus on a new family. His mother would never let him have a kid with you, you just knew it! She would think you were trapping him, his father would question you incessantly, and Jisung would eventually have to choose between his prospective future or yours. So you decided to choose for him.

“So we’re just over then” his voice was hoarse and defeated “you don’t want to see me again”…

All you could do was nod “this one should work well, it fits all the criteria for the paper”. You said, handing Jisung a hefty book of the shelf, helping him for seemingly the last time…

You couldn’t completely avoid Jisung the last few weeks of school. You both had sort of silently agreed to keep as much distance as possible, only speaking to each other when absolutely necessary. When people asked why you two had broken up you both had slightly different answers but they both went along the lines of “growing apart.” It really hurt to think about, especially all that was left unsaid but you simply had to trudge forward. The last time you saw Jisung was at graduation where you each exchanged a friendly yet faintly sour handshake and wished each other good luck. You watched the smug smile on his mother’s face as you two parted ways and the way she turned up her nose when your dad foolishly went in for a cordial handshake.

You sort of regretted not telling him about your ‘situation’ but you also felt like it was for the best! You thought you might never see him again and once your daughter D/N was born nothing else mattered. You put off school for a bit, moved to a new town and got very used to living alone with just you and your little girl. You put all your best skills to use once you had entered university. All your experience planning, keeping others organized, staying on task, and being a mother really lended itself to your field and your incredible business acumen was undeniable. You worked hard to make sure that you and your daughter could live in the best house, afford the nicest dinners, get the very best babysitters, and whatever else would make the little one’s life easier.

Obviously you still thought about him. Every time you looked at your child’s face you saw him. Every laugh, every cough and sneeze, every silly statement, every whine just reminded you of him. She never asked about her father but you wondered if she would eventually start. You sort of did want her to meet Jisung but your life had changed so much since, you wondered if after all these years if he would even care. You weren’t immune to looking him up every now and then or asking your parents if they had heard any news about him or his family. You suspected he would be angry or hurt if he found out, and he had every right to be. Despite that though, you still just wanted to see him again, even if it was just to yell at you for lying or cuss you out, even for just a brief moment you wanted to see him…

𖦹

“There’s no way… there’s no way…” Jisung muttered to himself slowly bringing his shopping cart to a halt and planting his feet firmly in the middle of the aisle. People gave him dirty looks and confused stares. He stood there, oblivious, only focused on a woman about his age, a woman he’d recognize anywhere even from a hundred feet away, a woman who nearly shattered his heart into a million pieces and broke up with him before moving across the country and becoming the most successful person from their high school by a mile. It couldn’t be, or rather it shouldn’t be!

What were you doing back in your home town? He wondered. The last he had heard you graduated college with about a million academic achievements under your belt, and were making more money than he could ever dream of at some big conglomerate. Though there you were, same put together appearance, same pretty face, same sweet voice, bending over to talk to a little girl who looked just like you. He did a double take, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses just to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. He squinted and blinked and did just about everything he could to clear his vision but nothing changed. All he saw was you.

He felt like he had to say something… if he didn’t he thought he might go insane. What kind of guy would he be to just ignore your presence. Sure you two hadn’t ended things on the best note but that was years ago, and you were just kids at the time! Maybe you’d forgiven him at this point. At one point Jisung wasn’t sure if all the resentment he once held for you was gone but seeing you in person just confirmed that it was. There was no reason to be mad anymore. He really missed you. He just wanted to talk to you again…

Was it really you standing there? The child didn’t look that old but was she really yours? Had you moved on so quickly after leaving town, after leaving him? Who were you with now? His head was spinning like a freshly oiled revolving door and full to the brim flooded with questions.

Jisung felt like his stomach did a 360 degree flip as he tepidly approached you. “Y/N” he stated more than asked hoping but already knowing it was you. Though, in case he was wrong he braced himself for a much more awkward encounter.

You almost dropped the can of food you were holding blinking rapidly and registering the person before you. “Jisung?” You said, giving him a once over. He was somehow even taller now with jet black hair and dark thick rimmed glasses slightly covering his tired brown eyes. He was as cute as ever. There he stood looking pretty much the same as he did when you left, but boy was he handsome!

“Jisung what’re you doing here?” You asked out of impulse, already knowing the answer. You acted like you hadn’t heard he was in town from your mother who ran into his folks a couple weeks ago, who proceeded to unabashedly brag about their son to her. Of course you then immediately went and stalked him on social media.

“I- I came back recently for a family reunion…” his face was a bit strained as he said it and then he trailed off, noticing the little girl who shyly held your hand once more. Up close she looked ever more like you, down to the way she looked him up and down and examined him with curious eyes. She stared without a shred of recognition on her face or in her eyes but still refused to break eye contact with the strange adult towering over her. He also couldn’t help but notice the way her cheeks rounded out the same way his did as a child and how her face transitioned into the same confused expression he made, mirroring him perfectly.

“What are you doing here?” He said trying his best to look at you and to not stare back at the little girl clinging to your side examining him like a foreign creature trapped behind bars at the zoo.

“I’m visiting my parents” you said clearing your throat a bit “with my daughter.” You raised her little hand trying to make her wave.

“How old is she?” He asked, mentally doing the math of just how long ago you two broke up.

“She’s five…” you said bashfully. You tried to run every possible scenario in your head about what the best course of action would be in this moment. Was it selfish to just keep the information to yourself, or was it better to just tell him now. Maybe the grocery store wasn’t the best place to let Jisung know that you’ve sort of been hiding a secret daughter from him for the past five years, but also the longer you hid it from him the worse you felt. You had to tell him, it really felt like now or never. You had kept her from him for so long it just felt cruel at this point. Plus, even though your daughter was young the way she eyed Jisung up and down made you feel paranoid enough that she had already figured it out herself. Maybe Jisung already knew too, maybe he wanted nothing to do with you or more importantly with her, but you still had to tell him. The words had to come out of your own mouth whether you wanted to speak them or not! You had to make up for the immature decision you made at that time. It was like you were in that library all over again...

“Hey do you want to meet up- I mean we should probably talk, it’s been a long time”. You fumbled over your words not sure exactly what to say.

Jisung perked up “I’m free tomorrow. If you wanna grab coffee!” He was happy you took the initiative to invite him out because god knows he didn’t have the courage to do it himself.

“That sounds... nice!” you said as the little girl tugged on your arm mumbling something about wanting to watch some tv show at grandma and grandpa’s.

“I assume your number’s still the same.” He said remembering all the times he meant to text you but stopped himself out of fear.

“Yeah it is.” You said. You felt the same giddy feeling you got on the first day of high school when a cute boy in your homeroom asked for your number for “study purposes.” There was that cute boy once again standing in front of you giving you the same smile he gave you when you first met. A smile you hadn’t seen in years, but healed a hurt you didn’t know you had inside instantly.

You had to chew on your cheeks to hide your smile as you drove home. You could see your daughter in the rear view mirror drumming her little fingers on the arm rest of her car seat along to the music on the radio. You would peek at her every once in a while and try to gauge her focus. What was she thinking about? Was she afraid of him? Was she curious about him? Did she even care?

You cleared your throat only half getting her attention as she sang along to the words of whatever song was playing, mostly making up her own lyrics and swaying in her seat. “So what did you think of mommy’s friend?” You asked.

She didn’t respond for a bit or even give you any indication that she heard you. She was silent for a few minutes before speaking. “He’s nice… but… too tall…” she said.

“You might be tall like that one day” you chuckled “would you ever want to meet him again?” You wanted to at least have an idea of what to tell Jisung when you saw him next. In your mind, your daughter’s opinion (though still young and uninformed) mattered the most. If she wanted nothing to do with him at this time it didn’t matter what Jisung’s response was. All that mattered was her and what her needs were.

“Is he good at playing games?” She added out of the blue.

“What?”

“Mommy’s friend... Is he good at playing games?”

“Uhm, I guess so? From what I remember he was always fun. I’m sure he’d be good at playing games.” You smiled at her through the rear view mirror a little “Why D/N? Did you want to play a game with him?”

Your daughter just looked out the window and nodded her head, soon after getting distracted. “When are we getting home? I wanna watch my show.” She huffed and grumbled almost like an adult. Almost like Jisung.

“Soon.” You said.

As you pulled into the driveway and walked into your parent’s house, your daughter was practically vibrating with energy. She practically dove out of the car as you unbuckled her seatbelt, running into the home as your mother opened the door and greeted her with a big hug.

“How was the store?” Your mother asked as she ushered your little one down the hall to go bother your father in the living room.

“It was alright… I ran into Jisung…” you walked over to the kitchen and placed a few shopping bags on the counter.

Your mother looked surprised “both of you?”

You sighed “both of us.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked to grab coffee, he actually seemed happy to see me!”

“Were you happy to see him?” Your mother asked.

“Of course I was! It was awkward but I have to tell him sooner or later. Whether he wants to be in her life or not I have to tell him.”

“-and you think the best way to do that is over coffee?”

“No!” You said. “But I might not have another chance.”

Your mother looked at you with this awkward guilty expression on her face. She started to unpack the groceries biting her lip and looking everywhere but into your eyes.

“What? Do you really think it’s that bad of an idea?”… there was silence as she opened the fridge and began to rearrange some condiments, suspiciously shaking her head as if to neither completely agree or disagree. “You think I should keep it from him? Mom it's been long enough, it would just be wrong to not tell him. D/N wants to meet him! Why are you being so weird about this? Aren’t you the one who told me I should tell him the next time I see him?”

“What if he already knows?” Your mother blurted out.

“So what if he already knows…” you furrowed your eyebrows “wait… what do you mean?”

“Nothing” your mother said.

You knew that was bullshit. “Did you tell him?” You asked in a frustrated tone. “You told him didn’t you—”

Your mother looked at you and then went back to avoiding your fiery gaze. She was never good at keeping secrets but you thought something of this magnitude would be able to stay hidden. She promised to let you tell him on your own terms, so why had she betrayed you?

It took her a while to fess up but eventually she did, sort of… “I didn’t tell him directly, it just sort of slipped out… I— I just had to say something she was so… ugh!” Your mother groaned.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked and took a deep breath. Your mother swallowed harshly and looked down at the floor. “I promise to hear you out, I just want to know what I’m getting into mom.”

“It was around last month… Your dad has been golfing so much lately, so he got us a membership to the country club with the money you gave him for his birthday. I don’t personally use it much but he loves it down there, and I like to use the pool, and the tennis court is nice, and every once in a while I like to just sit in one of the dining rooms with a glass of wine, and…”

You sucked in your cheek as your mom rambled knowing that she couldn’t avoid the point forever. “Yeah exactly.” You said dryly.

Your mother gulped once more “To make a long story just a bit shorter… The Park family also goes there and I ran into Jisung’s mother, and she was just bragging about him nonstop and she hinted that he was better off without you and I just remembered how much you loved that boy! She was talking about some date he went on and how great this girl was. Greater than my daughter? I doubt it! She thought her son could do no wrong! That he was so perfect and you were so not… I just couldn’t help but tell her that whether she liked it or not you two would always be connected! I- I looked at her and I said ‘ya know you may want to let your son know that you already have a granddaughter and she’s not related to that rich heiress you want him with so bad!’ That’s what I said to her for looking down on us all these years… I told her about how my daughter and my daughter’s daughter were just about the most wonderful thing in this world and she had no right to talk about you or even her own son that way.”

“You really said all that stuff?”

“Yes…” Your mother replied hesitantly.

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes and a swell of emotion inside you. You put a hand over your mouth to stop the audible sobbing that threatened to leave your mouth. You could tell just how long your mother had been holding in those words. She was always so non confrontational but the fact that she said all that warmed your heart. You were angry at first but in this moment you realized that it didn’t matter what Mrs. Park or even your ex boyfriend thought of you. You had some choice words for Jisung’s parents as well but you knew it would create more trouble to let them out. All that mattered was that your mother loved you guys enough to be proud of you. You always felt a bit embarrassed when having to explain to others that you weren’t the babysitter you were just a teen mom, but your own mother didn’t even care. She loved you all the same and made sure that no one would let you feel ashamed of yourself. “I should’ve known you couldn’t keep a secret anyways.” You said choking up a bit. You gave your mother the biggest hug you had probably ever given in your entire life, and she hugged you right back!

“You aren’t angry?” She asked.

“Oh I’m furious” you said “but not at you. I have no idea what I did to make that woman hate me so much but I’m glad you stood up to her!”

Your mother sighed. “I know you wanted to do it on your own terms but I feel like she might’ve already told him… I just don’t know for sure.”

“It’s alright.” You said. You and your mother finished unloading the groceries, tearfully laughing at how strange the whole encounter must have been. The thought of your soft-spoken mother raising her voice at a stern and snarky lady filled you with joy. Just imagining the shocked look on Jisung’s mom’s face was enough to keep a slight smile on yours for the rest of the day.

Later that night, after putting D/N to bed, you sat on the couch with your parents commiserating about all the awful experiences you had with the Park family over the years. It had been pent up for so long that all of you took the opportunity to air out even the smallest of grievances.

“I don’t know how such a sweet kid could be related to such obnoxious people” your father said as a small ping emanated from your phone.

You couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach as you saw the first text from Jisung in half a decade appear before you.

“Wanna grab that coffee around noon tmrw?” It said.

You considered being coy and waiting a few more minutes to reply but your fingers worked faster than your brain. Before you knew it a “sure!” was sent in response.

Then there was one more ping. One more text. It was small. It was innocuous. It could have meant nothing. But to you, it meant everything. It was one small red heart, one little emoticon that hinted to you that he still might feel the same…

𖦹

The next morning was an early one for you. You spent hours perfecting the exact right image that would make you look good enough to go on what was essentially a date, but not so good that Jisung would immediately clock that you two were on a date. Sure meeting up with an old fling to talk about a secret child over coffee wasn’t the most romantic premise, but you couldn’t help but want to put your best foot forward when it came to him. It was almost shameful to admit internally how much you felt for him, but it was the honest truth. You still loved him.

The ding of the coffee shop door seemed to ring out like a chorus of hollow bell chimes in your ears as your head began spinning. Jisung was sitting at table to the far end of the cafe. You could see the rays of somber light peeking in through the window, diffused by the dusty oranges, reds, and browns of the fall leaves. Jisung fidgeted in his chair looking down at the table, and then his watch, then his phone, and back to the table. Two brown paper cups stood tall on the table in front of him, steam rising from them and collecting on the lenses of his glasses. He cracked his knuckles and gnawed at his fingernails nervously until finally catching a glimpse of you walking towards him. “Y/N” he exclaimed, clumsily getting to his feet and lightly tripping over a leg of his chair.

You tried your best to hold back laughter as he bumbled around, rushing to pull out a chair for you. You smiled and thanked him as you sat down. The rich pungent smell of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet steamed milk filled your nostrils and Jisung gently pushed one cup over to you.

“I assumed you still drank the same coffee. If that’s okay.” He cleared his throat hesitantly.

You could just about burst into tears at this very moment. After all these years he still remembered your coffee order. He was only missing one thing...

“Wait just a second…” he fumbled through his pockets for a moment and pulled out two small packets of sweetener. “I know you like to stir in your own sugar” he said.

Now it was perfect!

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked.

Jisung’s consideration for others, you in particular was always so evident. It’s like he couldn’t stop himself from making the kind of small talk that involved checking in on people. “I did.” You replied.

The two of you spent some time just sitting and catching up. You talked about school, work, old friends, tv shows, and just about everything you two would have talked about and experienced together had you been in contact for the past five and a half years. You didn’t really realize when, but the both of you had slowly transitioned to taking your coffee shop 'date' outside of the coffee shop and made your way to the park across the street. The air was cool and refreshing and Jisung couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud but the way you were bundled up with your scarf, gloved hands clutching your coffee like it might run away from you if you let it go was adorable. He also took not of how your coats subtly matched. Yours a light brown, and his a deep tan color made you two look complimentary, almost like a couple… almost.

“Did your daughter make it in time to watch her show?” He asked out of the blue.

You chuckled “You remembered that? She did actually. She even talked about you a bit after… before she went to bed she asked if I was meeting up with you soon.”

“No way!” He said and bumped your shoulder lightly with his coffee cup.

“Really I mean it! She’s so interested in what I do. She always asks about my friends.”

“Are we still friends?”

Your eyes went wide, your hands tensed up and a chill ran down your spine. “I mean- We were good friends at one point!” You choked on your words not knowing what to say.

“We were more than just good friends Y/N” he said.

“I know…”

Jisung bit his lip and you both looked at each other sheepishly, you caught his gaze and he caught yours before you both broke out into a fit of laughter. You two as a pair had a way of bringing out a silliness within yourselves that had you cackling like hyenas together but looking like absolute madmen to any onlookers passing by.

Your walk in the park was peaceful and comforting. So comforting in fact that you had almost forgotten why you wanted to meet up with him in the first place.

𖦹

“So what was the good news?” He said, taking a sip of his drink.

“What?”

“The good news! Remember before we broke up you said there was good news and bad news… the bad news was the break up and the good news was…” he giggled awkwardly “well I never got to find out”.

Why now of all times did he have to bring that up? What could you even say? You couldn’t run, you couldn’t hunker down somewhere and hide. You had to talk to him. It was now or never.

“Yeah about that… the good news was mostly good news for me”. You were internally facepalming at your high school self’s method of delivery when it came to something so important. ‘Good news and bad news’, how idiotic could you have been.

“That’s okay, I still want to know-” Jisung gently placed your hand in his, picking it up to wrap your fingers within his warm grasp. He knew it might be wrong but he really didn’t want to ask about your relationship status right now. “I was obsessed with everything you did back then, that part of me still really wants to know… Like would it have changed anything? I know that sounds stupid but it’s true…”

You couldn’t help but melt a little being in his hold once again. It lulled you in a way that made you forget the gravity of what you were about to abruptly spit out. “The good news was D/N”! You felt a lump form in your throat and you were jolted back a bit as Jisung stood there frozen in the midst of the cobblestone path. You immediately went into panic mode. Why wasn’t he saying anything? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it just felt like the right thing to do at the time and my parents pretty much told me to do whatever I thought was best! I didn’t want to push something so big on you right before graduation” You rambled on and on watching as Jisung seemed to only take in bits and pieces of what you were saying. Still you weren’t sure if he was buying your excuses or if they were going in one ear and out the other. He continued to just stand there stiff as a board tightening his hand around yours as you tried to usher him to a bench to sit down. It took a few minutes, but eventually you two found a quieter more private area of the park to talk it out. Jisung mostly sat and listened to you explain your reasoning for keeping D/N a secret from him for so long but he also acknowledged how this wasn’t information he would have wanted to receive any other way than in person and face to face.

He had always wanted to hear something like this from you but he always imagined it was going to be far in the future after you guys got married. Jisung’s thumb lightly caressed your knuckles and you thought your fingers might go numb from the prolonged hand holding. He looked down at your hand and as quiet as a mouse he laughed.

He laughed… Right there on the bench as the cool breeze swept his hair out of his eyes, he laughed. He slowly met your worried gaze, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes just as they did in yours. “Of course you went on to have the perfect life and be the perfect mother all without me.”

His words caught you off guard “Perfect? I’m like a mess ninety percent of the time, I just keep it together in front of my daughter.” You sniffled a bit “I did- I mean I still do want you to be in her life, it would be good for her…”

“Just for her” he asked playfully, tears still welling in his eyes.

“...and for me…” you looked down at the ground.

“Would your boyfriend be okay with that?”

“Boyfriend?” You felt the embarrassment return to you. “I haven’t dated anyone since you and I-” you could barely finish your sentence before Jisung’s lips were crashing into yours. His hot breath made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. His eyelashes gingerly brushed against your cheeks as he caught his breath. Exhaling through his nose he went back for more. Maybe it was because it had been so long, maybe it was because he was older and more experienced, but Jisung had never kissed you like this before. There was quiet desperation in the way your lips melded together as if he was asking you, begging you to be his again.

“Me neither” he said breathlessly finally letting you come up for air.

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“No way, I haven’t gone on a real date since I started college…”

“But your mother said-“

“My mother has been trying to set me up with some girl whose parents own a couple buildings downtown for ages now.” Jisung cupped your cheek affectionately. “She seems nice and all but it’s hard to go out with anyone else when all I do is think about you!”

“I think about you too.” You treasured the way such simple touches and matter of fact words could flip your worlds upside down. “I wish I had told you sooner… I really wish I told you so much earlier…” You really couldn’t stop the tears from flowing now. You imagined just how crazy you looked crying on a public bench. “One second” you said reaching into your purse and pulling out a few tissues and some baby wipes. You lightly dabbed at the corners of Jisung’s eyes.

He reached over to you and used his thumbs to wipes your face simultaneously. “You’re such a mom.” He joked.

“I don’t understand how you aren’t mad at me right now?” you said.

Maybe he should have been, you wouldn’t have held it against him if he was. “Being with you is the only thing I’ve ever wanted. If that makes me crazy then so what. I’m crazy about you.”

It was hard to hide the shock on your face, you couldn’t believe he had just outright confessed his feelings to you before you even had time to process that wonderfully unexpected kiss.

“Anyways, it’s a relief that D/N is mine. If you had a kid with some other guy I don’t know what I’d do…” he planted another small kiss on your forehead.

“I think your parents would have been elated…” you trailed off.

“Who cares what my parents think! We’re not in highschool anymore!”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“I always knew we were meant to be family, it doesn’t matter how long it took. Just never keep a secret like that from me again” he laughed.

“I promise it’s all honesty from now on” you replied as Jisung pulled you into a warm embrace. He brought your body closer to his, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you two took in the autumn scenery.

𖦹

It took a few weeks of coordinating but Jisung had finally come up to visit you in your home in the city. D/N was probably more excited than you. Your last couple days back at your parent's were spent watching Jisung play with your (now his) daughter in your parents living room. He seemed to have lived up to all her expectations and she had gotten over her qualms with his height one she realized how high up she could sit when on his shoulders.

You still hadn’t told her he was her father. You and Jisung agreed to wait to tell her until you two were more established. Sure you had dated before but this was now a whole new relationship. Your daughter practically leaped from her spot on the couch once she heard the doorbell ring and her dad’s signature tepid knock on the door.

You opened the door to see your boyfriend’s smiling face as he reached down to pick up D/N as she peppered him with questions. “Hey you!” He said nuzzling her nose and leaning over to give you a kiss as your daughter winced in disgust. He lugged in a large rolling suitcase with his one free hand as you ushered him through the front entrance.

“That’s all you brought?” You asked.

Jisung nodded “yeah for now… I was so eager to get over here that I only packed the essentials, I didn’t want to overwhelm you with all my stuff at once.”

“Please Jisung you’re getting ready to move in. You’re going to overwhelm me anyways” you teased.

“I’ll get the rest later! Right now I just want to hang out with you guys!” He put your daughter down and ruffled her hair. “So are you going to give me a tour?” He said leaning down to talk to her at eye level.

She just wordlessly dragged his wrist along to show him all her favorite spots in the house as you trailed along.

Much to the behest of his mother Jisung planned on having many more days like this and little did you know that the ring burning a hole in his coat pocket back in your hometown was the thing he was most excited to bring back in the next suitcase...

#nct dream angst #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct dream fluff #nct dream x reader #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct au #nct dream au #park jisung #jisung park #jisung nct #jisung fluff #jisung angst #jisung oneshot #nct oneshot #nct dream oneshot

87 notes · View notes

luimagines · 1 day ago

Text

Scales and Feathers, Tails and Tethers Part 3

Chapter three of King Dragon Time, anyone? :)

Masterlist

First Chapter/ Previous Chapter/

Content under the cut!

Time stiffened his back. His tail swung irritatedly behind his form, wings spread in an almost territorial display. The blood had drained from his face, giving an unnatural paleness to his already otherworldly appearance.

You were limping, with your arm over your stomach as if you were keeping your entrails where they belonged. “Good afternoon Your Majesty. Forgive me. I did not intend to be late.”

He growls lowly, getting impossibly more tense as he sees you. Your disguise is less than pristine, something you would have never allowed otherwise. “You’re here…You…” He growls again. “Why haven’t you come in to report? You know the clear statements of our contract.”

You sigh. This was what you feared. Despite his otherwise threatening nature, his voice wobbles and you can fear an uptilt to his voice. Panic. You didn’t think he was capable of the emotion. Still, you’re sore, in pain and lacking the patience to think beyond what’s been given to you. You’re not going to think of the implications.

“I got sick.”

“For two months?”

“Yes.”

He fumbles, breaking the still nature of his posture, tail aside. He breaks character, stepping down one step from his throne before he stops himself once more. His tail swishes behind him with more wild agitation, nearly hitting the very thorne by the wall. His initial anger dims and he moves back to sit on the throne. You can see the way his jaw clenches and how his knuckles go white from the force of his grip on the arm rests.

You gulp quietly. You know that he knows that you're lying.

The King takes a deep breath, wanting to stay angry with you for worrying him so. He wants to be angry that you’re actively lying to him. “Where were you?”

“Hospital.”

Time manages to hit the wall behind him with his tail. Warrior stands on edge at the far wall of the throne room. You know better than to look at anyone else other than The King when he gets like this.

But you’re very tired. You want to go home.

He growls. “You could have said something-”

A leg gives out from underneath you and you fall to your knee, barely catching yourself as it was.

Time shuts up instantly, eyes widening. He jumps to his feet once more, milliseconds from jumping down the steps to his throne to catch you.

With a rueful laugh, you push yourself back up before he can reach you. Neither of you noticed (or at least verbally acknowledged) that he ran toward you.

"Admittedly, I debated coming here even today. I'm not... I'm still not ok..."

Time can feel his worry dampen his anger completely. He stands at a distance still, a wall between you both being kept up now that you’re on your own two feet once more. His tail continues to restlessly twist behind him like a disgruntled cat.

You smirk a bit, trying to keep up appearances. "As you can imagine, I have nothing to report seeing as I've been out of commission for these past months... Nothing... Nothing substantial anyway..."

Time gulps. "....What happened?..."

"Got sick." You shrug, trying to keep yourself light hearted and worry free. You think you’re about to pull some of your stitches. You’re still not sure if coming today was a good idea. It feels too soon from a physical standpoint alone.

There was a part of you that worried about the King though. You felt obligated to explain yourself. So you came. Now that it’s done, you feel as if your duty has been completed.

The King bites his lip, trying to read your body language. "Would you like to sit down?"

"With all due respect…” You trail off, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you force yourself to stand straight. Yup, you pulled some stitches for sure. “I’d... I’d like to go home now, Your Majesty."

"Of course." Time deflates. He watches you move, brows furrowing as he forces himself to keep his distance.

He watches the way you favor your left side and how you try to keep yourself from limping and folding over. Time steps down again, quietly, silently in the way that all predators can move before Warrior steps forward at last to stop him with a single raised hand.

Time scowls at the younger man but falls back again, leaving the throne entirely as Warrior walks to catch up with you. He’s been watching you this whole time with that short interaction you have with the King and the smell of blood isn’t lost on him.

You feel a sudden heat behind you but when you look, Warrior was only inches from putting a hand on your shoulder. He lets his hand drop at once. “Are you ok?”

“Captain.” You sigh, flinching before you can stop yourself. “I really really just want to go home right now.”

“Let me walk you home.”

“You always say that.” You shake your head. “And you know what I always say.”

“I’m serious.” Warrior stresses, putting his hand on your wrist. His grip is delicate but you’re not fooled. He could easily pick up you if he wanted to. Such is the superhuman strength of a dragon. “You scared us. At least let me make sure you’re safe. His Majesty was virtually inconsolable. He was about to tear up the kingdom to look for you.”

That stops you. Still. You’ve gone to great lengths to keep your secret identity well, secret. There’s a slight warmth beginning to blossom in your side though, and you know your magic won’t hold for much longer. You need to get home. Now.

“Captain, thank you for the offer. I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me and continue to offer but I really can’t do this.” You take his hand off of you. It’s not lost on you that you do it so easily. “But I really should get home as it is. T-...Take care of His Majesty, ok?”

Warrior sighs, and a small tongue of flame flicks out of his mouth as he turns his head away,. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“I’m sorry.” You step back, taking out your notebook. Your pen is a familiar weight in your hand as you flick open the pages. Quickly writing D-O-O-R, a glitter of light sparkles behind you, summoning the door that you know and have grown to love.

This time The Captain fully growls at you. His eyes sharpen into an unnatural green as his fangs grow into his mouth. It makes you gasp, taking a full step away from him. His gaze is locked onto you. “You’re weak enough as it is. You shouldn’t be using your power.”

You gulp again. The force of his power is stronger than you originally thought. It dawns on you that you’ve underestimated the King’s right hand man this entire time. With a robotic jerk of your hand, you put it on the door handle, ready to make a run for it if this creature you’ve angered decides to strike. “This is my door. My home. …I’ll be alright.”

It doesn’t seem to settle him as you’d hoped. He snarls again and crosses his arms. His eyes don’t retreat back to the normal blue you’ve grown accustomed to but he nods his head. “Go on then. And make sure you rest properly.”

You nod back and enter the door, locking it on the inside for good measure before opening your notebook once more to erase the word you’ve written. That should have eliminated the door beside the Captain, leaving your apartment safe and sound once again from anyone wishing to find you.

With a shaky breath, you let the magic fall from around you, leaving you in your injured and perfectly normal civilian state. You lean on the door, sinking to the floor with a sharp hiss. Looking down, you lift your shirt. White bandages are wrapped tightly around your abdomen. They’re unblemished for the most part except for the blooming pink stain on your left side. You tore stitches. Just like the doctor said you would if you weren’t careful.

It was a calculated gamble. But never let it be said that you were a prodigy at math.

You groan loudly, not caring if your neighbors heard you. You’re going to have to go back to the doctors, or painfully do it yourself. You know how. You’re not sure how you know how but you know that you know how.

You sit on the floor, getting up only when you feel your stomach begin to protest the lack of food.

Something on your balcony catches your eye. Another gift perhaps, you think. It would be poor timing for one.

You step out but there was nothing there, save for a small bright green sticky note. You pick it up and bring it inside. The message was simple but bone chilling.

“I know who you are.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #modern au #dragon au #linked universe x reader #lu x reader

65 notes · View notes

crimsonrubie · 2 days ago

Text

A Quiet Night

Rider!Bakugou would have one of the fastest motorcycles in the gang because he's a freak for speed and power. His bike would probably be a Suzuki GSX-R750, black and orange, with 750cc. He would be speeding with this baby everywhere. It's perfect for him because of its aerodynamic design and sharp and aggressive lines.

I imagine he loves taking his bike out on late-night rides. Especially when his mind is running a mile a second, what better way to cool off than speeding through the streets with his bike?

Warnings: Teeny tiny bit of angst then fluff! Also this is the first fic I've written in years so my writing is floppy at best and English isn't my first language so please excuse any mistakes!!

~~~

The cool night wind of Musutafu swept by and ruffled his blonde spikes as the roar of the engine purred in the background.

It was one of those nights. The silence at his home was eating him alive like an infection and without thinking, Katsuki grabbed his keys, forgoing his helmet and headed to his sleek dark and orange bike. He threw on a leather jacket over his top and sped off from his garage.

His mind hadn't calmed down since the incident this morning when he was on patrol. Heroes are known for doing their best to save everyone, but it's no secret that not everyone can be saved. The thought alone urged him to twist the throttle, revving the engine and letting it drown out his loud thoughts.

At his action, he heard a cheer similar to a kid's and turned his head to the side for only a second. The little kid's bright smile from the car beside him on the highway silenced his thoughts as he focused on him now. The car was keeping up with his bike, due to the empty road this time of night and the kid extended his hand out of the window and mimicked the motion of revving an engine.

Katsuki, to entertain the little boy, did as he wished and twisted the throttle, letting it last for a little longer and the bright smile from the boy brightened a small spot inside Katsuki's heart. The car then took a turn and the boy waved to him, Katsuki giving him one last rev before they separated.

He drove along the road, the streetlights blurring past him as the night remained quiet and peaceful except for a few cars. His emotions were still in chaos, but the low hum of the engine and the distraction of driving provided him with only some sense of satisfaction.

After half an hour, a park became visible in the distance. Katsuki noticed it was deserted for the most part and was situated a good distance away from the busy streets of the city so he decided it was a good place to stop. He parked his bike in the empty parking lot belonging to the park overlooking the beach. He killed the engine and got off of the seat, fixing his leather jacket and zipping it up as the cool air arriving from the sea sent a shiver down his body.

His lungs expanded to take in as much of the salty air as he could, letting it out in a deep sigh. Though looking out into the night sky, far from the blinding lights of the bustling city did little to distract his mind from his thoughts as they came rushing back. Now nothing around him could distract him from his swirling dark thoughts.

He hated it most when he failed in a mission, despised it and loathed it really. Whether he was bleeding all over or even had one of his arms rendered useless because of the damage, he refused to give up. Always pushing forward to save the day and kick some villain's ass. This passion was with him since he was a little boy and never left but only grew when the seed was sowed at the awakening of his quirk.

His quirk was supposed to be used for good, to save and win. What happened today was a complete contrast to that. He hated himself for letting the villain get him in such a vulnerable state. One little mistake lead to a chaotic and traumatizing ending for everyone on the scene.

Just remembering the anguished faces of the boy's parents after he utterly failed to get to him in time shattered another piece of his already broken soul. Now breathing didn't come to him as easily. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and his chest felt like it was being restricted by a boulder. His hands sought out his throat, gripping it as if his life depended on it and he gritted his teeth.

"D-damn it- Damn it all to hell!" His hand heated up without his knowledge, the nitroglycerin sweat on his palms reacting to his quirk. At his yell, a cat jumped up on a stone seat beside him and meowed. His breathing hitched and his eyes scanned the cat. Under the dim lightening of the lamp post beside the stone bench, he could decipher beautiful black fur and slit eyes that rounded out just a little at him. It wasn't a kitten, but didn't appear to be old but maybe a few years old perhaps.

The cat was looking at him, as if interested in what made him yell out into the night but he left it and plopped down on the stone seat, just a few feet away from the cat on the other side and buried his face in his hands. A minute passed which felt like an eternity before the tiniest of sobs escaped his lips. His hands now in his hair, he pulled harshly at the roots, needing anything to distract him from the searing pain in his chest if even for a second.

Gradually, the sobs left him like a dam with a crack, starting out slow and only deepening the crack and breaking it even more to allow more to flood out. His aching chest hurt, and one of his hands left his hair and grabbed at his jacket, right above the scar shielded underneath all the clothing. His fingers clutched tightly at the leather, crinkling it up as tears ran freely down his face, quiet sobs escaping without his permission.

It hurt. Everything hurt. His heart, his mind, his chest, even his hand from how tightly he was holding onto his jacket as if it was his lifeline and he was hanging on by a thread. His head was ducked as he suffered mentally and physically under the dim lightening when a weight was pressed against his thigh.

At first, he didn't notice but another thing landed on his thigh and he then pulled his head back and noticed the cat with its front paws now on his thigh, meowing up at him so softly. It was as if the little being knew he was in a vulnerable state and was offering comfort.

He sniffed, his arm rubbing over his red face and cold nose from the cold air. "You're weird, you know that?" His voice was gruff when he spoke, raspy from all the crying but the cat only climbed further into his lap, curling up as if getting ready to sleep and loafing on his lap.

The added weight of the feline and its warmth chased away some of the demons tormenting his mind. He looked down at the cat and scoffed with a sniff afterwards, realising that the cat in some way, knew to comfort him.

Katsuki wasn't a cat or dog person. His best friend Eijirou Kirishima, owned a Staffordshire bull terrier, the little guy both energetic and affectionate, a carbon copy of his owner but Katsuki never knew the appeal of owning a live animal and taking care of their needs, training them, and just sharing space with a living being he can't directly communicate with.

The cat was snuggled up on his lap and his mind now momentarily forgetting the pain in his chest, urged his hand to pet the soft fur of the black cat and he let out a breath when the soft sound of purring reached his ears. The side of his lip quirked up just slightly at seeing the little creature happily snuggled into his lap and purring like nobody's business.

While he was petting it, he then noticed a thin pink collar hidden under its fur and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You lost or something?" He mumbled under his breath and reached under the cat's chin to look at the tag and saw a phone number. He hummed then seeing the pink collar again, noted the cat must be female.

No wonder the cat wasn't sceptical of him. She was a house cat and well cared for from the looks of it so she didn't carry the same hesitance to humans like other street cats and approached him right away. The cat must have been emotionally intelligent, maybe a service animal?

Pushing those thoughts to the side for now, he got out his phone and texted the number a picture of the cat on his lap and his location.

Found her at the park in front of the parking lot.

He clicked send and not a second later, his phone dinged with a response and he opened it up again, the bright screen illuminating his face in the darkness.

I'm on my way! Thank you so much!!

He left it at that and put his phone down. He continued petting the cat, the notion calming him down as he soaked up the last few minutes he had with his unusual companion before she had to go back to her owner.

He gave a quick glance at the number's profile picture before he put his phone down and knew it was a girl but didn't look clearly to know any more details.

A few minutes passed by of him silently petting the feline and admiring her soft dark fur, letting the time run as he distracted himself with the continuous motion of petting the cute animal. The cat then pressed her paws on his lap then stretched making him chuckle under his breath at the cat comfortably doing whatever she desired on his lap.

"Ohh big stretch! She loves you." At the new voice, his head lifted instinctively and his breath was knocked out of his lungs. His back straightened like a board. This time it was a nice feeling, not choking him up but instead providing him with a sense of calmness and the smell of fresh air. Why, he had no idea but he welcomed the feeling in this dark time.

You looked pretty. With no makeup on and wearing a light colored hoodie and comfortable pants, you looked like you were on a leisurely walk before you lost sight of your feline friend. He found it endearing the moment his eyes skimmed briefly over your figure and back to your eyes.

Your figure closed the distance between you and you sat beside him on the stone bench, your cat upon recognising you, lazily switching from Katsuki's lap and snuggling up on yours instead. You provided her with scratches under the chin and ears as she purred. "You seriously need to be on a leash sometimes." You spoke out to the cat but he didn't detect any malice in your voice. "You always escape right under my nose but come crawling back for food huh?" The cat meowed in response, as if sassily replying to you and he watched the interaction with curiosity.

You suddenly sat up straight with a start and acknowledged the man beside you. Your reaction was similar to his if not the same. Your back straightened up and your lips formed a small rounded shape in surprise when your eyes scanned his naturally pale face. Red piercing eyes stared into yours as if to hypnotize you but you cleared your throat and offered up your hand in greeting, thankful this specimen of a man hadn't made you forget your manners.

"Katsuki bakugou." He greeted you in return, accepting your hand and nodding towards the cat in your lap. "She yours then?" He internally slapped himself for the stupid question.

You didn't seem to mind his gruff exterior and nodded with a smile, "Yes, her name's Aiko." At the familiar word, he remembers its meaning and hums.

"Little loved one."

Your eyes widened a fraction at the fact he knew the meaning and you let out a small laugh. "Yes, I love her so much and after a week of having her, I decided Aiko was perfect for her. She wouldn't hurt a fly and is so sweet with everyone, even little kids who aren't sure how to treat her. Everyone falls in love with her cuteness too, she's charming that way." You purse your lips and a blush blooms on your cheeks when you notice you rambled. "Sorry, I tend to ramble about her." You scratch at the back of your neck and he grunts in response, his shoulders relaxed as he sits back against the backrest.

"It's fine."

With his lack of words, you go ahead and ask a question in return. "You were out on a nightly stroll I'm guessing?" You tilt your head, Aiko now purring in your lap as you tuck her in your hoodie pocket so she won't get cold. It became a habit for the cat since she was a few months old and always crawled into the spacious pocket of your hoodie to warm up and surprisingly still fits.

He hums, fidgeting with his hands in his lap as he looks forward. "Just came here for some fresh air. I needed space and quiet, and found it here."

You hum and he blinks when a second later, you have your hand outstretched towards him, palm up with a snack in hand. "Take this, it's a homemade cookie, I made it. Don't worry I'm actually a good baker and you can take it as a sign of my gratitude for finding Aiko." You nudge your hand in his direction, encouraging him to take it and after a second of confusion, he accepts the cookie.

"Thanks. Do you carry cookies everywhere with you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, his attention now diverted from the beach. You noticed a small smirk appearing on his lips and rolled your eyes playfully.

"Well on occasion, yes. I always go out on walks with snacks and treats for Aiko too. Sometimes I can be out here for hours so I get hungry and speaking of that I also get my books a lot of the time too, I love reading in this park." He watched you talk with a gentle smile while your hands were busy petting Aiko's head that was peeking out of your pocket.

"Oh and I never saw you here before, you aren't from around here?" At your question, he nods in reply.

"I live in the city. I found this place by coincidence and parked here to get some fresh air." You hum and a minute later, he opens the packet you stored the cookie in and takes it out. "Chocolate chip." He comments and you nod with a smile.

"Yes, tell me how it tastes and hopefully you don't completely hate it." You giggle and watch as he takes a bite and chews.

Those few seconds felt like one of those cooking shows where the judge is eating antagonizingly slow as the crowd waits for their reaction. That's how you felt when you watched him chew down on the cookie and swallow. He licked his lips to get rid of the crumbs left and your stomach fluttered at the action but you cleared your throat and looked back into his eyes.

To your utter shame, he was smirking knowingly at you and you knew you were caught ogling at his lips but quickly asked him a question to avoid the embarrassment. "So? How is it?"

He hums and eats another bite, this one bigger than the last and you smile. "I'm guessing it's nice?" He nods, wiping his mouth with his thumb after he swallows.

"Send me the recipe." You blink. Well, that was straightforward.

"Uh, sure-" Your reply gets cut off by your laughter. He had his own unique ways of expressing his liking to something but you took it, sensing that he was just like that. "I'll make sure to send it to you now that I have your number don't worry. Right when I get back home!" He grunts and continues eating till the cookie is finished.

Conversation flowed from there for another hour at least. Talking with Katsuki felt like reuniting with a dear old friend as if you had known each other for years. Unfortunately, it was becoming late making you realise that you would have to part ways with this handsome stranger who helped you find your cat.

"Well, I'll have to head back home sadly. I have a shift tomorrow afternoon so I need to get back if I don't want to go looking like a zombie." You got up with Aiko in your hoodie's pocket, Katsuki standing up with you and burying his hands in his pockets.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"Oh! It's fine you don't need to! My apartment is only a few minutes away."

"I'm giving you a ride home. Whether you come or refuse and get kidnapped out on the street. Your choice." He raises an expectant eyebrow and you hate that he's right at the possibility of you getting kidnapped.

You sigh in defeat and nod. "Fine okay, I didn't want to be a bother that's all!" He grunts and starts walking. You quickly zip up your bag, sling it over your shoulder and jog after him until you're walking by his side.

"You are a man of few words?" He side-eyes you and shrugs.

"Don't feel like talking. Don't mistake it for me not giving a shit about our time together though. It wasn't half bad I guess." You conclude you can't get better than that from him and a smile creeps on your lips. He was being nice in his own way and even though only meeting him tonight, you felt comfortable with him.

He reaches a sleek motorcycle and your eyes bulge out of their sockets at the expensive-looking vehicle. "You gonna keep staring like a creep or what?" He snarks out but you notice a proud smirk on his lips at having his baby be marvelled at. It was apparent that he took pride in his motorcycle.

You then snap out of it and pout. "Hey, I'm not a creep! Your bike is just so cool and I'm not really used to seeing them so up close."

At your compliment, his cheeks redden just slightly and he ducks his head with the cover of taking out his keys. "Anyway get on." He nudges his head towards the bike and you walk over, swinging your leg around it, being mindful of the feline in your pocket and shuffle back on the seat as he gets on in front of you. He swings his leg over the bike with practised ease and his boots find secure footings on the foot pegs.

He inserts the key, twists it and the low purr of the engine roared to life in the silence of the night. "Hold on to me and make sure your little friend doesn't get ideas." You laugh and hold on to Aiko with one arm, wrapping your other free arm around his waist. The moment your arm makes contact with his front a blush explodes on your face at being so close to this stranger.

He had an air of kindness to him that you think isn't seen or noticed by many but when you do see it, you see a part he keeps reserved for only a handful of people in his life. You're glad the stranger who ended up finding your cat wasn't a creep or weirdo but instead turned out to be this handsome man who accepted your cookie and demanded the recipe be sent to him.

"Where do you live?" He asks from behind his shoulder as he kicks off the stand and pulls out of the parking spot, then makes a turn and gets on the road.

You relay your address to him and he scoffs. "A few minutes away? That's at least half an hour's walk away you shitty woman!" He exclaims, the wind from the ride making it come out a little muffled and you mockingly gasp. You guess he's more comfortable with you now with how his words left his mouth so smoothly and with no reluctance.

"Well sorry for declining your gentlemanly offer! I didn't want you going out of your way to get me there because you could be going in the opposite direction!"

"This is nothing. As long as you're fine I don't care how much further it is from my own home, next time you better not be as stupid with me or anyone else!" You open your mouth to retort but find yourself unable to think of anything so instead you grumble under your breath.

He chuckles at your grumbling and you feel your face heat up once again as his body vibrates with his deep laugh. The air is cold this time of night and you instinctively snuggle closer to his back, unknowingly making the blonde flush to his ears but he doesn't complain and the ride is spent in comfortable silence till you arrive at your apartment.

You dejectedly unwrap your arm from his waist and he gets up to help you out of the bike. You're swinging your leg to get off when it suddenly catches on something on the bike and you yelp as you lose balance but before you can fall any further, firm arms are wrapped around you and you're enveloped in the deep musky scent of Katsuki.

"Hey, easy. You okay?" His deep voice reverberates throughout your body and you shiver at the welcoming sound of his voice and nod, your arms braced on his chest while you're still in an awkward position on his bike. You were flustered behind belief because you felt his hard and defined chest underneath and all of it along with his voice will make you combust.

He moves to pick you up from your waist and plop you down safely on the ground and you blink at his strength. No wonder he owns such a powerful bike, it basically represents its owner. Sharp and striking just like his red eyes. Powerful and loud like him but in an endearing way, leading you to realise that you like it.

"T-Thank you, I'm not usually clumsy." You mumble, suddenly shy and he shrugs as he gets back on his bike and nods.

"Stay safe."

"Yeah, you too, Bakugou." You give him an appreciative smile and he nods in acknowledgement, a small smile making its way to his lips and you catch it before he turns his bike and speeds off into the night.

You hear an annoyed meow from your pocket and shiver at the cold air, "Whoops, sorry Aiko, let's go get warmed up in bed yeah?"

#mha #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #mha au #my hero academia #kirishima eijiro x reader #mha imagines #bnha bakugou #bnha kirishima #bnha #bakugou x you #bakugo x you

94 notes · View notes

wisecura · 3 days ago

Text

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.2 ⁭ ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.3

p.2

AN: Thank you for reading part 2! Again each of these will be around 3k in length. Enjoy!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Another

Cleaning had always been second nature to you, a skill drilled into you by your clan as a symbol of discipline and control.

The ways of a proper young lady.

Back then, it had been another way to meet their rigid standards, but now, in Toji’s apartment, it served a different purpose. You weren’t trying to meet anyone’s expectations. It felt more like you were creating a space that felt livable, even comforting. As you scrubbed and tidied, echoes of your clan’s demands lingered in your mind.

Megumi stayed holed up in his room, avoiding you, though you suspected it wasn’t out of rudeness. Maybe he was still figuring you out, testing the waters before deciding how to interact. You couldn't blame him. This was all new and strange for both of you.

As you scrubbed the counters and sorted through laundry, you tried to keep yourself busy, hoping to quiet the restless hum of your thoughts. The spiraling.

But the silence of the apartment only amplified them, leaving you with little to do but reflect.

You thought long and hard about your next move—about what you wanted to do and what you were willing to endure. You hadn’t expected to make it this far, away from the suffocating grip of your clan, away from the ways they’d meticulously instilled into you. This already felt like a step up.

No one was yelling. No one was crying. And most importantly, no one was punishing you for merely existing. And for once, you could breathe.

But could you settle here? Could you turn this into a real home? The thought carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated, especially when you considered who you were married to.

Toji Fushiguro.

The infamous thirty-something gambler whose reputation preceded him. His name carried weight—none of it good. You’d only heard whispers about him before, rumors about the "Sorcerer Killer" who couldn’t see curses but had carved a place for himself in a world that didn’t want him. The name he was making for himself wasn’t the kind anyone would aspire to have. And now, he was your husband. Could he truly be better than what you’d left behind?

Marriage had never been a simple thing for people like you. It was a transaction, a tool for power and alliances, not a partnership. You'd settled your thoughts with that. But you couldn’t be sure what kind of man Toji would turn out to be. So far, he was an enigma—evasive, blunt, and not exactly brimming with warmth.

When you first met Toji, you’d been terrified.

His voice, gruff and laced with irritation, felt like a warning in itself, and his towering, muscular frame only added to the daunting image. You hadn’t known what to expect from him—your mind raced with possibilities. Many clan marriages ended in misery. Beaten wives, suffocating restrictions, and vows that served only to bind. The unknown had loomed large that day.

You’d been genuinely shocked when Toji had even shown up to the meeting. After all, he already had a history—a wife before you, a notorious rebellious streak, and a reputation soaked in blood. What had happened to her? The question lingered in your mind, twisting your thoughts into a frantic swirl as you tried to piece together what kind of man he was and what exactly you might be walking into. Not that you had much of a choice.

To your relief, he left shortly after the meeting, without forcing himself on you or issuing a set of suffocating rules. But even without his demands, you already knew your place. How could you not? The weight of the clan’s expectations had been drilled into you for as long as you could remember.

Still, the questions remained.

Could you trust him? Could he truly protect you from the very people who had pushed you into this marriage? Or would he become like the others you’d seen—the cruel, controlling men who treated their wives as tools, not partners? For now, all you could do was wait and hope.

If things got sticky, you could run. But the thought terrified you. Your clan wasn’t known for letting their investments go so easily. They had their motives, their expectations for you, and you knew better than to think they’d let you walk away unscathed. The marriage was a tool to them, a means to an end, and the moment you stopped being useful, they wouldn’t hesitate to dissolve it.

The questions would start soon if you didn’t make an appearance at the estate for a ‘visit.’ You’d have to come up with something to keep them satisfied, a way to buy yourself more time. But would it be enough? You weren’t about to stoop to spying, but maybe if you offered them the bare minimum, it could hold them off. Still, you knew the risk. The moment they decided you weren’t fulfilling your purpose, they’d drag you back.

Back to the suffocating walls of their estate. Back to the life you’d fought so hard to escape. Back to another arranged marriage—this time, likely to someone far worse. Someone who wouldn’t tolerate even a shred of independence. The thought was unbearable, and yet, the fear of that possibility clung to you like a shadow, refusing to let go.

You had no illusions about what they were capable of. They’d find you. They’d make an example of you. You’d seen it happen before—to women who had dared to defy their place, who had tried to escape. The consequences were always swift, brutal, and served as a warning to others.

The only thing keeping you from that fate was this house.

Toji.

For all his flaws, for all the uncertainty that surrounded him, Toji was the barrier between you and the life you so desperately wanted to escape. The clan couldn’t touch you here—not while you were under his roof. His name and infamous reputation were enough to keep them at bay for now. But what about when he left the clan for good? You’d heard it whispered countless times—how he’d distanced himself, how he was already one step out the door.

So why had he even agreed to this marriage? It didn’t serve him. If anything, it seemed like another chain, another tie he’d likely resent. What had convinced him to take on a responsibility that did him no favors?

The thought nagged at you as you clung to the fragile sense of safety he unknowingly provided. As much as you despised the precariousness of your situation, you couldn’t ignore that he was the only thing keeping the clan’s shadow from falling over you entirely.

For now, you had to play the game carefully. Toji was unpredictable, but at least he wasn’t actively cruel. You’d take your chances with him over returning to the hell you’d left behind.

Still, he hadn’t returned, yet. When would he come home? Sure it'd only been a day, but...

Would he even explain what this arrangement meant for you both, or just leave you to figure it out on your own? Would he have a list of rules like your clan house? Would you have expectations to sleep with him? You let out a sigh, feeling the weight of uncertainty press heavier on your shoulders. The hours were dragging.

When lunchtime rolled around, you prepared food for both yourself and Megumi. Doubling the portions, you were glad he was starting to warm up to you, even if only slightly. Knocking softly on his door, you waited for a moment before it creaked open.

Megumi stood there, his expression unreadable as usual, but he took the plate with a small nod. “Thanks,” he muttered before retreating back into his room, the door closing firmly behind him.

So, you ate alone.

It wasn’t the solitude that stung the most—it was the familiarity of it. Sitting at the quiet table, your thoughts drifted to the countless meals you’d eaten alone back at the clan house. Sure this home was better than your previous, yet the echoes of those days crept back in, uninvited, and settled heavily in your chest. You’d thought leaving that life behind would make things different, that here, in this little apartment, you could find something resembling peace.

But for now, the silence was deafening.

You reminded yourself to remember that this was better and you needed to be patient. Megumi wasn’t cruel or rude—just guarded. He was still so young, still figuring out his place in all of this. And maybe, you thought, you needed to adjust to him just as much as he needed to adjust to you.

So, you cleared your plate, brushed off the dull ache settling in your chest, and told yourself that this was temporary. It was just a matter of time.

Later in the day, you decided to step out for groceries. The apartment was practically empty, the fridge holding little more than condiments and a few questionable leftovers. You couldn’t fathom how Toji and Megumi had been surviving off such meager scraps. You’d noticed the state of things your first day there, picking up a few essentials just to scrape by. But today, you decided it was time to stock up properly.

Standing by the front door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing toward Megumi’s room. A small part of you debated whether to ask him to come along. It might have been nice to have the company, and perhaps the outing could bridge some of the growing gap between you. But you quickly pushed the thought aside.

He was just a kid, and this wasn’t his responsibility. It was yours. You were the one trying to build a home here, the one who had stepped into this precarious role.

With a quiet sigh, you grabbed your shopping list and headed out the door. It wasn’t a long walk to the nearby market, but as you made your way down the street, a faint unease crept over you. You couldn’t help but think back to your clan and their constant monitoring.

By the time you returned, your arms were weighed down with bags. Maybe you’d gotten carried away, but everything seemed so necessary. Stumbling through the front door, you dumped the bags onto the counter with a relieved sigh.

Megumi peeked out from the doorway, alerted by the sound. “You’re back?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning slightly to smile at him, still catching your breath. “Got some food for tonight.”

He frowned, his gaze shifting to the hefty bags on the counter.

“Didja walk all this back yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you replied with a small hum, stretching your back before reaching to start putting things away.

Before you could even grab the first item, Megumi stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he gently nudged you aside. “Go rest. I’ll put it ‘way,” he muttered, his voice low and rough around the edges, but without any real bite.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer, but decided not to argue. Instead, you took a seat at the kitchen table, watching him move around the room. His movements were deliberate and efficient as he pulled items from the bags. He inspected each one carefully, as though weighing its importance before putting it into its proper place.

For a moment, you forgot the weight of everything else and simply watched. Megumi, for all his prickliness, had his own way of showing appreciation—even if he didn’t say it out loud. It was hard not to notice how much care he put into something so simple. He still reminded you of a grumpy old cat—aloof, guarded, but with moments of surprising thoughtfulness. There was something endearing about it, about him. A small giggle escaping you as the thought crossed your mind.

Megumi glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s so funny?�� he asked, his tone flat, though the faint red at the tips of his ears betrayed his irritation.

“Nothing,” you replied with a light chuckle, a small smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how teenagers can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Stubborn?” he repeated, his tone edged with skepticism. “I’m not stubborn. You’re acting like I’m some little kid or something.”

The amused smile tugging at your lips only grew as you tilted your head at him. “Well, aren’t you? Just a little bit, maybe?”

His scowl deepened, and the flush on his cheeks darkened, the faint hint of embarrassment making him look even more endearing. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost fourteen,” he muttered, his voice firm, though it teetered dangerously close to a pout.

You chuckled, unable to resist teasing him just a bit more. He was too cute when he got ruffled. “Fourteen, huh? Practically a grown-up. My bad.”

Megumi’s gaze darted away briefly before snapping back to you, his tone quieter but still holding a note of defiance. “You’re not that much older than me. You’re what? Sixteen?”

His words startled a laugh out of you, and you shook your head, unable to hide your amusement. “Sixteen? Try eighteen, Megumi. I’m officially an adult, thank you very much.”

His eyes widened slightly at the revelation before narrowing again, as if processing the information. “Eighteen?” he muttered under his breath, his skepticism clear. “You don’t look eighteen.”

Feigning offense, you straightened your posture. “Well, I am,” you said with mock indignation. “And as the adult here, I think I get to call you a kid.”

Megumi huffed, crossing his arms as the faint pink tint spread to his ears. “You don’t act like an adult,” he mumbled, quieter this time. “You’re more like a bossy older sister.”

That made you grin even wider. Was that supposed to be an insult? Because it only made him sound more adorable. “Bossy older sister, huh? I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He avoided your gaze, pretending to focus on folding one of the empty grocery bags. “Take it however you want,” he muttered, his tone clipped, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you said playfully. “But I’m still older than you, and that makes you the kid, like it or not.”

Megumi frowned but didn’t argue further. Instead, he busied himself with the counter, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m not a kid,” he mumbled again, though the conviction in his voice had softened.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, your tone kind and teasing. “Alright, alright. You’re not a kid. You’re a very mature almost-fourteen-year-old. Better?”

He didn’t respond right away, but the faint blush lingering on his cheeks gave him away. Turning his attention back to the counter, he muttered, “Whatever,” though the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you he wasn’t entirely annoyed.

You leaned back in your chair, watching him with a mix of fondness and curiosity. Megumi had a way of endearing himself without even realizing it. His insistence on not being treated like a kid, the way he tried to act older than he was—it was all so very… Megumi-esque. And you hadn't even know the kid for long. Not even a day.

“You know,” you said gently, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to rush to grow up so fast. Fourteen—or almost fourteen—is a good age to just… be.”

Megumi glanced at you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if to challenge your words, but there was no real bite in his expression. “I’m not rushing anything,” he said after a pause, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. “I just don’t want to be treated like some helpless kid.”

Now that got your attention. You tilted your head, your smile softening. “I don’t think you’re helpless, Megumi. Not at all. I just think it’s okay to let people care about you sometimes. It doesn’t make you less grown-up.”

He didn’t reply, his gaze flickering back to the counter, but you could see the wheels turning in his head. And then there was the way he lingered. The groceries were already put away, yet he didn’t leave. He didn’t know why he stayed. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it. But his actions spoke louder than words ever could: maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind you being there after all. Psycho-ex of his dads or otherwise.

While making dinner, Megumi hovered close to your elbows, his dark eyes following your every movement with quiet intensity. He didn’t say a word, but his focus was unwavering, soaking in every detail. Your cooking so far had been phenomenal. Enough to make the kid jealous. He wanted to learn, that much was clear—wanted to memorize the steps, the measurements, the little techniques you used. You had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t just curiosity.

His silence didn’t bother you. If anything, it gave you the perfect opportunity to chatter away, filling the room with a one-sided conversation that you hoped wasn’t entirely unwelcome. You explained every step meticulously, breaking it down like a cooking show. Megumi didn’t interrupt or huff at you. Instead, he absorbed it all like a sponge, his head tilting slightly when you mentioned something new.

“Toji must not be much of a cook,” you remarked at one point, glancing at him with a teasing smile. His lips twitched upward for the briefest moment, a ghost of a smile that made your chest tighten with warmth. Even when you explained the most basic things, like how to dice an onion properly, Megumi listened as though it were the most important lecture of his life.

The thought made you pause for a moment. It made sense—Megumi was still young, and cooking had always been considered a woman’s role in traditional clan life. And considering Toji’s seemingly chaotic lifestyle and the lack of a maternal figure, it was no wonder this felt new to him.

Still, the conversation flowed a little easier that evening. Each fleeting moment of ease melted your heart a little more. You were already developing a soft spot for the kid, despite his grumpy attitude. That much was obvious. You hadn’t had many interactions with children back at the clan estate—everything there had been too rigid, too suffocating for anything resembling normal relationships. So this, the tentative beginnings of friendship, felt… nice.

But even in those moments, there was still a frigid layer of distance he maintain between you two—a protective barrier he refused to let you pass. Distrusting, yes, but not beyond reach. He was still trying to figure you out, sizing you up, before deciding whether you were even worth the effort of trusting.

Why the hell was this kid so frosty? Was it Toji? The absence of a mother? Or something else entirely? You weren’t sure, but the guarded way Megumi carried himself—the abrasiveness, the defensive huffiness—stirred something in you.

You’d seen plenty of kids like him back in the clan house. Some were cold and indifferent, their walls impenetrable. Others carried arrogance like armor, wielding it to hide their insecurities. But the ones who stayed with you—the ones who truly stuck in your memory—were those too weak to defend themselves, cast aside for showing too much emotion. Beaten into shape. Megumi wasn’t like that, obviously. But the thought of him enduring anything similar made you feel...protective.

When you finally sat down to eat, the food turned out fantastic. Megumi, ever stoic, simply nodded in approval as he ate, but you caught the way his chopsticks moved a little faster than usual, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“Not bad, right?” you teased lightly, hoping to draw a reaction from him.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for a fleeting second before he mumbled, “It’s good.” Another almost-smile.

It was your second day in and you were starting to feel like this wasn't such a bad arrangement.

p.3?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

64 notes · View notes