#have to get rid of dust and things like that. twice. yeah... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lasanya539 · 4 months ago

Text

make this heart beat on and on

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @rbtlvr, @oddpocalypse, @azucar-skull)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompts: Anything with Casey Jr. maybe him adjusting to the new timeline? talking things out with Leo? up to you! can be hurt/comfort or just fluff i am not picky; Casey Jones and the terrible horrible no good very bad childhood. TW: Mentions of Su!cide, Mentions of Dissociation, Pan!c Attàck Word Count: 11523

Posted on AO3!

---

Casey Junior has… mixed feelings about the past.

In the first twenty-four hours of him making it here, he’s somehow been launched head-first into the loudest, most overstimulating place of his life, gotten kidnapped and strapped to a chair by a short, angry teenager, been interrogated by a bunch of immature mutant ninjas reptiles, almost died once, almost died twice, locked a sixteen year old turtle into an exiled dimension, and then got him back just to work his ass off to barely save him from the brink of death.

Not to mention the fact that mere milliseconds before getting here he had to watch his sensei die right in front of his eyes, had to confront faces he’d only ever heard stories about or never thought he’d see again, had to somehow be responsible for unleashing the monsters that haunted his entire life in this timeline too, had to sentence a younger version of the man that raised him to get killed at the hands of a demon, and had to beg, beg, beg for a stable pulse when he was given his destroyed body, a family looking at him with the worst kind of hope in their wide eyes.

That… was all in the span of one day.

Of course, it got better as time went on. Slowly but surely, Leonardo recovered, Casey’s due diligence paying off. Raphael’s eye got rid of the infection, his vision improving despite the scar across his eye-ridge. The markings of organic matter on Donatello’s shell diminished, strong enough for his battle shell again. Michelangelo’s compression gloves reduced the shaking in his hands, the cracks fading to scabs, fading to thin white scars.

They healed. They won. They survived.

Or, at least, a version of them did.

So, yeah, Casey Junior has a lot of mixed feelings about the past. Some of them are straightforward to categorize — his undeniable affinity for pepperoni pizza being one of them, easy to think, oh yeah this is a logical emotion to have. Much like the joy at having fresh water he could drink from the sink at all times, or the relief from studying the medical supplies stocked to the brim in the Med Bay. Times when his brain decides to go a bit easy on him, letting him breathe.

The rest of the time though, it seems like there’s a weight attached to his body, heavy, unrelenting. Tugging on his limbs, keeping his head from being held high. It feels like a threat, a warning — slithering tentacles at his heels when he walks, ready to wrap around his ankles and yank him into oblivion. A sea of darkness at his fingertips, just reach out and it’ll capture him.

He tries hard, though, to not dwell on it. To keep himself safe, he knows how to do that. It’s a delicate balance, but one he has practically mastered in his years at the Liberty Base. Keeping his eyes alert, but mind blank. Aware, but empty. Perfect little soldier, no weaknesses, no thoughts, no illogical emotions. Only orders, and a readiness to survive.

So he does. However he can.

—

“Casey!” He hears a voice coming from the kitchen. “Can you help me out with this batter?”

Shaking his head, Casey realizes he’s been spaced out watching some kind of Japanese game show with Master Splinter in the projector room, the not-so-foreign language and laugh track providing a nice background to meld into. He walks to the kitchen to find Michelangelo wearing an apron that says ‘Kiss the Turtle!’, while the entire counter is dusted in flour and baking trays.

He catches sight of him and smiles, giving him a giant bowl and a whisk. Casey notices his hands shaking just slightly. “Here, it’s batter for the brownies I’m making today. Have you ever had brownies?”

The answer was obvious, but he still obliges. “No, never. It’s like, uh, chocolate cake, right?”

“Yep! Well, kind of, you’ll see. I’ll save you an edge piece.”

He sets to whisking, the smell of sugar and butter and things he’d never tasted in years making his mouth water. He resists the urge to dunk his finger in and lick it.

Michelangelo goes back to pouring in the ingredients of a second batch, reaching up to the cabinets to grab the box of cocoa, when suddenly his hand twitches involuntarily. The box slips out of his grip and falls to the counter, the loose powder spilling on the granite.

Casey steps forward to help immediately, but Michelangelo’s rigid posture makes him rethink. He watches him count to five silently, taking a deep breath and releasing it with meditative precision, shoulders untensing and grabbing the box again. His hands are still shaking.

Casey thinks for a moment, still whisking, trying to come up with something comforting to say. A part of him knows bothering him about the injury would probably make him snap, a lesson learned from his childhood, which he definitely isn’t thinking about.

He takes a deep breath and forces a bright smile on his face. “Hey, so, what’s your favorite thing to cook?”

Michelangelo blinks, surprised. “Sorry?"

“You love to cook, right? Since you were a kid. So what’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Well, it depends,” he begins slowly. “If we’re talking dessert, then I make really good salted caramel chocolate chip cookies! Ask Leo, he always begs for leftover dough, no matter how much I tell him it’ll make him sick. A breakfast favorite is always waffles, Raph loves them. Or for lunch or dinner, truffle pork chops! There’s actually a whole story behind that recipe.” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “What about you? What did you guys eat in the future? I’m sure the food situation was much different than here, huh?”

Casey’s smile turns plastic as something painful lodges underneath his ribs. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Michelangelo seems to wait for him to continue, but he barely notices, ducking his head down and stirring mechanically. A sense memory of taste comes back, a flavor coating over his mouth. So many years of crouching next to his Master near a makeshift stove, watching the vermin they captured roasting on a spit. His lilting voice low in his ear, teaching him exactly how to rotate the spit, when to watch for the skin to break and crackle, how to chop off the head cleanly while still leaving enough meat to eat. The silly way they’d tap their respective meals together in a toast before they took a bite.

The batter doesn’t smell all that good anymore.

He feels a gentle touch over his arm where he’s hugging the bowl close, and his head shoots up, an apology ready on his lips. But Michelangelo only smiles, a warm, almost loving thing that puts a giant crack in the armor that sits under his skin. The darkness whispers just outside of his peripherals, waiting, watching.

“Here, that’s done now. Thank you.” He says softly. Casey nods methodically.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that was all I needed. But hey, maybe you should—”

He spins on his heel in perfect form and marches out.

—

“Level of pain, scale of one to ten?”

“One.”

“Okay, two then. Let me know if it gets above a three, and I’ll start you on ibuprofen again. Itching?”

“Scoff. No itching.”

“Good. Have you been applying that antibacterial cream?”

“Yes, mother-hen, I’ve been applying the cream. And before you start, I’ve only been keeping the battle shell on for four hours each day, no need to nag about that.”

“I’m not a mother-hen, I’m a medic.” Casey responds, practiced, not looking up from the paper pad he’s been making diligent notes on his patients with. “What about your other injuries? Take off your gauntlet and knee pads.”

Donatello rolls his eyes with all the irritation in the world, but he does as he’s told, sticking his arms and legs out for inspection. Casey studies the new green skin peeking out from the cuts, evidence of the wounds he had gotten trying to protect Michelangelo with his body when the subway tunnels collapsed. A few pin-pricks of blood catch his attention. “Have you been picking at the scabs?”

He huffs, reflexively bringing his arms back to his plastron in defense, turning away. “No. ”

“Right.” He says plainly. “Well, if it ever gets to that point, stop it. I know you know better than that. Or I’ll put the heavy-duty bandages back on.” He ignores the glare he receives, making one last note and flipping the notepad shut, sighing. “Still, though, you’re recovering pretty well. Considering.”

Donatello quickly puts his gauntlet and battle shell back on, eager to get back to the spreadsheets open on his monitor. Casey starts collecting the old bandages and throwing them in the trash along with his gloves.

“Well, I have to admit.” Donatello says eventually. “If any of us are doing any better, it’s all thanks to you.”

He halts in place, surprised. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not.” Casey feels his stare on his back where he’s turned away to the wall. “You might have been the medic back there, but you’re not one here. Certainly no one forced you to. I distinctly remember Papa telling you to move out of his way when you three got to Staten Island so he could treat his son. But you practically forced yourself into the role and starting ordering everyone around you, including me somehow.”

Casey’s lip twitches at the indignant tone at the end of the sentence. He hangs the first aid kit on the wall. “Yeah, well, there was a lot to be taken care of. Even if I had let Master Splinter take control, it would have been too much just on him. I had to step in. And besides, I’m good at what I do.”

Donatello hums approvingly. “Being confident in your own skills, that’s a good thing to have. I know you said Leo taught you all you know in the future, but he’s actually the worst out of all of us when it comes to having pride in his own work.”

Casey gulps, a sudden ashy emotion clogging his throat. Involuntarily, a memory bubbles up to the surface, the darkness not too far behind. A lesson learned between many violet floating holograms and the clanking of a hammer against metal, a calloused three-fingered hand on his shoulder, steadfast, grounding.

‘Hope may be your greatest weapon’, his Master telling him, teaching him, ‘but your pride is your greatest shield.’

“Yeah.” He chokes out, eyes blurry. He feels slimy tentacles nip at his heels, cold and terrifying. “I – I have to check on the others.”

He barely hears the questioning tone as he flees from the lab.

—

“Hey, hey, can we spar really quick?"

Casey looks up from the fairy lights on the ceiling he was zoning out at, turning to find Leonardo next to him, an eager look on his face. “Sorry?”

“Let’s spar. C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’m actually so bored right now, and I know for a fact you are too.”

“You should definitely not be sparring, you’re still in recovery.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines, stretching out all of his limbs in show. “See? Everything is fine, I’ve been doing that P.T. schedule you gave me, I’m not in pain, and I am bored. Out of. My mind. So can we just go to the dojo and spar it out? I’m really curious to see what kind of ninja warrior skills you have."

Casey gives him a look, but Leonardo just gives him a shit-eating grin that reeks of stubbornness.

“Fine.” He stands up, bones creaking with the weight of years he hasn’t yet lived but still survived. Leonardo looks happier than he has in days.

The dojo still looks quite used, the mats bruised and the punching bags a little worse for wear. Unfortunate for a family full of injured members.

“You know, it seems like you already have quite a few willing training partners for some reason.” Casey says pointedly.

“Ha, yeah, I guess I do, huh,” Leonardo rubs the back of his neck, eyes flitting away. Guilty. Casey can’t stand to look at it too long. “But the point is to train with you! So c’mon, Future Boy, show me what you got!”

Casey forces them to stretch before they start and earns an eye roll in return. They get into position, stance firm and muscles tight. They circle each other, looking for an opening. Casey moves first, and aims for a quick jab to the center of his plastron. Leonardo blocks it, responding with a swift roundhouse kick. He ducks and rolls, returning to stance.

Leonardo smirks at him, a cocky, familiar thing. Something loosens and squirms under his armor.

A flurry of strikes follow – each one of them blocking, dodging, countering with fluid precision. Almost like a dance they’ve rehearsed before, anticipation thrumming in Casey’s veins. They track each other’s movements with the same sharp gaze, prepared.

Leonardo launches a high kick to his head, his balance faltering for an instant. Casey notices, dropping low, sweeping his legs out from under him. A sharp elbow strike to the ribs, and he is forced onto the mat. They stare at each other for a second, before Casey stands up and bows respectfully.

“Wow,” Leonardo pants out, looking up at him. “I promise I’m a lot better at this, usually. You – you definitely got lucky this time.”

Casey snorts, hearing his heart beat in his ears, spirits higher than usual. “Sure, man, let’s say I did.”

Leonardo beams in response, as he helps him get up. He dusts himself off, still out of breath from the excess exercise after the weeks of recovery. Casey smirks, opening his mouth to rib him for training when he wasn’t even ready for it, but suddenly an arm hooks around his neck, pulling him to Leonardo’s side in a friendly jostle that throws him off balance.

“So, I was right, huh?” Leonardo grins cheekily. “You just needed to spar too. No way all that rad ninjosity can sit still and not have somewhere to go, amiright? I haven’t seen you look this happy in a while!”

‘A while’ actually meaning ‘ever’, Casey thinks hysterically, good mood plummeting as he suppresses the instinctive urge to twist out of the chokehold. The warmth from the contact makes the loose emotion stirs up again, but he brutally shoves it down, forcing himself to not give in. Not right now. No tentacles, no illogical feelings.

He returns the grin to the best of his ability, trying not to wilt when Leonardo dims, intelligent eyes ticking over his face.

“Yeah, you’re right!” Casey gets out as cheerfully as he can manage. “Training is a good way to – to get out of your head, huh? Who would’ve thought, right?"

Leonardo doesn’t look very convinced, but lets it slide. “Well, just you and everyone else in this family.” He says matter-of-factly. His eye-ridges come together in a slight frown, thoughtful. Casey tries to pull away, but the arm somehow tightens around him.

“Did you know,” Leonardo says eventually, “that after our first fight with the Shredder, Donnie trained in here for two days straight? The only times he stopped was to go to the bathroom, drink water, and once eat four Big Macs in a row, before immediately coming back. According to him, training was helping him ‘cope’ with everything, but it was actually making him even worse.”

Crack. The armor under his skin.

‘Shredder tore through his battle shell like it was paper.’ Casey suddenly recalls the memory like it’s a vision. Holding his Sensei’s hand one night, hearing him talk in a quiet, morose tone, as they both watched the sleeping figure of his Master flopped over his worktable, three thin but prominent scars visible on his soft shell. ‘It terrified him. All he could think about was becoming better, stronger, faster. Good enough so nothing could ever touch his ‘weak-spot’ again, so he trained like he’d gone mad. God, he was lucky Shredder only got that one scrape on him – because if Donnie hadn’t been wearing his shell…’

“Yeah, I know, I was really upset about it too.” Leonardo can probably see something on his face. What is Casey showing him? He can’t tell. “We ended up having an intervention for him. He obviously got really angry, but we did the whole shabang – banner and letters and comfort food and all. Dad’s letter was so emotional it made all of us cry, I’m not even kidding. That was probably the only reason he listened.”

Casey feels like a leaf floating on tumultuous waters, just barely staying up for air. Dark waves crashing around him, ready to submerge him. Splinters form over his armor with every encroaching wave.

Still, he brings himself back, and hums in response, feeling a perceptive stare on the side of his face. “S-sounds rough. I, um, I heard about the Shredder. You guys… did good.”

“Good, huh?” Leonardo huffs unamusedly. “Yeah. I guess you could say we did. We definitely weren’t the reason the real spirit of Shredder was released from the twilight dimension and he decided to destroy humanity, no siree.”

An unkind voice in Casey’s mind points out how utterly ironic that is. He tries to shake it away, a sense of foreboding curling at the edges of his vision, like the longer he stays here, the more danger he’ll be in.

“Still though,” he argues. “You – you fixed it, didn’t you? You killed the Shredder, you saved New York.”

Leonardo gives him a smile that only barely reaches his eyes, a wry twist of his lips, and something horrible lurches in Casey’s chest, a wild creature of grief and longing and… and—

“Yeah, I suppose we did.” He answers softly. “Couldn’t have done it alone, the world would have been destroyed if it was just the seven of us. It was Gram-Gram and all the Hamato spirits with us. Our ancestors always have our back, the same way we do each other. Anatawa hitorijanai, right?”

The darkness swallows Casey almost at the same time as the tentacles of misery seize his limbs. The glass armor shatters into shards, digging into his thin skin. Echoes of voices crowd into his ears like loud wasps: anatawa hitorijanai, you are not alone, never alone Casey Jones, remember that, the Hamato clan protects its own, anatawa hitorijanai, wherever you go I will always be right there with you, my lifesaver, my kid—

Distantly, Leonardo exclaims something in alarm. A choked sob escapes Casey’s lips, body shaking involuntarily. He feels something pulling at him relentlessly, dragging him under into a black sea of panic. He gasps for breath, fingers bunching in his shirt, trying to let oxygen through the pinhole of his throat into his lungs.

Foreign touch at his shoulders, uncertain. The tentacles slither and tighten viciously. Casey looks up without seeing and hisses, a scared and cornered response, that has the touch retreating immediately. Through the white noise of his ears he can hear words, the tone maybe meant to be calm or soothing, but all it does is make him even more aware of how exposed he feels.

Years of military training kick in, and over the cacophony of sounds a voice replays in his ear, a voice he’d follow to the ends of the earth, ‘Retreat! To the underground tunnels! Retreat!’

So he does. Orders and a readiness to survive. However he can.

—

When Casey Junior was five, he asked his sensei why the sky in his Little Wolfie the Wolfpup book was colored blue.

Sensei looked at him like there was a laugh stuck in his throat trapped by the sorrow on his face, an expression that made little sense to him. He heaved a sigh out, looking up through the tunnel grate, where they could barely catch a glimpse of the normal thick grey smog that covered the Surface and above.

‘Back then’, he said. He always started all stories of the unfathomable time before the Krang like that. ‘Back then, the sky used to be blue, mijo. It was beautiful. There weren’t so many spaceships then, it was all just blue, with white fluffy clouds that looked like cotton balls. Sometimes there would be an airplane that flew by, or sometimes there would be a bird! So when we drew the sky, we always drew it a pretty blue.’

‘Blue, like your old magic?’ Casey asked.

He chuckled, resting a warm hand on his head, fond, loving. ‘Yeah, kid. Like my old magic.’

And then of course his Master popped up behind them, and seriously explained to Casey the exact hexadecimal code that made up the color ‘sky blue’, which was very very (‘that’s two very’s’ ) different than the code for Sensei’s Ninpō blue, and that his twin was giving his charge a faulty education, and should be banned from the lab during homeschool teaching hours.

Casey chuckles wetly now, the memory a small balm on his inner turmoil. He’s sitting on a steel maintenance ramp overlooking a dry sewer reservoir, his face turned up to a patch of sunlight from a broken metal grate on the ceiling. He doesn’t really remember how he got here; one second, he was crouched low in the dojo with his pulse thudding over his whole body, the next he was running through the subway tunnels, desperate to get away. So many years of living underground have trained him well to find the few exit hatches that connect the New York tunnels to the sewers lines in his frenzy. The only safe place he’d had when he was escaping the Surface during an attack. The only safe place he has now.

He looks up, seeing fluffy white clouds that decorate a bright blue sky, a faint flicker of awe piercing through his fog of exhaustion. Exactly like his Little Wolfie the Wolfpup book. Even more beautiful, in fact.

He vaguely wonders if those so-called ‘snow days’ are actually a thing now. Maybe little kids like Wolfie really do dress up in warm wooly cardigans and hats, and make round ‘snowmen’ with rocks and sticks and carrots. Maybe they look up and see a soft sun and rain-heavy clouds with a smile. Maybe they go back home to a family that was never war-torn, never had to watch them walk out the door bitterly wondering if this was goodbye.

Casey sniffles, tears filling his vision once more. He never got to say goodbye. He buries his face in one hand, the other tightly clutching his hair, holding himself together, barely, barely.

“Wow, I never knew this place was here.”

He jolts, immediately standing up to his feet and swerving around, already reaching to his back for a hockey stick that’s not there, before his brain catches up with his body.

Raphael is on the stairs leading up to the high ramp, hands up in apology. His eyes, one normal and one scarred, tick over his stature in a discerning manner.

“Sorry, Raph didn’t mean to scare you.” He says apologetically. “Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Casey grimaces, turning around, muscles strung tight. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He says, surprisingly easily. He lumbers close and settles down, dangling his feet off the ledge, a respectable distance between them.

Casey refrains from joining, feeling antsy, fists clenching and unclenching. The exhaustion still hasn’t worn off, but now it feels like it’s warping into something more, something urgent. The faint sounds of New York traffic filter down from the hole in the ceiling, dust particles floating in the stale air. Raphael is quiet on his side, seemingly calm. A bird flies by up there, making a cheerful sound. It’s a nice day outside. Warm. Cozy.

“Have you ever touched snow?”

Raphael blinks at the sudden unexpected question, glancing up at him. He’s silent for a second, unsure, but answers, “Uh, yeah, I have. It snows here in New York… December to March, I think.”

“Did you like it?”

“Snow? Yeah, of course.” Raphael puts on a small smile, just barely forced. “Snow is great. Every winter, the four of us go to the surface to play in the parks. We have snowball fights and make snow-angels, it’s a lot of fun.” He snorts. “This one time Leo shoved a whole fistfull of snow right under the new Christmas sweater Dad made me just because I made fun of his ugly unicorn-themed scarf.” He steals another glance at him. “We’ll take you next time. Promise.”

And. And Casey can’t help it — he starts laughing hysterically.

Raphael jerks back in surprise as he doubles over, clutching his stomach and chortling uncontrollably. Because isn’t it all so fucking funny? They want to take him to see snow. Snow. As if he hasn’t been dreaming of the impossible chance to build a snow-castle with his family like Wolfie and his friends ever since he was a kid. As if he didn’t brutally crush that dream the day he lost his mother. What must she be thinking now, watching him from the Spirit Realm?

“Case?” Raphael says, almost inaudible over the noise. “Buddy—”

His lungs are vibrating with the lack of air in them. He wobbles on his feet, forward and backward. His vision is blurry again – is he still laughing? Those sharp sounds are laughs, right? He doesn’t know. To be honest, he doesn’t really remember what they’re supposed to sound like. When was the last time anyone around him had laughed? Certainly not in the apocalypse, no siree! No, because they were too busy dying, right?!

“Casey.” Raphael. A strong, firm voice. “Take a deep breath. Please.”

Please, he remembers thinking, raw power of a burning, golden portal pulsating around him, a whirlwind of colors behind his eyelids as he was hurtled in between timelines. Please, no. Please let this be a dream. I want to go home. Please.

What even is home now? His timeline is torn to shreds. His family is dead. He can’t even stand to be out on the Surface to make a new life for himself. There is nobody here for him. This… this distorted reflection of the people that raised him don’t even fucking know him. They have no use for him anymore, he helped them stop the Krang and nursed them back to health. What now? Is there anything left for him? Of him?

A little pebble is accidentally kicked off the metal ramp, and Casey stops, his sharp eyes tracking its trajectory down to the dry basin. It lands innocently among the cracked concrete lines and rotten leaves covering the remains of the reservoir, dust bouncing off as the quiet sound echoes up to him.

Heh. If he had his Genius Built mask with him, he could figure out what the exact distance between them was. Easily fifty to sixty feet. He hiccups, wiping a hand roughly over his damp face, unable to look away from the tiny speck of the pebble. Is it still in one piece down there? Or did it break? It’s too far to tell.

Heh. The blunt force trauma probably fractured it in half. Involuntarily, his weight shifts from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“Hey, Casey,” Raphael is suddenly much closer, in his peripherals he can see a green arm reach out in front of him, not touching him. There’s something weird and worried in his voice. “Let’s take a step back, alright?”

Casey obeys automatically, because he’s hard-wired to listen to any turtle mutants in his vicinity. He takes a shaky step back, the pebble disappearing from his sight, blocked by a tall, scarred plastron. There’s an unmistakable flint of fear in Raphael’s furrowed eyes as he firmly places himself in front of him, body language forcibly relaxed and unthreatening.

Another chuckle bubbles up his throat. How fucking ironic. “What’s wrong, Raphael?” Casey smiles with all his teeth. “You think I’m going to jump off and kill myself? Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not my sensei.”

Raphael gapes at him, shock and horror bleeding into one another. “I – what? I didn’t—”

“Oh, I guess I never told you, huh? Well, surprise, surprise, then.” Casey’s voice wobbles dangerously as he rubs at his face again, the storm roiling in his chest. Shivers wrack his frame, as he finally folds in on himself, dropping into a crouch and landing in an undignified manner. The opposite of a soldier. Of a ninja.

“Stupid, stupid,” the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. “Stupid illogical emotions. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Woah, woah, no.” Raphael sits in front of him, trying to catch his eye. “What are you sorry for? You’ve got nothing to apologize for, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling.”

A sob escapes Casey as he tries to take a deep breath. “But then why do I feel so out of control? Like – like…”

Like he’s adrift at sea, like the waves crest and fall at their own will. Like he’s at the mercy of a darkness he cannot fathom how to tame. Like if he can’t keep his head up the sheer grief will swallow him whole.

“I can’t breathe.” The confession falls from his lips. “If I can’t control it, I can’t breathe.”

A long pause, then Raphael sighs eventually, a deep and sad thing. He pulls back, hands folded atop his lap in perfect meditative stance, no longer attempting to physically get through to him. Making just enough room for Casey to zone out into the middle distance, ruminating in his own weaknesses.

“Did you know…” Raphael speaks after a few minutes of silence. “I was really scared of thunderstorms as a kid?”

Casey refocuses on him, realizing he’s been unconsciously following his breathing, a pattern taught to him since he was old enough to sit still and quiet in the dojo. Inhale for four, hold for two, exhale for eight.

“Yeah, I was.” He smiles at his confused look. “Had to be like – maybe ten or eleven. Every time I heard the thunder from the surface, I used to get terrified. Like, hide in-between the furniture, hands over my ears, shaking kind of terrified. Couldn’t even sleep during night storms. It got so bad that one time I actually screamed out loud because I heard the thunder in the middle of the night, and I woke Donnie up. He came to my room to check on me, but I felt so embarrassed. Because, well, Raph’s the big brother, y’know? Brother who is the biggest. I thought it was so dumb for me to feel scared and upset because of thunder.

“But Donnie didn’t say that. Actually, all he did was explain how thunder really works, the whole science behind it. Something, something, electrical charges and shockwaves, really nerdy stuff. I think he was trying to get me to understand it so I wouldn’t be scared of it anymore, but it just made me more embarrassed. If thunderstorms were really that simple, then it was stupid to feel this scared, right?

Raphael gently nudges him with his knee. “Wrong. Because of course I was scared of thunderstorms – thunder is loud! And it booms! And it always comes so suddenly and without warning, no one can tell when it starts or stops. Yeah, Raph would get scared out of his mind, and yeah, he’d run and hide before he realized what he was doing, but it made sense why I felt that way, at least according to Donnie. Just because my emotions seemed to be out of my control, did not mean they were illogical.”

Casey gulps at the words, hands shaking as he tries to warm them up by rubbing them on his thighs. Raphael gives him a smile so familiar and well-worn, it carves into him like a cold scalpel. “Case, the crap that you’ve seen in your life – none of us can even imagine it, even after the invasion. Having to grow up in an apocalypse and then having to come here, just to save us… it’s a miracle you’re still standing. You’re mourning your home, you have the right to feel.”

A tear falls down his face, followed by another, but he doesn’t wipe them away immediately this time. A whirlwind of emotions batter through his body as he closes his eyes against them. Casey shudders in a deep breath, inhale for four. Hold. Exhale.

“We used to have thunderstorms too.” He mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really loud ones, mostly during the evening. The sky would turn red and grey because of the smoke and mist in the air. Our climate got really messed up because of the – the Krang.” He trips over the word surprisingly, a spike of dread at the name. “But, um, yeah. I hated thunderstorms as a kid too. I used to hide in Sensei’s bed because I couldn’t sleep.” A faint smile graces his lips. “He used to stay awake with me sometimes and we’d play cards together. I always knew it made him so tired to do that, but he never complained once the next day. When the thunder started, he always came to look for me in the bunkers, and he’d just pick me up and we’d turtle pile together.”

Raphael huffs out a laugh, something quiet and gentle on his face. It keeps surprising Casey how still he can sit, a steady presence, unmovable. So unlike whatever he’s seen from a future version of his family.

“It’s easier for you to talk about your past with me instead of the others, huh?” He remarks softly.

The smile shatters in pieces. Casey’s throat is dry. “...Yeah.”

He tilts his head to the side, patient. Continues in the same gentle tone, “It’s because Raph was dead for you too long, wasn’t I?”

A trip in his beating heart, and he flits his gaze away. More memories burn behind his eyelids, every instance of his Sensei and his Masters getting a melancholy look on their faces, talking about their big brother like he’d been their north star, a beacon guiding them in their own darkness. Like losing him had crumbled the ground they stood on, leaving them broken and astray.

A more stark picture comes to mind, a large portrait of an older Raphael in the shrine room of their base, covered in scars but grinning with joy at a camera. How there was always a candle burning right under it, bright and unwavering.

Still, Raphael seems to show no emotion either way, just waits for him to answer. Casey bites his lips, anxiously picking at his nails.

“Are you… are you upset?” He asks, genuinely not sure.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Nah, not really – at least, not anymore. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. You never wanted to be near the three of them unless you were helping them out, you only ever hung out with me or Dad. I’m guessing it was because we didn’t remind you of anyone, so it was easier with us.”

Well, so much for being subtle about it. Casey glances at him, a little ashamed. “Sorry.”

“Like I said, Case, nothing for you to be sorry about.” Raphael bumps his knee with his again. “I just wish I could have been there for you.”

‘I wish I could have been there for him’, Sensei’s voice comes back to him, an aching memory as they both stared at the hilt of his sword, red silk wrapped reverently under his shaking fingers. ‘It’s all I can think about sometimes. He was always there for us when we needed him, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to die alone.’

“It was a routine supply mission. In 2032.” Casey recites after a moment. “Our base had just gotten a few more families, and clothes and food were running low. So it was you and Sensei, raiding a factory in New Jersey. Everything was going fine, it should have been easy. You’d done so many missions like this before.” He takes a shaky breath. “Sensei… he always said he never even saw the Krang mechs coming in. One minute it was quiet in the building, and the next, giant mechs and their hounds raided it. Sensei was trying to fend the hounds off the food, but somehow you got trapped trying to find a safe exit on the other side.” He fiddles with a strand of his hair. “Sensei said he wasn’t even able to catch sight of you once they started attacking, but he could feel the moment you… well.”

It’s silent for a beat, then Raphael sighs again forlornly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He replies quickly. “They were trying to destroy the resistance leader, they were targeting Sensei. You died destroying the mechs and killing those Krang, just to save him. I —” His voice cracks straight through the middle. “I would have done the same. For all of you.”

It should have made him feel better, at least one small part of the burden he’s been carrying given to someone else, a confidant with a listening ear. But instead, it makes a strong ache echo from deep within his chest. A threat from a dormant volcano finally starting to bubble beneath a crust of rock. Something long-ignored and burning, begging to be heard.

“My mother died next.” Casey couldn’t stop himself if he tried. “Lieutenant Cassandra Jones. 2035. A recon team went MIA in Maine, so she led a rescue team to get them back.” He wipes his nose roughly. “She left the day of my sixth birthday. Told me she was going to get me a present – a brand new teddy bear, none of the old hand-me-downs from the base. She never came back. My Mom left and never came back.”

Raphael gives him a despondent look as he continues, ears and neck hot, feeling the rush of an emotion he can’t name. “Then – then in 2040, Commander April O’Neil died. We were raiding a large Krang base in Massachusetts, everyone had been preparing for weeks. They were trying to put a dent in their mechs and ships to slow them down. But one of the rooms in the armory was a trap, and she got locked inside alone.” His lip quivers tremulously. “Sensei tried to get her out, but he couldn’t make portals in the future. And before he could call for backup, the Krang… blew the chamber up.”

There’s horrified gasp from his audience, but Casey barely hears it, lost in the cresting wave of sorrow.

“And then.” The words are clogging up his throat like they’re poison. “In 2042, we lost M-Master…” His voice breaks again. “My Uncle Tello.”

“No.” Raphael lets out an agonized whisper. “No, no, no. You didn’t – there’s no way—”

“There is!” He snaps. “He did! My Uncle Tello died. Don’t you get it? I lost everyone.” He jumps up, agitated and hurting. “They all died, Raphael. They’re all dead. ”

The sheen of unshed and shocked tears in his eyes sends a sharp pang of guilt through him, but it’s quickly overshadowed by his grief. “H-he was piloting a jet back from the Mount Ranier sanctuary in Washington. The Krang destroyed their entire electrical grid, and only he could help. Out of everyone in the fucking country, he was the only one with a brain big enough to do something about it. And he did!” He scoffed out a laugh. “Worked for two weeks straight until Ranier became the most secure base in the west coast! He was on his way back when a Krang missile shot him out of the fucking air.”

He can’t bear to look at Raphael right now, but he hears his ragged breathing through the ringing in his ears.

“I was talking to him.” Casey whispers. “I was in his lab, wearing his hoodie, and we were joking about Sensei. We were laughing. And then out of nowhere I – I heard him gasp over the call and—” His words dissolved into a sob, the memory haunting him. The boom of a sudden explosion cutting off into a dark and deafening silence.

Raphael’s hoarse voice echoes in the empty sewer basin. “Casey. ”

Something about the horror in his tone pisses him off. “What?” Casey spins around, words sharp as a whip, glaring. “What, Raphael? You want me to stop? Is this ‘too much’ for you?” The fire in his chest crackles and pops, burning, burning. “This was my life. The Krang picked off people that I loved, that I cared about, that I saw every day at the base, one-by- fucking -one. Until they finally won the goddamn war. They raided our base, our home, and drove us out until they made sure we were all dead.” He runs a wild hand through his hair, pacing away.

Cruel, he’s being cruel. Casey knows that. To taunt Raphael with the death of his loved ones would be to forsake almost everything he’s been taught about kindness and empathy by his teachers. By his family. By his Master.

“My Uncle Angie,” he says in a strangled voice, “was the most powerful mystic warrior in the world. The Krang could never stand a chance against him. So powerful that they couldn’t even trap his Ninpō like he did Sensei’s or Tello’s. He could build chains out of nothing and throw buildings with a flick of his wrist.” His breath stutters. “He made the portal to send me back in time.”

Bursts of orange linger in his mind, flowing robes and glowing eyes. The flash of a final, radiant wink against fiery gold. Cruel. That had been cruel too.

“Sensei asked him to make that portal.” Casey swallows against the bitter feeling, gripping the edge of his shirt with a shaking hand. “Angie told him that making a time gateway like that would take everything he had. And Sensei still told him to do it.”

The volcano finally erupts, magma spreading through his body and burning under his skin. “Sensei knew it would kill him, Angie told him it would. And he still made him create the portal. I literally watched him die – he disintegrated in front of me. And then Sensei pushed me into the portal while I watched him die in a laser blast too!

“And for what?” Casey rounds back, fury radiating off him. “Master Leonardo practically sentenced his little brother to die, and for what? For this? This stupid, loud, confusing world, with people I don’t even know? Where the sky is perfectly blue and snow is perfectly white? I can’t live off the time stolen from my Uncle’s life. I can’t.”

He digs his nails harshly into the flesh of his arm. “I – I feel them sometimes. The Krang. Their tentacles on me. The cold, pink slime. I know it’s not there anymore, but I can’t stop feeling it. I can’t stop seeing yellow eyes everywhere I go. What is wrong with me? I feel like I’m going crazy – is this my life now? Is this what Sensei died for? And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do— ”

Raphael steps directly into his space and fiercely wraps his large arms around him.

It feels nothing like the slithering grip of the Krang. In fact, it feels nothing like any person who’s ever held him at all. The bone-crushing pressure from all sides jarrs him out of his turmoil almost immediately, the raw strength nearly lifting him off the ground. He takes a shaky breath against the rush of positive physical feedback, blinking away the tears.

Another memory comes to mind, a gloomy day in the apocalypse after a devastating mission. His Uncle Tello shoulder to shoulder with his twin, hunched over a broken metal head-piece, tears staining his mask.

‘What do you need right now?’ Sensei whispered, running a gentle finger over the smooth remains of SHELL-DON.

His Uncle huffed wetly, the sound full of longing from where Casey was eavesdropping from the door, watching him scrunch up into a tight ball, visibly shaking. Looking like he wanted to disappear from the world. ‘I’d do anything for a Raphie hug. Can you get that back?’

He feels the vibrations of Raphael’s voice through his plastron now, a grumble that seems to settle something deep within him. “I am so sorry, Casey. I am so, so sorry.”

He sounds downright distraught. Casey closes his eyes. “It’s okay, Raphael.”

“It’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” He sniffles. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is, let it go. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity!” Raphael rips them apart just to stare down at him intensely. “I’m not pitying you, Case. I feel horrible for the horrible things you went through. I - I can’t even imagine the pain you must be in, I should have figured it out before.”

“It’s not your fault.” He lamely pats the hand wrapped around his arm. “I wasn’t exactly advertising it. It didn’t want any of you to know.”

The look he gives him makes him think that’s probably not what he wanted to hear. Casey tsks. “I didn’t, okay? I thought, I don’t know. That I could just… deal with it all on my own.”

Raphael sighs again, and it irks him, especially when he says, “That’s not healthy, Case.”

A surge of irritation. “Oh, fuck off. You weren’t there, you don’t get to tell me what’s healthy and what’s not.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t.” He says firmly, not backing down. “And I’m not an idiot, I’m not going to pretend to know the kind of shit you’ve seen in your life and I’m sure as hell not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t have done. But I know for a fact that under all that anger and sadness is a crapton of buried guilt. I know what that looks like. I know what that feels like.”

Casey swallows, caught-out, as he continues, “Maybe not to the same extent as you, but I understand what it feels like to live with the fact that someone else’s sacrifice is the only reason you’re still alive. That happened with my Gram-Gram. That almost happened with Leo.”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, “It’s not the same.”

“You’re right.” Raphael says simply. “Because what you’ve gone through is so much worse.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, you’ve also gone through—”

“Shut.” He stops him, holding his palm just over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. “We’re not playing the Pain Lair Games. Raph’s being honest. I don’t know anything about your time or your loss. But.” He says pointedly. “I do know my brothers. I know Leo and Mikey and Donnie, through and through. No matter the time, age, or life. Even better than you. And I know for a fact, family is everything to them.

“It makes me so mad,” he continues, eye-ridges in a painful frown, “to think that the Krang ever put my family, our family, in so much danger. That they had to die. That they were… killed.” He takes a deep breath and glares at him with so much fervor he can’t look away. “But I can guarantee you that Leo and Mikey would never have made the choice to sacrifice themselves to get you here if they didn’t think it was worth it. I know how much Leo loves Mikey, and how much Mikey trusts Leo. They both made a choice, you don’t have to carry the torch of their deaths. It’s not on you.”

Casey’s lip tremored. “That can’t be true. They wouldn’t have had to do that, at all, if it wasn’t for me. I… got them killed. I was their burden.”

“Kid,” Raphael says helplessly, and it squeezes his heart because of how familiar it sounds. “You were their family, the same way they were yours. I told you, for them family is everything, worth sacrificing everything. They would have done anything to keep you alive.”

“To what end?” He bursts out. “They sent me back here to be safe, but for what?” He kicks off some dirt from the ramp, tight with it. “What did they want me to do, now that the Krang is gone? What did they send me here for?”

“They sent you here to be loved, Casey Junior.”

That brings him to a full stop, the answer to the question plaguing his mind for weeks, given to him with such unwavering conviction. Once again, he lets out a hurting laugh. “You have to be fucking kidding me, Raphael.”

“I’m not.” He replies, serious. “I know how it sounds, I get it. Yes, they sent you here to help us stop the Krang. But Case, they also sent you here to be loved. To be cared for. To live in a world with food and water and safety—”

“There is no way.” Casey cuts him off immediately, brushing off his hand and turning away with blurry eyes. “There is no way. There was no place safer and more loving than with my Sensei and my Uncle Angie. So what if we ended up losing our home to the Krang by the end? We would have rebuilt! We would have survived! We would have been together. ”

The worst part is that, despite his own words, he can’t help but believe Raphael whole-heartedly. Because, if what he’s saying is true, it would truly be such a Hamato Leonardo move. The guy was the leader of the resistance, the greatest ninja the world had ever seen, a shining beacon of hope and strength in the apocalypse, and yet he was always the first to give up on himself. Only he would think that his love, which Casey needed like oxygen, could be replaced by a parody.

Raphael doesn’t mind the interruption. He just seems to study him scrutinizingly. As if Casey’s a particularly complicated puzzle, and he’s finally gotten a clue.

“Would you?” He asks quietly.

Embers of simmering lava spark in indignation. He turns back to face him, straight back and steel glare. “What?”

The sharp tone does nothing to deter him. Instead, he suddenly says, “Do you know the story of how Leo became leader?”

“I – what?”

“It was a few days after we beat the Shredder. Dad just randomly told us Leo was going to take charge now. It came out of nowhere, none of us were expecting it. It took a lot of arguing, until Dad finally told us why. Because Leo was, apparently, a better strategist than me.”

Raphael laughs ruefully. “Not an easy thing to hear, I’ll tell you that much. I got so… angry. And hurt. All we did for days was just fight. It was part of the reason why we lost the key in the first place.” He sighs, but when he looks up, Casey sees the sheer pride in his eyes. “But Dad turned out to be right at the end. Leo really is the best of us at strategy. At chess, at sparring, at thinking ahead. He’ll worm his way out of any problem, there’s no one better at it than him.” He gives him a wry smile. “But you already knew that right? He was your sensei.”

An incoming, unthinkable understanding. Emotions storm in Casey’s chest wildly. “W-what are you saying?”

‘That’s it.’ A flashback. His Sensei, injured and exhausted, running away from their destroyed home, Krang mechs surrounding them on all sides. Intelligent eyes searching the landscape for a way out, a solution to their predicament, before eventually shutting in defeat. ‘The resistance failed. The Krang won.’

No, he’d immediately thought, heart in his throat, refusing to accept it. No, no, no.

“Leo is a lot of things.” Raphael continues. “Strong-headed, a little arrogant. A complete idiot, sometimes. But where it counts, he will always keep fighting. And I know for a fact he would have made you take this risk if he didn’t think the fight was already lost.”

Casey shakes his head again, heart thudding loudly. “No, no, that’s not true, the Krang hadn’t won. They just wrecked our base, that’s all. Sensei gave up too early, we would have been alright.”

Raphael gives him such a forlorn, pitiful look that it punches him in the gut. “When have you and I ever known Leo to give up, Casey?”

Never, unless it was a tactical surrender. Unless it was between a Hail Mary, or certain doom. Casey’s quivering hands grasp at his upper arms, digging into the flesh. He thinks about the blood soaking Sensei’s plastron, his heaving breaths against his ear as they ran for their lives. The exhaustion on Angie’s brows and the shake in his fingers as he summoned the chains to rescue them for the umpteenth time.

“No – we would have been fine. I wouldn’t have lost them too.”

“Remember how I said thunderstorms are my greatest fear?” Raphael asks, voice even quieter. Casey hysterically wonders how he can sound so gentle even though he can see how much his words are hurting him. “Well, do you know what Leo’s greatest fear is?”

“No, listen to me, Angie would’ve – Sensei would’ve—”

“It’s to be abandoned.” He finishes. “The emotion he can’t control, is this fear that one day he’ll wake up and realize that all the people he cared for were eventually taken away from him. And that’s the one thing he couldn’t let happen to you.”

“Well, he failed miserably then.” Casey spits out unthinkingly. Undeniably distraught, undeniably betrayed.

It would have ended the same way after all, he realizes, as tears spill from his eyes. One more mission, one more night without food or water, one last dirty wrap over their wounds. Casey would’ve lost his only remaining family either way. It was bound to end in him abandoned. Alone. Unloved.

His greatest fear.

His fiery anger dissipates, drenched in a dark tempest of sorrow and grief. Visions of a frigid life stranded alone in the apocalypse play in his mind, an existence that would have been his if it wasn’t for Angie’s and Sensei’s sacrifice, as the storm rages and roars. He’d spent so many days bristling in his rage, the unfairness that they’d taken away his freedom to choose his own life. But there wasn’t a choice at all. It was either this, or certain doom.

His sobs echo up to the open grate with the birds and the clouds, barely muffled by the plastron hugging him tightly once again. A warm, three-fingered hand strokes his back, comforting, safe.

Casey thuds both his fists against Raphael’s chest with all his strength, barely even nudging him.

“Y-you’re kind of fucked up for that, you know?” He croaks. “Why did you have to tell me that? Why couldn’t you just let me live in denial, huh?”

Raphael squeezes him once. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Really?”

He hesitates in response, and Casey scoffs, moving to pull away. He could go run and hide in another corner of the sewers, tame the howling feelings on his own terms. But Raphael doesn’t let him go, in fact tightening his grip.

“Let me go.” Casey sniffles, sounding more petulant than demanding.

“It wasn’t just that you were in denial, Case.” Raphael sounds desperate, like if he doesn’t keep him there he would somehow disappear. “It wasn’t that simple. If you just wanted to avoid thinking about something, fine, that would have been fine. But you were… withering away.”

He barks out a laugh, an unbidden memory of his uncle crumbling away into pieces in front of him. Withering away, disappearing. “No. I really wasn’t.”

“You were. You lived in the lair, but you were hardly even there most of the time. Sitting at a table silently for hours. Zoning out watching stupid shows I know you weren’t even listening to. Barely moving, barely even responding when any of us tried to talk to you. You always just looked so… blank.” Raphael sighs. “I’m sorry we – I – pushed you so much. But I needed to know, I needed you to tell me what you were really feeling. Because… shit, kid, you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

Casey’d seen cases like that back in his time. So many people losing so many people. Shock and mourning leaving them husks of who they were. Completely blank, unpresent. Glazed eyes staring unblinkingly, one gentle prod and the glass would shatter.

He recalls his training, mentally running through a few check-lists of symptoms, and immediately cringes away at how accurate some of them were for him. He buries his face against Raphael, weakly protesting, “I'm not doing that bad.”

He squeezes him once more, an answer in itself. The pressure automatically loosens some of the tension in his body.

“Leo has been researching for a while, on post-traumatic stress.” Raphael begins. “Mikey has been doing a bunch of readings on grief and loss. Donnie has been looking up potential people and resources for help.” He brushes back Casey’s ruly hair tucked under his chin, a comforting hug. “You've been worrying all of us for a while now.”

Casey’s lip trembles, awash with such apparent concern he doesn’t know what to do. An involuntary dark thought sours his mood, and he looks away. “Thanks, but… I hope you know you guys don’t owe me anything. Whatever I did to help you, I would have done it anyway.”

He’s suddenly flicked quite forcefully, right in the middle of his forehead. Casey rears back in surprise, rubbing his head. “ Ow ?”

“This is what I do to my brothers when they’re being dum-dums.” Raphael glares at him vehemently. “Do you seriously think that the only reason we care about you is because you doctored us back to health like we owe you a ‘life-debt’ ? What is this, the Italian mob? It’s either let us repay your debt or dishonor our name? Seriously?"

Casey looks up at him dumbly. “I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that we care about you because you’re our family, you giant idiot.” Raphael finally exclaims, exasperatedly. “The Hamato clan watches out for its own. You don't have to go through this alone.”

His hands squeeze his shoulders again. “I see so much of us in you, Case. Not just the medical or technical smarts. The real parts of us. You have Leo’s courage and Donnie’s wisdom and Mikey’s heart. You have April’s grit, and Cassandra’s toughness. You are Hamato through and through.” Raphael snorts, shoving his head back affectionately. “And unfortunately, I am required by law to take care of my siblings.”

Casey swipes at his face, sniffling loudly again. “Yeah. Anatawa hitorijanai. ”

Raphael smiles, setting a gentle, warm hand on top of his head. And Casey suddenly feels four instead of fourteen, echoes of years worth of fond head cradles crashing into him. He closes his eyes and lets himself lean into it. He’s so tired. He misses his family. He’s so tired.

“What do I do, Raphael?” He finally begs of him, emotionally wrung out. The weight of his ill-fated existence sinks deep into his bones, too heavy for him to bear. Darkness inside him making way for murky grey smog, low visibility of any sustainable life.

“Well, first off, you start calling Raph, Raph.” He responds primly, making Casey unexpectedly snort. “The only person who ever calls me Raphael is Donnie when he’s trying to be more stuck-uppy than usual.”

“Stuck-uppy?” Casey lets out a warped laugh.

He rolls his eyes. “Stuck-uppy. Pretentious. Flamboyant. Ostentatious. Just because Raph doesn’t use big-boy words does not mean he doesn’t know ‘em.”

Casey chuckles wetly. Raph grins brightly at the sound.

“And second off,” he continues, “we’re going back to the lair. And this time, we’re not going to avoid or hide from the others, okay? We’re actually going to talk to them.”

Even though he detests that idea, he can’t help but appreciate that’s making it seem like the two of them are in this together. Still, he makes a face. “How on earth do you expect that to help?”

“It’s going to help you stop being alone.” Raph replies, hitting the target at point-blank range. His face flushes. “That’s what your sensei would have wanted, so that’s what we’re going to do. Doesn’t matter what you do with them, but we’re going to make sure you’re not isolating again. Support systems are important for addressing grief.”

A horrible thought comes to mind before he can reply to that, making him suddenly stop. “Oh god, are you —” He looks up at him with wide eyes. “Are you going to make me talk to a ‘shrink’?”

Raph blinks. “What.”

Casey continues frantically, quickly getting anxious. “Back there, everyone used to make shrink jokes. Like, a lady in glasses with a notepad and pen, making you sit in an uncomfortable chair, and asking you how you’re feeling today? Are you going to make me do that?”

There’s a pause, before Raph bursts into laughter. The sound is so unexpected and so pure something in Casey’s chest lurches.

“Is – is that what you think a therapist is?”

“Well – yeah!” He insists. “That’s what Sensei used to say. Him and everyone else.”

He wipes a tear from his eye, still chortling. Casey’s lip turns up despite himself. “Well, he’s not entirely wrong actually. But there’s not always an uncomfy chair, really. Sometimes it's a sofa. And sometimes it's a dude with a notepad instead of a lady. Still with glasses though.”

Casey can’t tell if he’s being fucked with or not. “Are you fucking with me?”

He snorts in response. “No. Well, maybe a little. Those three aren’t the only ones who did their research.” He peers down at him. “Do you want to talk to a shrink?”

At this moment, nothing sounded worse than having to tell an untraumatized stranger about his feelings when he was barely ready to acknowledge them himself. Much less air out the fact that he was apparently a scientific anomaly since he broke the space-time continuum in half. “No, I definitely do not want to talk to a shrink.”

Raph shrugs. “Okay. We’ll figure something else out.”

Casey gapes at him as he walks away, climbing down the high ramp. “Wait – really?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t look back. “Of course. I get it. I don’t like talking about my emotions either. And since you’re Leo’s son, I am ninety percent sure there’s already an unhealthy amount of emotional suppression going on. We can work on that later.”

He chuckles once more, a short but genuine sound, not missing how Raph hides his smile again. “So I don’t have to expect a visit from Dr. Feelings?”

“Nope, and no Dr. Delicate Touch either. If they bother you, I’ll punch them.”

Casey suddenly pauses, not following him. Raph turns around when he stops hearing his footsteps, seeing him twist his hands together nervously.

“Do you think—” He licks his dry lips. Draws from the well of courage instilled in him by his sensei. “Do you think they would be… okay with this?”

Raph tilts his head at him. Discerning, older brother eyes trying to solve a younger brother problem. It almost makes him smile. “Okay with what?”

“Just. This.” Clenching and unclenching his hands in painful configurations, the sharp feedback racing up his arms. “If I… don’t think about them so much anymore?”

Raph’s eyes widen, and then soften with emotion, as he continues, “I know you keep saying that I’m not alone, and you guys can let me be a part of your family. But… I can’t stop thinking about my family. But if thinking about them hurts me, and they wouldn’t want me to hurt anymore… should I stop? Can I stop?”

Casey thinks back to the day he lost his mom. He was a tiny, screaming six year old, refusing to accept that the most important person in the world was never coming back to him. Through the tears in his eyes, silhouettes of turtles surrounded him, trying to soothe him to no avail. The thought of ever moving on from her, from the ever-lasting misery of that loss, seemed unimaginable.

He doesn’t know how that sharp pain dulled down to a small ache. He doesn’t remember how many days it took until he didn’t cry every evening waiting for her to come home. If he’d done right by her that he’d ever stopped at all.

The day he lost his Aunt Apes. The sheer horror of the news that spread through the base like wildfire and made him drop to his knees in shock. The floundering sobs that consumed and wrecked him – how long did it take to recover from that?

The night he sat in Uncle Tello’s lab and heard the call cut off into ringing silence. The way all of the equipment lights turned from purple to red, the quiet alert sent to his remaining family. He hadn’t even cried that day. He’d just curled onto the floor, numbly in shock, until Sensei broke down the door with tears streaming down his devastated face. He doesn’t really think he ever got over that.

How long would it take for these new wounds to heal? How many times must he be reminded of the injury before the fresh skin starts to settle in?

“You never stop thinking about them, Case.” Raph replies, steadily. Frank. Kind. “They’re always there with you, in your heart, in the Spirit Realm. But it does get better. You learn to accept their loss and honor the people you lost. And you and I know the best way to honor this family, in life or in death.”

“To never give up hope.”

“And to always be there for each other.” He finishes.

Casey breathes. Once, twice. Inhale, hold, exhale. The pain in his chest echoes once more, before quieting down, a bearable weight. He smiles at Raph and takes the proffered hand.

Later, when he finally gets back, his new family is waiting for him. Leonardo steps up, apologies ready on his lips, but Casey doesn’t let him start before he engulfs him in a tight hug. A few more tears escape as shaking arms embrace him with equal fervor.

“I’m so sorry.” Leonardo still confesses brokenly.

He shakes his head. “Anatawa hitorijanai. You were right. You were right.”

Michelangelo encircles him from behind, giving them a tight squeeze full of affection. And all Casey can do is close his eyes and feel like he’s with his Sensei and Uncle, basking in their love from realms away.

Donatello rubs a gentle hand on his upper arm, and Casey peeks up at him, spying the soft smile on his face. An endless depth of care under a stoic exterior. He informs him matter-of-factly, “I’m going to implant a tracker in you, CJ-squared.”

He chokes out a laugh, both at the idea and painfully familiar nickname. “I already have three.”

Behind them, Raph laughs, his other brothers joining in as Donatello looks equal parts shocked and intrigued. Their father walks into the living room, stepping in with silent feet. There is a cup of something sweet-smelling in his hands, steam curling above it.

He walks up as Casey disentangles from them, kneeling in front of him to meet him in the eye. It feels wrong to be in the presence of the esteemed Lou Jitsu by looking down at him.

“Casey.” Master Splinter says, a gravelly but proud voice. “My boy. I may not have known you in the future, but I can tell you very honestly that you are one of the bravest men I have ever had the privilege of meeting. And the blessing of having in my home. But you have been far too burdened for far too long.” He offers him the cup, the surface of the warm liquid glistening in the fairy lights of the lair. “Here. It’s a Hamato secret blend. Special.” He winks. “Only for family.”

Casey accepts the tea, staring at the face before him. A similar image comes to his mind, an old, worn picture he hasn’t looked at in months. He cracks a watery smile. “Thanks, Jiji.”

His Jiji’s eyes immediately fill up, as he turns away to weep directly onto Michelangelo’s shoulder, who pats his back comfortingly, shooting a blinding grin his way.

Casey Junior has mixed feelings about the past. His past. He doesn’t know how to stop them, doesn’t know if they ever will. But he does know how to deal with them. He has new orders, and a new readiness to survive.

Looking at the family before him, he believes he can.

#tmnt write fight #tmntwritefight #rottmnt #tmnt #casey junior #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #bad future timeline #tw apply!

31 notes · View notes

alexiswritingstuff · 2 years ago

Text

Not so scary after all. 1/2

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x gn! reader.

Other Appearances: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White.

Request: I was wondering if you could write a short story/oneshot where the reader (gender neutral) works in the lab with Jesse and Walter, and Gus has an obvious soft spot for them. Being lenient with them when they make a mistake, being more gentle with reader, etc.

I know it is very OOC of Gus but imagining him going all soft 😩🙏

Warnings: none, but be aware of possible spelling mistakes and such.

A/n: To the person that requested this, I hope it is what you wanted! I have a tendency to just wing fics sometimes, not realising that I might be going in the complete opposite direction of what someone wanted me to go in.

But I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte

More Gustavo fics.

The lab, that engulfed anyone within, had gone quiet as the machines were finally able to cool from their heated activities.

It had been hours. The process of creating the demanded product had been complete. Put into the cooling fridge to set in their usual trays.

About a minute ago, you had pulled one of them out, ready to do your job of breaking the crystal into the usual sizes that they sold at... Though now you, and a certain Pinkman, were stood side by side in front of the tray you had selected and put on a free surface.

Two pairs of eyes stared down at it, trying to solve the sudden nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. But it was one of those things where the longer you paid attention to it, the less your brain actually focused.

Jesse sniffed, breaking the created silence from intense thinking, “Is it just me, or, uh. Does that look wrong?”

“Yeah,” you answered slowly, mind too consumed to use your full voice, “But I can’t tell what.”

It began again. The two of you looked over every inch of that tray once and then twice, and then one more time, before there was an equal sigh. Jesse had even rubbed his face in an attempt to soothe himself. “I don’t get it, man.”

Was it the colour?

The consistency?

The feel?

Surely, with the time you had spent just looking at it, you should’ve been given at least a form of answer. So why wasn’t there one?

“Okay, look.” you huffed out, squeezing your eyes quickly in attempt to rid them of the tiredness that clung. “How about we go back, go through it step by step, see if we missed something, huh?”

Jesse defeatedly waved his arms with a groan. “Come on.” You ushered, and after giving him a pat on the shoulder, he complied. Picking up the clipboard of notes along the way.

In all honesty, it took a good chunk of time to check certain stations off of the list.

The process was so consistent that whenever you made batches it was a done and dusted kind of situation. So, when you were stood there, in front of the grand machines, wracking through your brain for specific information on how you did it.

It wasn’t very easy.

Eventually, however, the two of you had landed at Station 5. The settling tank.

Jesse cleared his throat as he raised the clipboard once again, trying to focus his tired eyes on the small words that appeared in front of him. “All right,”

“There’s not really much for this one, but, uh... I guess, as long as it was set at 75 there shouldn’t be a problem.”

You were about to hum in response. Your feet had readied to continue onto the next piece of machinery to just get this over and done with, and admit defeat as the answer still hadn’t been found.

But your body had frozen, the number ringing in your ears like an alarm.

Your eyes flicked to the temperature dial on the tank, even though by now it had gone back to zero, “What?” Jesse’s body turned in your direction, gaze still on the checklist, “The temperature.” he repeated simply. “It was set to 75, right?”

Oh, shit.

When there was no response, Pinkman’s eyes finally left the writing to find yours. And then his head slowly raised, the realisation ready to kick in. “Right?” The look on his face urged a cringed smile to take over your lips.

“I thought you said 85.” you confessed through your gritted teeth and Jesse’s eyebrows furrowed immediately. He looked back down at the list, “Why the hell would I say 85 if it says 75 right here?”

“Dude-- I don’t know. I don’t exactly have control over your brain, do I?!” you practically hissed, arms crossing over your chest in shame while the kid beside you shook his head in disbelief. “Well, apparently, you don’t either, I mean...”

“85, man. You-- That would’ve turned it into some kind of-- of sludge. Right? So... What, every single tray is like that then?”

Words didn’t even have to be said to give him the answer.

“Yo, come on man!” His shoulders slacked, a louder sigh than before beckoning through his lips as he walked off for a second, hands moving up to sit on his hips. “They-- They’ll never let us do it without Mr. White again.”

Your eyes followed him as he started to pace back and forth in front of you, “Jesse, every person in this building has made a mistake at least once in their life.” You paused, gulping, “... Though, I doubt not being able to cook will be the least of our worries.”

That didn’t seem to help Jesse’s nerves as he let out yet another groan, his increasingly warm hands now raising to reach at his face once again. “Look, we just... We’re just going to have to make another batch.”

Suddenly, he looked up. His eyes found yours, even while his feet continued to move, and he pointed a finger, “You’re telling Gus.”

“What-- Me?! Why me?!”

“Because... He doesn’t shout-- He doesn’t get mad at you.” Jesse insisted, lightly shrugging his shoulders in a way that had your eyebrows raising, “He doesn’t shout at you either.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Is there a problem?”

The sound had cut through the air in a matter of seconds that made you feel like you had jumped out of your skin. But instead, you and Jesse had spun round towards the entrance of the lab, the posture of both bodies straightening out at an impressively fast speed.

There he was. The man himself stood right on the catwalk, hands sat atop the cool railing as he looked down at his employees that might as well have been a pair of ants.

Uh oh.

Gustavo waited there for about a second and then he was off, making his way down the stairs despite the equal internal pleas for him to either stay there or go back through the doors.

The sound of his footsteps continued to bounce off of every wall in the room.

You and Jesse had practically turned into ice by the time he got to ground level, and the two of you sent each other worriedly looks before turning back when Gus had stopped himself not that far away.

“Well?” he questioned, his entire body going eerily still, almost ridged, like it usually did. You cleared your throat, “Yeah, uh... There’s a complication with the batch.”

Gustavo’s eyes had locked onto yours. His head was slightly tilted, his jaw clenched, which together was such a thing that it had sent a chill down your spine. “Go on.”

You gulped, your gaze moving from his to send a quick glance over to Jesse before you forced yourself into at least a sense of composure, “I-- It’s my fault... Sir.”

“I got the temperature for the settling tank wrong, and... we only just realised.” The more the words spilled from your lips, the dryer your throat had become, “Telling you that I didn’t mean to do it doesn’t exactly solve the problem, so I--”

“You’re saying that the whole batch is like this. Correct?” Mr. Fring clarified, raising a singular eyebrow, and you nodded slowly after blinking for a moment, “Yes.”

Your hands felt like they were about to start shaking from the anticipation of awaiting his reaction. “Sir, I swear, I didn’t mean it, I don’t-- I don’t even know how I misheard a number.”

Gustavo’s head rose steadily. But then his eyes moved from yours over to the man stood to your side, “How fast can you make another one?” he questioned, instead of issuing a punishment like you had thought, and now you and your lab partner shared yet another look.

“What?”

“How long.” Mr. Fring repeated simply, though his voice was a little lower than before. More firm. “Uh... It depends.” Jesse stated. However, when Gustavo had raised a brow again, he continued. “Like... 6-8 hours. Tops.”

In that moment, a faint breath sucked into Mr. Frings lungs. He straightened up, nodding only once before his lips had parted. “Go.”

“What-- But what about that batch?” you questioned, gesturing towards the failed product still sat on the counter. But he didn’t turn. His eyes hadn’t even moved.

“I’ll handle it.” was all he said. And only now had he began to move, his walk even more ridged this time from what could mostly be assumed to be due to anger.

A factor that your brain had apparently decided to ignore when a sudden panic had raised within you.

Your feet had began moving before you had processed the consequences. “Wait, Gus.” you called, trying your best to follow his movements before he got to the stairs.

And then within a matter of seconds, he was turned back in your direction. Something that almost had you stumbling over yourself as you attempted to stop your feet.

Gustavo wore a mild frown. It was one that had gradually set deeper into the lines of his face since he had entered the lab. Though when his gaze had focused on your own, it had disappeared like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

You cleared your throat when your eyes actually processed the fact that they had already been met with his.

“Mr. Fring.” You corrected yourself after a moment, missing the look of disagreement that twitched through Gustavo’s expression upon hearing the name coming out of your mouth.

“Please don’t tell Walter.”

You could fully hear your heartbeat by now. The blood was purely pumping through your veins as if it was about to give you an adrenaline rush, especially when Gustavo’s eyebrows had subtly furrowed. “Why not?”

You turned to look back at Jesse, who could only just meet your eyes, before you faced the other man once again, a deep breath filling your lungs even if it didn’t help to soothe. “He already has a lot on his plate, and I...”

“I don’t want to make it worse just because of a stupid mistake-- My stupid mistake.”

The words settled in the tense air for a good few seconds.

It was a waiting game. The prize of which being whatever reaction the man in front of you held, even if it wasn’t going to be a good one.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. Gustavo’s gaze hadn’t changed once throughout the conversation, and now the silence. It was strong; bold, unmoving, calm. All the while you had felt like some kind of cowering animal stood.

“Like I said, Y/n.” he spoke suddenly, indicating that the decision had been chosen. It was a great relief when he had finally let himself bink.

“I will take care of it.”

And with that, his back was turned towards you, the footsteps that had once echoed through the lab doing so all over again as he made his way up the spiral stairs without another word.

The past few hours had sort of blurred together as you and Jesse had absorbed yourselves in the process of making the new batch.

A few of Gus’s employees, that you had seen only a few times, had even been in and out while you remade the product. They took the trays out one by one, throwing out all of the useless contents, and then returning them to the cooling fridge.

By now the usual concoction was in the middle of being filtered through the last set of machines, a procedure that always seemed to take a long time to complete, or at least feel like it did.

So, there you were, using up the spare time to sit at one of the tables. Your tired eyes were set upon the new checklist you had written out yourself this time. Carefully.

All the steps that were taken had been marked so far. And though you wanted nothing more than the last few ones to be over and done with, you didn’t really mind the surrounding atmosphere.

It was only the sound of the machine that rumbled through the warehouse of a room. Everything else was silent, somehow including Pinkman, as if there was collective knowledge that the session was soon coming to an end.

It was peaceful.

The door to the lab had slammed open so quickly that a fierce sound purely echoed when the hinges had allowed it to move as far is it could go.

“Jesus!”

You stood up from your seat, watching a breathless Walter White practically stumble along the catwalk until he was leant heavily against the banister, while both you and your partner recovered from the near heart attack, “How-- Is everything okay? Is anything damaged? Nothing’s damaged, right?”

“What?” you questioned, narrowed eyes searching over him from afar. But then he just huffed, pulling himself along the walkway with the railing so that he could get to the set of spiral stairs.

“Mr. White?”

Right as you had managed to move round a set of machinery, your gaze landed on Jesse who was now being grabbed by Walter, getting shaken like ragdoll as if there had been some big disaster.

“Yo, what the hell, man-- What are you doing?!” the kid yelled, close to falling on his ass by the time he finally got out of the grip on him. Walter threw his arms out, “Gus.” he stated as if it would spark something.

But you and Jesse only furrowed your eyebrows, your arms crossing over your chest once again as you took the spot beside him.

“He told me about the-- the-- contamination. I told you that one person has to stay in the lab or things like this... They will happen!”

It clicked.

Gustavo had acted upon your wishes. He had fabricated a whole story to take place of a mistake that you had made.

He lied for you.

When Walter stressfully rubbed at his face, covering his eyes in a way that almost snapped his glasses with a groan like sound, you took the chance to look over to Jesse to see if he had gotten the memo himself.

The expression on his face told you enough.

“God... We’re going to have to make an entire new batch.” Mr. White pointed out, his initial concern slowly forming into what appeared to be annoyance.

Jesse shook his head, “Hey, relax man we already started. It, uh...” He paused, turning to look at the machine thats rumble was slowly beginning to ease. “Actually, you know what? It should be done soon.”

But his words did nothing. Walter had started mumbling to himself about the setbacks, throwing around numbers, and words that you couldn’t define no matter how hard you tried.

So when he started walking away, neither you or Jesse moved to interrupt him.

“I told you.”

Your attention shifted once again, and soon you found a certain Pinkman looking at you with a weirdly smug expression as he mirrored your stance. “What?”

“Gus likes you.”

Every muscle in your body tensed so fast. Your head turned to the side, avoiding your partners gaze with a scoff, that sounded a little too fake, “Wha-- No, he doesn’t.”

Jesse was purely grinning if he hadn’t been already, “Yeah, man, he totally does.” Each word felt like it’s own individual tease through his slowed voice, “All that lying for you, and shit... I don’t know, Y/n. I would say that he’s definitely hooked--”

“Shut up, man.” you hissed, uncrossing your arms just so that you could lightly shove him in annoyance, but all he did was chuckle once he managed to stabilise himself.

And though he didn’t add anything else to his point he wiggled his eyebrows at you, turning to go back to his work station before there was even a chance to scold him again.

So, instead you just rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh pushing its way through your lips once you had taken in the fact that you were now stood by yourself.

Walter was... somewhere, and Jesse had gone back to whatever he was doing before.

It was finally quiet again.

Your shoulders mildly slacked, the exhaustion from hours of work officially seeping into your system in a way that made you want to put your head in your hands, though you still had your gloves on.

You stood there for a moment, moving your arms and rolling your shoulders to disperse that aching tension, as you thought about going back to your clipboard.

There wasn't anything else to do really. You could probably sit around again and find an extra piece of paper to doodle on, maybe even just use the back of a page. Wait for the time to go by.

Just as you were about to take a step, there was this sound that your ears had barely caught. You stalled.

From your guess, it seemed a series of light taps. Something hitting against a hollow object one right after the other until it stopped. Like it didn’t want to be heard any further.

You turned your head to the side, letting your eyes scan over the direction Jesse had disappeared in earlier. He could’ve been bored, he always had this trouble of sitting still. Or, if not, maybe he had heard the noise too?

But it was neither.

You tried to peer round the side of a tank, your narrowed gaze trying to locate Walter as he was the next easiest assumption. Though it didn’t really seem like the sound had come from that direction anyway.

There it was again. That sound.

It was a distinct sound this time, louder than before but still faint enough that you had to turn your head to fully hear it. And soon, the rest of your body followed.

Your eyebrows were furrowed by now as you spun on your heel, your plastic suit creaking and rubbing together as you twisted until you finally managed to turn around. Your gaze landed at the entrance.

And then you found it.

There, stood right back on the catwalk exactly like he had been hours before, was Gustavo Fring.

His eyes were already on yours, despite the fact that you could barely see them through his glasses, his hand was laid atop the banister in a way that encouraged your attention to fall to it.

The source of the tapping.

The two of you sort of stared at each other for a moment. Caught up in each others gazes like Gustavo had apparently wanted, except I guess he didn’t think it would actually hold.

You tried to smile, a sign of respect, though you could practically feel how awkward it had come out. So instead, you nodded your head, an inaudible thank you falling from your lips.

The next movement from Gustavo was sudden. He had nodded too, his head not even half way back to where it usually sat, before he had turned, soundlessly pulling the lab door open so that he could officially take his leave.

It was something that you initially had no reaction to.

I mean, his face had appeared in the stoic way it did most of the time. Not even a twitch could alter the movement of his eyebrows, change the look in his eyes, or adjust the way his jaw set.

But the more you thought about what he did before his movements, the more that there was this nagging feeling that you had missed something. Something that your mind was so close to catching onto. So, you let yourself think.

You replayed the scene over and over again, focusing on a different aspect of it each time, like a different facial feature or part of his body.

You thought over the way his feet moved, the way his arms went back to his side after he let go of the railing, the speed that his head had turned at... And then you got it.

The image of his face right before he had turned towards the doorway, right before he had chosen to leave, was there. The thing you were missing was now clear as day in front of your eyes.

The corner of his lips had started to curl. He had turned away in an attempt to conceal it.

He was trying not to smile back.

next part.

#gustavo fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring x gn reader #gus fring x reader #gus #breaking bad #breaking bad x reader #gender neutral reader #jesse pinkman #walter white

386 notes · View notes

nerdyfoxperfection · 5 months ago

Text

This is Inspired by @swanpyart i will pin there art on my blog

I have been Writing this for a while. But this is the first chapter of my Holy ghost fic this is not Beta read so sorry For any spelling mistakes

Quick Plot summary.It's been three months since the events of the Musical and Grace chastity has been a hard at work. "Cleanse" All the dirty dudes out of hatchet field when 1 day the lords in black get tired of being summoned all the time.So they give her a helper that she knows very well from drowsy town Will her and her new Help be able to make peace after what happened Or are they doomed to fight forever?And rumors are going to round that the God Heard about Grace's Amtics. And is higher two people to get rid of her

I'll pray for you 1

The TV Turned on To the news channel where Dan and Donna. were sharing the scoop On the frequent disappearances in Hatchetfield As Donna said “ 3 months ago, Jason Cain disappeared the night of Homecoming 2021 Little did we know that this was not a one time event. 39 Young men have disappeared over the span of 3 Months And no bodies have ever been found. And nothing is known about this incident. If you have any knowledge of the disappearances, please tell authorities immediately any lead, Could bring the authorities one step closer To giving these families. The Justice they deserve.”

As we Turn to chris chasting on alley way with her date Grace chastity said “They're probably fine. People disappearing in hatchefield all the time. What makes these disappearances any different?” She said As her date turned and said “Yeah You're probably right”. He said as he put his arm around Grace. gasped in disbelief David. “ what is it Grace” David Said As Grace continued “we are only Eighteen You dirty dud”. “Oh, sorry, I”

“Save It” David Grace said As she pulled the Black Book from her bag. Grace “Calm down it's not that serious” when he noticed the Black Book. “What's that” As. Grace said “this is what happens to all those dirty dudes like you”. As she held up the Black Book and began the summoning spell. One by one's the lords in black appeared ready to send David to drowsy town.

As Wiggly said hello fwendy-wends and Begins to Sings with his brothers out of the Dpths of Hell and back. Us spawn from the plack and cover our souls with robes black and take up the arms of night. Nibbleline wants his sacrifice and Wiggly want his wrath we dance aound and pentagram and take all our Kingdoms back babbil the spell that gets it done babbie it on Command won't stop until all the blood is drawn the lords in black demand you summon US once, you US twice, you summon us for the Fortieth time la la la and you gambil It on a roll of a dice the devil has won it can't be undone the book has all but closed on your life

As a hall opend up to Swallow david hole

“hello Gracey you know where all Palywell's here but” Nibley I In traps and says “You summon us too much. We don't have time to play with are toys” “With you summoning us fourteen times a Month” “we have more important things to do” Grace said “What is more important than getting rid of these Dirty dudes” “well We don't have time for this anymore, so I'm giving an old fwendy-wends to help you with this. So we still get Our new. Toys and you get to get rid of all those “dirty dudes” wiggly said as he walked behind Gracey held her shoulders before quickly. Fixing his posture and snapping his fingers and just like that, the lords in black disappeared and in their place. Studied the shadow of a man that Grace has not seen in 3 months a man that would strike fear into the hearts of every nerd in Hatchet field high As he was shrouded in smoke

, max began to cough As max tried to dust away , the smoke Once the smoke had faded Max and Grace made eye contact. Max's eyes squinted and He clenched his fist. And said “so did you miss me Or did you just want to Torture me yourself” Max said “I don't want you here either, Max. But the lord in black are to Busy to help me anymore. So that's why you're here”. Max replied “I'm just you're bich now ” Grace said “l wouldn't use that language more like helper. You're gonna help me get rid of all these dirty dudes”. max asked “what if I don't” Grace Said “well, you'll probably go back to hell”

Max sighed and said fine. I'll help you but I'm not happy about it as Grace nodded and Crossed her arms Saying neither am

Thank you for reading this is my one of first fic so please leave Criticism or recommendations on how I could make my writing better Thank you again and have a nice day

#nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield #starkid #fanfiction #holyghost #grace chasity #max jagerman npmd #max/grace #inspired by fanart

5 notes · View notes

lolitastories · 2 years ago

Text

BLACK AND BLOOD

Y/N L/N is the daughter of the Great Khal Drogo although she was raised by the king of the unknown lands. After finding out he died she travels and finds the one who caused his death. Along this adventure she meets the mother of dragons. Jon Snow. Night walkers. We will see if she really has the Dothraki blood flowing through her veins.

Chapter 3:

We come up to the royal guards trailing behind and making sure every crop and gold gets to kingslanding. “Don’t let another wagon move an inch!” I scream to the Dothraki. The horses rush fastly towards the soldier standing now guard with their spears and shields. The army’s in line as we make contact with them. Daenerys can be heard above with Drogon. His fiery breath fires from above down to her enemies. All you can hear now is our screams while we take care of the soilders and the soilders scream as the fire burns them to dust. Men on both sides are being slaughtered. A second wave of Dothraki Screamers ride in. They switch from a seated position to standing atop their saddles shooting bow and arrow. While fighting a soilder I notice Daenerys being shot at. “Malakho! Get rid of him” I scream in Dothraki and motion to the crossbow that was being used. I moved behind him taking care of the soldiers that tried getting in his way.

“Aren’t you something?” His sword swings over my head and when he comes around I stop him with my arakh. Push him back, regaining my balance. I aimed towards him with force as he did the same but his only fault was that he wasn’t fast enough. I look over to find Drogon on the ground. I run towards him but the flames throw me to the ground. I stand up feeling a sting on my ribs. Darn.

“Need to get you back” Lasdar on my people tows a horse my way and helps me on. “I will make sure the queens get back safely” I trust him. He hushers my horse to move. I didn’t notice that the soldier made contact with me. I closed my eyes once or twice and I can’t remember now where I was headed. Everything was a blurr. Maybe it was because of the loss of blood or because the night was falling and I had no way to see. I fell apart when the horse finally came to a halt.

“Couldn’t go without any drama could you?” a faint smile crossed my face until blackness overtook me.

“Why didn’t you go? They would have never happened!”

“Oh come on, she is old enough to take care of herself. Look! She made it back in one piece”

“Yeah and a cut that might have cut her in two!”

“Can yall both shut up” I groan feeling the wrap around my waist. “What did they say? Am I going to die?” I sit up and notice my siblings staring at me. “What?”

“You are an idoit. Why did you have to go into the fight when you knew it was 10 against 1. You weren’t needed there” I grab the first thing I could find and throw it at my brother's head.

“Out!”

“No! You will listen to us, if father finds out you almost died-”

“I almost didn't die! It's not like this hasn’t happened before. And he knows that there is that risk that I might not return home”

“Yeah well he made us promise to make sure nothing happened if we could stop it” of course he did. Of course he would be the one to make them promise to make sure if anyone had to die first it would be them. “So don’t put yourself in this situation if you can help it or next time take us with you!” Our attention moves to the knock on the door. “Come in”

“I wanted to see how you were doing” Daenerys comes in as Tyrion trails behind her. Joia and Grisill excuse themselves out.

“Much better�� the wound hurts but how can it not. I have lived through this pain before. “But I am sure that wasn’t the only reason you stopped by.” Don’t get me wrong I understand she likes me but she has more serious things she needs to worry about other than me.

“You saved me from Dothraki rebels and fought alongside me to take back my throne overseas. The Unsullied and Dothraki are more your people than mine. They follow your lead. I need your help with something. Jon got a message from Winterfell and the so-called Night king and his army are marching towards Eastwatch.”

“Jon has agreed to bring one along for us and Cersei to see a real night walker. I will be going to King's Landing to make that agreement with my brother Jaime” I am waiting for Tyrion to continue or Daenerys to get to the point on how she needs my help. “Davos is coming with me and Jorah is going with Jon.” They both look at each other and somehow agree on Daenerys to tell me what the request is.

“I need you to travel back with Jon and the unsullied. Not one of our people will travel north of the wall but if he is speaking the truth and soon he becomes an allie we will atleast cast trust on the northerners”

“What if the queen denies the request and attacks dragonstone when we are not here?”

“You will see a dragon flying above and bring back the unsullied” This is a horrible plan. She was the first one to not want to do anything but give the dragonstone to Jon if he wasn’t going to bend the knee. Now she wants to send an army to protect the north from the undead. “You don't have to to cross the wall with them, just stay in the castle and wait for them to come back’’

‘‘Go to Winterfell. Keep a lookout for a dragon flying around. Wait for Jon to show back up and hope Cercesi accepts to meet, what can go wrong?’’ They both nod. The pain is bearable. I put on my clothes and pack to leave. I don’t tell my siblings anything again knowing damn well if I do they would fall behind me.

‘‘I heard you got hurt’’ I turned to look back, seeing Jon walking up to me. The men can be seen packing up the ship. Food and most importantly dragonglass.

‘‘Yes, one of the queen's soldiers got to me’’

‘‘You are going to need more than those clothes to keep you warm‘’ I look down at my clothes letting a chuckle escape

‘‘Don’t worry about me, I have experience in the cold’’ he walks closer to me taking hold of my hands.

‘‘I don’t have experience or know anything about your land but I can assure you, nothing will be colder than the winters in Winterfell and you run warm’’ right now i am running warm. I hope he can’t see the pink shade in my cheeks, what is happening? I mean i am not stupid but there is no way this guy has made me feel more things than the man i fell in love with 5 years ago when I was 15.

‘‘Well I hope that the King of Winterfell is kind enough to lend me some warmth’’ My eyes move from our hands to his eyes. ‘‘I meant clothes’’ I smile feeling nervous start to raise

‘‘Of course Princess’’

‘‘Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Princess’’ Our hands move away hearing Davos' voice. He is alongside a young man.

‘‘You survived King's Landing.’’ Jon answers. I step back but don’t move far as there’s a hold on belt. I look down noticing Jon’s hand.

‘‘Yet again’’ Davos laughs. ‘‘Your Grace, this is—’’ The young man steps forward in front of Davos extending his hand

‘‘It's Gendry, Your Grace. I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son.’’ Jon shakes his hand as I just smile awkwardly just standing a little back from Jon

‘‘We was meant to keep that to himself.’’ Davos tried to add but I new that didn’t matter when he mention that part

‘‘Our fathers trusted each other. Why shouldn't we?’’ I felt as the young man Gentry was talking it was something I wasn’t supposed to be here for

‘‘I saw your father once at Winterfell.’’ Jon keeps a straight face. I moved my hand towards his yanking my belt away but that only got him to get a hold of my hand.

‘‘I met yours in my shop.’’

‘‘You're a lot leaner.’’

‘‘You're a lot shorter.’’Jon stops smiling and pauses a moment. Then he chuckles.

‘‘I grew up on stories about them.’’ It made my heart feel nice to hear Jon speak about something other than hurt about his life. I wonder if he had more nice stories to tell

‘‘All I ever knew was they fought together and won. Ser Davos told me where you're going, Your Grace, and why. Let me come with you.’’ Jon looks back at me seeing my expression. This was his move. This man was asking to join him, it wouldn’t affect me in any way.

‘‘Don't be a fool. You're not a soldier.’’ Davos butts in

‘‘No, but I'm a fighter. And he won't be needing a smith with a sword like that.’’

‘‘Do you know how to use one?’’ The young man shakes his head ‘‘Well, that's a problem.’’

‘‘I prefer a hammer.’’ Jon smiles at him, agreeing to have him join as a blacksmith and if he wishes,a soldier soon enough. They both walk away to the ship leaving Jon and I alone again. I take this opportunity as he stays frozen looking at the castle to move closer. I don’t press myself against his back but close enough to hear his breathing.

‘‘Is there a reason you keep holding my hand?’’ My head now reaches up to whisper in his ear. I couldn’t help but grin. I see his eyes close pushing his head back a little and taking a deep breath

‘‘I had to keep you close to make sure the new guy wasn’t a threat’’ I laugh a little. ‘The mother of dragons allowed one of her advisers to come along with me, I have to do my job and keep you safe’’ He turns around enterwining our hands. My breathing was unsteady now and his eyes have never looked more beautiful.

‘‘You should go hold Jorah's hand too then, I can assure you he needs more protection than me’’ it was his turn to laugh.

‘‘Humor me’’ my smile fades and I back up. I let go of his hand.

“We should get going. The faster we get there the faster we come back” I turn around standing by the boat waiting for the rest to come. Mormont can be seen kissing Daenerys before he departs towards me. Tyrion standing beside her like always. Jon walks forward talking to her.

“Glad to see you in better shape” I smile at Jorah.

“Me too” He laughs “You know I met your father before” I give him a questioning look. “I never said anything because he asked me not to.” He turns towards me, almost casting over my body. “I was the one who delivered the message of Khals death to the castle. Khal told me to find you before he died and lead his men with Daenerys after his death”

“How come I never heard about this?” anger started to raise. This would have made things simpler yet I don’t know if it would have. I trust Jorah now but back then he was just a stranger. If he would have told me this I wouldn’t have believed him. It would happen like it did, I came and tried to kill Daenerys until everyone including my own brother advised me against it. She told me how it happened and I choose to believe her and everyone else but yet I can’t help but still not trust her.

“Your father chose it would be best. He said you always had a way with people. You always trust your gut and that somehow everythings always goes your way” I smile

“He likes to say the gods are the only ones who can keep up with me. When I was younger he prayed to the gods to look after me becasue he had a feeling nobody in this lifetime could''

“He mentioned something about your stubbornes” yes. That is what he called all my antics. “I'm glad you chose to help Daenerys. Yes she has three dragons but she needed people like you and Tyrion beside her” There is sadness in his voice. I know things werent as good with him and her but the only thing he wants now is for her to be happy.

“And your Jorah. I know she missed you”

#jon snow x y/n #jon snow x oc #jon #jon snow #jon snow x you #jon snow x yn #jon snow x reader #jon snow smut #jon snow and yn #yn #y/n l/n #game of thrones got #got #game of thrones jon #jon snow game of thrones #game of thrones daenerys #game of thrones #winterfell

17 notes · View notes

disillusioned-phantasma · 1 year ago

Note

You stared at him, aware that your mouth was slightly open. The angel man, or whatever he was, gave another tug at the arrow. It seemed pretty firmly stuck. He gritted his teeth, braced his legs against the building and pulled, his massive wings flapping and straining with effort.

All at once, the arrow came free. The angel shot backwards, tumbling head over heels in the air. For a moment, he seemed about to fall straight out of the sky, then his massive wings snapped out and he caught himself before hitting the pavement.

He examined the arrow for a moment, frowning as he turned it back and forth in his hands. Then, just by happenstance, his gaze shifted and landed on you.

He froze. And when something with wings does that, it tends to stop being airborne.

You winced as he landed in a heap on the ground. Fortunately, he was still hovering pretty close to the ground, so he clambered almost immediately back to his feet, bruised and dirtied, but unhurt. He dusted his front off and shook out his wings. Now that he was a little closer, you could see his outfit. It looked a little like a delivery driver’s uniform, except it was all white with little pink accents, and he was wearing a white leather jacket over it. A pink and red emblem was embroidered over his heart, though you couldn’t make out the details. In contrast to that outfit, he had a quiver of arrows and a bow strung across his back.

“Um,” you said. “Are you all right?”

The man stared at you, his eyes enormous. He had whiteish hair that fell stick-straight to his chin. It gave an odd contrast to his fairly tanned skin. His wings, which you had initially thought were white, were actually mottled in soft grays and white, with even a few streaks of black. “You- You can see me?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Look, if you’re going to do target practice, can you not do it on our building? You’re not supposed to use the Target sign as an actual target.”

Despite you being a few feet apart from each other, you could see his face turn bright red. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t think- I mean, I thought no one could see me and- I was bored-” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Of course, the first time I run into someone with the Sight, I have to be doing something embarrassing.”

You shrugged. “Not the worst thing I’ve seen. Trust me.” Having both different standards of modesty than humans and the expectation that no one could see them meant that you saw a lot of nude fantasy creatures. Considering this one was fully clothed, you would count it as a win. “Uh. I’ve really got to get to work now, so just make sure you don’t keep firing at my sign, all right?”

The angel person bowed his head in deference. Satisfied, you turned away and unlocked the doors.

You’d seen enough mythical creatures buzzing around that you were able to put that encounter straight out of your mind as soon as you went upstairs to start opening. What was of more concern were the family of pixies that were living in the back of the storage room. More tenacious than raccoons, they were, and twice as hard to get rid of because you couldn’t just call an exterminator. You’d been keeping them at bay with bowls of sweet cream and honey, but you couldn’t figure out how to get rid of them for good.

After switching out the bowls and making sure everything was hidden away again, you headed down into the store to open a register and get started with the day. A couple of employees were already there, so you assigned them to their various tasks and started glancing through the list of shipments that were supposed to come in.

It was something of a nasty shock when you looked up and saw the angel person standing near one of the registers, peering at it with a look of fascination.

You glanced around once to ascertain that there were no employees nearby, then stalked over to him. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

He looked at you and his face broke into a relieved grin. “Looking for you, of course. I was surprised when you walked off without looking at my paperwork, but you’re probably busy. I have it all right here, if you have a minute. I really would like to get back to work.” He offered you a small tablet with an official-looking form on the screen.

You looked down at it, then back up at him. “What?”

A look of anxiety crossed his face. “Er. I- um. The form?” He shook the tablet slightly. “You just need to look over it. I promise, I’ve gotten it signed by all departments. But I-”

“Look, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. The angel person stared at you. His wings twitched and fluttered, knocking over a rack of impulse-purchases by the register. You bit your tongue against a groan.

“Sorry,” the angel person muttered, scrambling to pick it back up. “I- I don’t understand. You’re one of the sighted. You should have some official jurisdiction here. Right? Didn’t the Helbore Society send you some official forms?”

You shook your head slowly. “The what?”

His mouth opened slightly. “You’re not registered?” His tone made it sound like it was a crime akin to murder.

“Registered with what?” you asked. He blinked a few times, his mouth and eyes going wide and round as saucers.

“You have the Sight?” he said, his voice tilting up toward the end like he wasn’t certain himself. “You need to be registered with the Helbore Society? As a human liaison? So you can actually engage with the supernatural community and get recompense for any harm and all that?”

“I’ve literally never heard of anything like that,” you said. “Was I supposed to get a letter from a magic school when I turned eleven or something? I’ve had this power for my whole life and I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“There’s supposed to be someone keeping track of all the sighted humans. It’s weird to not have had some incident that got reported, especially if you were young.” He tapped a slender finger on his chin. “Usually people your age have at least engaged with the supernaturals on some level. Most kids with the Sight are really obvious about it, so someone notices that a human can see them and reports them. Even those that aren’t obvious as kids usually find a supernatural they can ask about everything by the time they’re teenagers.”

“I never told anyone,” you said. “I mean, I figured out the stuff I was seeing wasn’t normal when I was a kid. I just didn’t see the point in telling anyone. I guess it never occurred to me to ask a stranger about why they had horns or fangs or something. I just tried to treat them politely.”

“I guess if you took it in stride, they would assume you’re already registered and you’re okay with everything, so they wouldn’t think to report it,” he said. “I-”

“Who are you talking to?” The voice behind you made you jump nearly a foot in the air. He didn’t fare much better. In a single motion, his wings flared and there was a snap as his quiver came undone. It was only years of practice that kept your face perfectly smooth as he scrambled after the arrows that were scattered across the floor.

“Samantha!” you said brightly, whirling around. Tiny, sixteen-year-old Samantha blinked up at you. Unlike most teenagers you’d met, she was always insistent on not slacking off and doing as much work as possible. It would have been cute if she’d had the initiative to decide what to take on herself instead of padding around after you all day for another task. She also had the uncanny skill of approaching silently and at the worst possible times. This was the third time she’d caught you trying to engage with the supernatural. “Uh. Just… reciting a list of things that I need to order today. Trying to remember it. Hold on, I’ll open a register for you and you can start off there, okay?”

As she typed her codes into a register, you glanced over your shoulder at the angel. He was still scrambling around, trying to collect all his arrows. His wings kept twitching and smacking into the register stands around him, which was only worsening the situation.

“Great! You’re set up. Um, I actually dropped a pen, so I’m just gonna, um…” You backed up a couple steps and knelt next to the angel. Most of the arrows were tucked into his quiver already and he was scrambling to pull a last one out from underneath a register. He grimaced, patting blindly with his hand.

“Here, let me,” you hissed, and reached under the register as well. Your fingers skittered over the tail of the arrow, just barely touching the fletching. You made another grab for it, but your fingers fumbled, pushing it out of your grip. At the same moment, he reached out for the head of the arrow, fingers closing around it.

“Ow!” He jerked back, his fingers still clutching at the head of the arrow. As soon as he’d pulled it out, the arrow shimmered like a heat mirage and vanished. He uncurled his fingers and stared in shock at the pink scar-like line on his palm.

“Did you just stick yourself on your own arrow?” you asked. His gaze snapped up to you and he froze. In real time, you watched his pupils expand until they had nearly absorbed his irises.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “This is a problem.”

Samantha was looking at you again, so you straightened up and smiled at her. “Got my pen!” you said, waving it at her. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and, while looking down at the screen, murmured, “We’re going to my office. Follow me.”

The angel nodded. You gave Samantha a wave, then strode into the back room. The angel was right on your heels as you stepped into the small room that counted as your office. You closed the door after him and sank into your seat with a sigh.

“It’s tight in here,” the angel murmured. There was barely enough room for two chairs, and sitting would mean his knees were practically touching yours. He had pressed himself to one of the walls instead. A bright pink blush had spread along the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. His gaze kept settling everywhere but you and he was fidgeting like a scolded child.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s not that big,” you said absently. “Are you all right?”

His face dropped and his head fell into his hands. “I’m so fired,” he moaned. “I’m an idiot. You’re supposed to wear gloves when you handle the arrows for a reason and I wasn’t and- I’m so stupid and now I’m going to lose my job!”

“Slow down. What exactly happened?” you asked. The angel peeked at you between his fingers. The blush was spreading, brightening the tips of his ears and creeping toward his neck.

“The arrow,” he mumbled. “It stuck me.” He flexed one of his hands. There was still a faint pink line across his palm. You could see it as he pulled his hands away from his face. “I- You’re supposed to wear gloves when you handle the arrows, just in case. But I always feel like you can get a better sense of where the arrows want to go if you’re not wearing gloves, so-” He cut himself off, the blush deepening from pink to scarlet. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

“You stuck yourself with an arrow,” you said. “Why would that be grounds for losing your job? Seems kind of like a professional hazard, if anything.”

“W-well, they’re not quite normal arrows,” he mumbled. “I work as a cupid. Well, I am a cupid, but I also work as one, kind of. It’s, um. Well, humans have myths about cupids, right? You can kind of, um, put it together?”

Several things pulled into sharp focus in your mind. “The arrows make you fall in love?”

“Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s, uh. More like they trigger infatuation? With the first person you see after you get stuck. Cupids are responsible for making sure that the right people catch feelings at the right times. Except, uh. Sometimes… we kind of screw up? And the arrows don’t hit the right people.” He shrank in on himself. “Uh. And the biggest taboo is, uh. Hitting yourself with an arrow.”

“Like you did,” you said. The cupid nodded miserably.

“The story of Eros and Psyche- you’ve heard of it?” You nodded. “It’s based on a true story. A true story that caused a lot of problems with the cupids, back in the day. So now it’s a big taboo to use the arrows on yourself, even by mistake.” His face crumpled and you realized, with some alarm, that he was probably seconds from bursting into tears. “And I’m so going to be fired for this!”

“Hey, hey, it’s all going to be okay!” you said, jumping into the soothing voice you used whenever one of your workers was particularly stressed. “Here, just take a few deep breaths.” You shoved some tissues at him and your fingers brushed together. He jumped like you’d given him an electric shock. The blush spread further and he stared at you, pupils enormous. Something else clicked into place in your mind. “I was the one you first looked at after the arrow stuck you.”

It wasn’t physically possible for him to go any more red than he already was, but he seemed to be putting in an earnest effort to do so. “I’m sorry! I swear, it was an accident. Don’t worry. I know what’s going on, so I’m not going to make any moves on you,” he said, stumbling over his words in an attempt to get them out. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I swear.”

“It’s… fine.” It wasn’t, but he seemed to be verging on a panic attack and you would have said anything to calm him down. “If you know what’s happening, can you just ignore it, then? Just go about your job like normal? You’re not going to be around me, so it’s not like they can notice you being strange with me…”

The cupid hung his head. “Er. They’ll be able to sense the magic, if I go back now.” He let out a little moan. “I am going to be fired and then my family is going to kill me because I’m the first person in three generations to get fired and I’ll be disgraced and-”

You waved your hands frantically to cut him off. “Hey! Calm down! There must be something we can do. I mean, how powerful are these things? Could you maybe, I don’t know, break the spell or something?”

“It’ll wear off,” he mumbled. “The magic doesn’t last forever. It’s supposed to speak feelings in compatible people, so the intense feelings kind of fade into a more stable love if it all works out. But that’ll be days! And I can’t stay here! I don’t have anywhere to go and I can’t ask any supernaturals here because they’ll totally report me-”

“Hey! Hey, take a breath!” you said, raising your voice to be heard over his frantic stammering. He fell silent, looking at you with enormous, dilated eyes. “Calm down. Panicking isn’t going to help anything.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Right. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Explain the problem carefully to me,” you said. “There’s got to be a solution.”

He perked up a little at that idea. “If I go back and they sense that there’s cupid magic in my system, they’ll fire me. It should wear off in… a week, roughly? But I can’t stay here for a week until it does wear off, because I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“That’s the main problem?” you said. He nodded. “Okay. Easy solution, then. You can stay with me.”

His expression went through several emotions before settling on disbelief. “Really? You’d be okay with that? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said, “but there’s something I want in exchange.” His expression became serious and he gave you a skeptical look. “You have to answer all my questions about supernatural things while you’re staying with me. I want a full crash course in everything.”

His expression smoothed over in an instant. “Oh! Is that all? Yes, certainly! I can help you with that.”

“Great. Then it’s settled.” You stuck out your hand to him. After a moment of flustered hesitation, he wrapped his fingers around yours and shook.

“I’m Sasiel, by the way,” he said as he released your fingers.

“I’m-” you started to say, but he gave you an amused look.

“I already know your name,” he said. You stared at him for a moment in bewilderment, then remembered. Right, your nametag.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait up here for a while. I’ve got a full shift today, and I’ve really got to get working,” you said. Sasiel nodded so hard you thought his head was going to fall off.

“I’ll just wait, then. Thank you.” You nodded, then stepped out of the office and closed the door behind you.

As much as you tried to put his presence out of your mind and focus on work, it was still a distraction. The promise of answers about your Sight was alluring, and it pulled at your mental focus. You made an embarrassing number of rookie mistakes as the day went on, and you saw several other workers giving you irritated or concerned looks.

When you dragged yourself upstairs again for a very late lunch break, Sasiel was out of your office and crouched in a corner. “You have pixies,” he said without looking up.

“I know,” you said. “They’ve been here for ages.”

Sasiel stood up, his wings shifting and fluttering for extra balance as he did so. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of them yet?”

You stared at him, lunch forgotten. “You can get rid of them?”

“Sure. I mean, if you hired a proper exterminator, they could make sure they’ll never come back, but you can do some pretty useful home remedies that’ll get rid of them for a long time.”

You collapsed into a chair. “Can you tell me how to do it? I’ve been having to spend money on cream and honey for the past few months just to keep them sated.”

Sasiel winced. “You’ve been feeding them? No wonder they’re still here.”

“Look, it was either that or let them rip apart the stock room every night and get fired.” Sasiel sat down next to you. His gaze shifted to your lunch and stayed there with a hungry interest. “Here, uh, you want some?” You held out half of your sandwich.

“Oh, no. Cupids don’t need to eat,” he said. “I’ve just never seen human food before.” He scooted a little closer to you and your legs brushed together. Immediately, his blush flared back to life and he scrambled back so fast he almost tipped himself over. “Sorry! Sorry. I, um. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. Sasiel nodded, but he kept a distance between the two of you.

It was another few hours before you were able to get off work. Sasiel followed you out to the bus stop. “Thank you again for letting me come home with you,” he said. “I, uh. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“We still have a deal,” you said as the bus pulled up. “You need to teach me about the supernatural world.”

Sasiel nodded. “Sure.” He awkwardly tucked his wings in close to his body as you headed down the thin aisle between bus seats. You located a seat for two and carefully slipped into it. Sasiel hesitated for a moment, then sat next to you. Despite his efforts to keep some space between you, his wing pressed up against your side.

You were aware, from ages of utilizing your Sight, that despite the seat next to you appearing empty, no one was going to sit there. People couldn’t see the supernatural directly, but they seemed to understand that something was there and they avoided it.

The bus ride home was mercifully short, and getting Sasiel up to your apartment was a simple affair. No one else being able to see him meant you avoided any awkward neighbor questions about having a guy over. He peered around your apartment with unhidden interest.

Admittedly, there wasn’t much for him to look at. Your apartment had two rooms, not counting the bathroom, but that was more of a technicality. The wall segregating the main section of your apartment from your room was basically a divider with a very shitty door that barely fit in its frame. The setup of your home meant that your single couch was sort of in your kitchen, as was your TV, and your table had two utterly mismatched chairs sitting at it. The walls were depressingly bare- you’d never been good at decorating and you rarely could be bothered to try.

“It’s…” Sasiel made a face like he was struggling to think of something nice to say. “Cozy?”

“I know it’s not ideal. But it’s what I’ve got,” you said. Sasiel immediately fluffed his wings out, looking embarrassed.

“I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful! I am very grateful that you’ve brought me here. It’s just, um. Not what I’m used to.”

“Cupids get paid pretty well, then?” you asked.

“Sort of? It’s… we don’t have money the way you do. We don’t really need to pay for homes. We can kind of… make them ourselves, more or less.”

You weren’t sure you understood exactly what he was talking about, but you were too tired to try and press him on it. “That sounds nice.”

“It seems easier than what you have here.” Sasiel meandered around as you started pulling out things for dinner. He watched you cook with a sort of vague interest. Every time you glanced over at him, he would blush vibrantly and scramble to look anywhere else.

“So,” you said, sitting down at the table, “you said you were going to tell me about having the Sight?”

Sasiel sat down next to you, though he had to bend awkwardly forward so his wings weren’t pressed against the back of the chair. “The most important thing is probably getting you actually registered,” he said. “Humans that can see supernaturals are supposed to be registered in the Helbore Society. They’re like intermediaries between the human and supernatural worlds. When a human is reported as having the Sight, a member of the Society will come check it out. They’ll usually register the human and then the human’s supposed to communicate with the Society about any supernatural trouble on Earth. In return, the Society keeps the human abreast of any issues in the supernatural world. It’s a mutual thing.”

“But I never got registered,” you said.

“No. My best guess is that you kept it quiet enough that no one ever noticed.” He reached out and placed his hand over yours. “But it’s okay. You can’t still get registered, if you want, and you’ll get a liaison to help you out for the first couple of months, so that ought to be helpful, right?”

His thumb shifted, smoothing over your knuckles. Your heart stuttered wildly in your chest. Your hand slid out from under his.

“Oh!” He looked between your hand and your face like he was just realizing what he’d done. “I’m- oh, I’m sorry. I- sorry.”

“Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You passed your hand over your forehead and changed the subject. “You still need to tell me what to do about the pixies.”

He broke into a grin. “Oh, yes. Okay, so here’s what you have to do.”

By the time you were done with work the next day, the entire storeroom smelled like florals. Apparently, pixies didn’t like certain plants, and Sasiel had managed to gather up a few clumps of them and mix them into some sort of Faerie bane. “It’ll be easier when you’re all registered,” he said. “There’s a couple of stores that serve humans with the Sight, so you’ll be able to order stuff from them. I’d always keep some Faerie banes on you, though. It’ll make things much easier. Faeries are assholes when they know you can see them.”

Sure enough, you sported several deep and vicious scratches on your arms from when you’d made the mistake of hitting one of the pixies directly with the bane. It had gone nuts and you’d barely managed to bolt before it got your eyes.

Sasiel was scrubbing the floor when you got home. You hadn’t asked him to do it. You just came home to a floor so scrubbed you could almost see yourself in it.

“Hello,” he said as you walked in. “How’d it go? Are the pixies gone?”

“They’re gone,” you said. “Have you been cleaning all day?”

“No,” he said. His knees cracked as he straightened up and he grimaced. “Ow. Ugh. I watched TV for a little while, but it was really boring, so I just started cleaning. It was something to do, at least.”

“Well, thanks. You really don’t have to clean up after me.”

“I figured it was the least I could do, since you’re letting me stay here. I mean, I know I gave you the Faerie bane, but it didn’t feel like enough.” His gaze drifted downward and landed on your arms. “Great starlight, what happened to your arms?”

You scratched absently at one of the overlapping Band-aids that covered your forearms. “Oh. Turns out the pixies really don’t like that stuff.”

His wings fluffed up. “You sprayed them directly? Oh, I should have warned you not to do that. Did they bite you?”

“I don’t think so. Kind of hard to remember, honestly.” You peeled off a few of the bandages, wincing when they pulled at the cuts.

“Let me see!” He seized your hands and pulled you into a seat. “You need to wash them carefully- pixies can have all sorts of bacteria in their claws.”

“I used some of that disinfectant spray at work,” you said. You carefully did not mention that the bottle had been sitting on a shelf for god-knows-how-long and was almost certainly expired.

“At least let me take a look. Hold on, I need some supplies.” He scurried around your kitchen, pulling towels and bowls from suspiciously neat cabinets.

“Did you rearrange my kitchen?” you asked as he sat down with you once more.

“I told you, I was bored. Also, I couldn’t find anything. Why do you keep your muffin tins in the same cabinet as your drinking glasses?”

“Mostly, things just kind of go where it’s most convenient,” you said. He gave you an aggrieved look, though there was more fondness there than you were expecting.

“Let me see your arms.” You extended them in front of them. Sasiel began slowly peeling off the bandages. It still stung, but his touch was gentle. Once the bandages were all clear, Sasiel smeared some of the antiseptic ointment you kept around the house on a rag and started to dab at your arms.

“Fuck, ow,” you hissed. Sasiel put one of his hands over yours.

“Here, just squeeze my hand when it gets bad.” He offered you a soft smile, then went back to dabbing your arm with the cloth. You squeezed his fingers tight.

Most of the scratches were shallow, but he spent some time carefully cleaning the deeper ones. “No puncture marks, so you probably didn’t get bitten. That’s good. I’ll wrap the cuts, but we’ll have to change the bandages every night and keep an eye on them, just in case,” Sasiel said. His gaze shifted from your arms down to your hands and his eyes widened as he realized, apparently for the first time, that your fingers were intertwined.

His face was right back to being bright pink. Stuttering, he pulled his fingers free from yours, his hand pressed against his chest. “Um. Uh. I’ll, um. Put this stuff away.” He turned away from you, apparently trying to hide his flustered expression. Given that his wings were massively fluffed up, it didn’t really help.

You watched him as he headed into the kitchen to clean out the supplies. Something in your stomach gave a strange swoop, like you’d just taken a drop on a roller coaster. You could still feel the ghost of his hand over yours. He was quite earnestly sweet, you thought. Genuinely kind. Even if he had screwed up your cabinet system-

Oh. Uh oh. You’d felt this way before. The fluttery feeling in your chest, the fondness you felt when gazing at him. Fuck. Shit. No. You were not developing a crush on him. unhelpfully, you had a nasty habit of falling hard and quick for anyone who showed you even the slightest of interest. And apparently your subconscious had not missed the subtle stares he had been giving you.

It was so stupid. He wasn’t actually in love with you. He’d stuck himself with one of his own arrows. It would wear off. But no matter how much you insisted on that in your brain, you couldn’t stop the little skip in your heart when you looked at him.

The fact that Sasiel was genuinely sweet and helpful didn’t help. When you arrived back from work the next day, the kitchen was full of the smells of baking. Sasiel grinned at you, his wings fluttering. “Welcome back! How was work?”

“Fine,” you said, eyeing the plate of unfrosted cupcakes he’d set on the counter and the sizzling pan of vegetables on the stove. “What are you doing?” Had he gotten hungry? He’d said he didn’t need to eat, but maybe he just needed to eat less often?

“Oh! I got bored again, and I tried to come up with something I could do that was helpful, so I thought maybe I could cook you something! Humans need to eat a lot. I thought it might help.” He gave a sheepish glance toward the trash can. “Uh, the first batch didn’t go super well. But the second one’s coming along all right!”

You gave the meal a suspicious look. Considering the monstrosities you’d seen made by people who knew what food was supposed to taste like, you weren’t eager to try food made by someone who didn’t. On the other hand, it did look edible, and the smell was kind of making your stomach growl. Also, he looked so pleased with himself that he’d been helpful, you weren’t sure you could actually refuse to eat.

“Okay. Sure. Thank you,” you said. Sasiel beamed and his wings fluffed up so thoroughly they smacked you in the face.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry. I, uh.” He flushed and busied himself cleaning up some dishes. You tactfully did not mention it and took a portion of the meal he’d prepared.

It definitely wasn’t the best thing you’d ever had, but it was surprisingly passable. Sasiel had decided to follow the recipe exactly, which meant he’d way under seasoned it, but it didn’t taste bad. The unfrosted cupcakes were a little chewy, and quite plain. Did he know they were supposed to have frosting on them? But the gesture was kind.

Once you’d cleaned up the room, you ended up sitting on your tiny couch with Sasiel. You’d turned on some kind of sitcom, and were playing much less attention to that than to the fact that Sasiel was practically squished against your side.

“I’m having trouble following this,” Sasiel said. His voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the bright red flush across his cheekbones.

“Which bit?” you asked.

“Well, why is his first thought to sneak into the theater and take his phone back instead of just calling the theater with someone else’s phone? This isn’t how people act.” His wing twitched against your side, a metric of his irritation.

“It’s a comedy. They’re not supposed to be fully realistic,” you said. “Small breaches in realism are allowed as long as they’re funny.”

Sasiel squinted at the screen. “But this isn’t funny.”

“Yeah. It’s not a very good comedy.” You picked up the remote. “Wanna put on something else?”

Sasiel flipped through the channels before settling on some kind of movie. You were pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention to it. You were over an hour in, and the plot was borderline nonsensical. But trying to figure it out was at least a break from thinking about how close Sasiel was to you.

Something dropped against your shoulder. You twisted your head and nearly bonked your chin against Sasiel, whose head was resting against you. His eyes were closed, white lashes against the top of his cheekbones. He was breathing slowly and heavily.

Your heart skipped about eight beats. Slowly, you shifted your shoulder, trying to ease him onto the back of the couch. He sighed softly and nuzzled back against you. He was quite close to the crook of your neck and it took all your effort not to squirm ticklishly.

Huh. He was asleep. You’d just sort of assumed that not needing to eat meant he didn’t need to sleep, either. Where had he been sleeping?

Just as you were thinking that, Sasiel shifted and his head felt from your shoulder. He jerked upright. “Huh? Oh!” He looked at you and his face went a familiar shade of red. “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- Um.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “I didn’t know you needed to sleep.”

He yawned. “Not as much as you, but yeah.”

“If I’d known you needed to sleep, I would have given you the bed. Or at least gotten you a blanket.”

“I don’t need your bed, or a blanket, really! My wings are warm enough. The couch is good.”

“But you’re a guest. And it can’t be comfortable to sleep like this.” The couch was barely big enough for you to lie on, let alone a person with massive, bulky wings. “I don’t mind if you take the bed for a couple days. Or we could, I don’t know, both take it if you wanted.”

Sasiel looked like he was going to combust or have a spontaneous nosebleed. “No! No! I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you! Not while I’m… like this.” He folded his hands in his lap and crossed his legs. “I’ve slept in places far worse than the couch-”

“Look,” you said, cutting him off. “Just take the bed. I’ll fit on the couch better than you will and I really don’t mind.”

Sasiel frowned. “Fine. If you’re really sure,” he said. “Thank you.”

The couch was about as comfortable as you’d anticipated, which was to say, not very. Still, you got a full night’s sleep and got to work early the next day.

What you did not expect upon returning home was Sasiel lying prone in the middle of the floor. His face was screwed up and he was shifting his wings in a strange up-and-down motion. “Did something happen?” you asked. Did he hurt himself? You couldn’t take him to the hospital if they couldn’t see him, and even if they could, you were pretty sure none of them had any experience dealing with wing injuries. Maybe a vet would be better?

“I went out to complete my mission today,” he said, speaking through his teeth. “It was further away than I expected and I haven’t had much of a chance to stretch my wings. I am having the most awful cramp right now.” He shifted his wings again and groaned. “I can’t reach it!”

“Here. Sit up,” you said, crouching on the floor behind him. His shirt was mussed, pulled up pretty high along his back. You slipped it up the rest of the way and felt him freeze underneath you. “It’s okay. Let me know if it hurts a lot.”

“What are you going to-” Sasiel started, but he shut up when you pressed your fingers close to the base of his left wing. You could feel the tight muscles there, the way they jumped under your fingers. It must have taken incredible strength to hold his wings up. The area was probably prone to cramping. Delicately, you pressed your fingers against the twitching muscle.

Sasiel alternately tensed and relaxed as you kneaded the muscle. He seemed to be loosening up under your ministrations.

Then you hit a particularly tight spot and Sasiel moaned.

You froze. You could only see the tips of his ears, but just going by their color, the rest of his face was searing red. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like your face was much cooler. That moan had been unfairly pretty.

“Um,” Sasiel said, his voice at least an octave higher than usual. “I need- I think I’m okay. I need to go.” He pulled out of your arms and darted into the bathroom.

You sat on the ground, feeling like an idiot. What had you been thinking? Forget how sweet and gentle he was, forget how much you were starting to like him. He didn’t like you back, except under the spell that he’d been placed under. It wasn’t fair to try to get close to him. You’d flustered him so much that he was hiding from you.

The next couple of days were exceedingly awkward. You and Sasiel avoided each other as much as you could in a tiny little apartment. Still, you caught his gaze on you every now and then. You were trying not to stare, but sometimes, he just caught your attention and you found yourself looking even as you tried not to.

By the end of a week spent together, Sasiel seemed to be growing more anxious. He paced the length of your apartment so many times you were concerned he was going to wear a groove in your floor.

“Not to act like I want to kick you out,” you said, hoping to distract him from his pacing, “but when is the arrow supposed to wear off? I thought you said it would only be a few days.”

Sasiel stopped. His wings shifted and twitched in anxiety. “Um,” he said. “I, uh. Um.” He caught your eye as you stared at him, then ducked his head. “It was supposed to wear off days ago.”

“And it hasn’t?” you said. Sasiel shuffled in place. His wings worked like he was considering wrapping them around himself, but he held them back. “What happened? Are you having some kind of reaction to it?”

“No, you can’t have that sort of reaction to magic arrows,” Sasiel said hurriedly, waving his hands. “After a few days, the infatuation is supposed to wear off. The arrows are just supposed to give couples a little push to get together. Then the feelings are supposed to mature into something real…” He trailed off, glancing at you, then away over and over. “Can we sit down for this?”

You scooted over on the couch, allowing him some space to sit next to you. He settled in, keeping a small distance between your legs. “The arrow has probably worn off by now,” he said in a quiet little voice. “But I, uh. Don’t feel that different.” He offered you a shy smile. “So, uh. I think I might be falling in love with you.”

“Oh.” Hope sparked in your chest and you felt nearly weightless for a moment. “You are?”

“I- this wasn’t really supposed to happen, but I mean, I can just get you set up with the Helbore Society and then you’ll never have to see me agai- mmph!”

He cut off as you smushed your mouth against his. There was an uncomfortable clacking of your teeth, but then the kiss settled into something much more pleasant. When you broke apart, Sasiel was blushing again, but also grinning.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. You- you feel the same?”

He looked ridiculously surprised. You laughed and nodded, leaning forward so he was halfway to lying flat on the couch. “I do. I thought maybe you wouldn’t, because you only fell in love with me because of that arrow, but if you’re confident it’s worn off.”

“I’m confident,” Sasiel said, but his attention seemed mostly focused on the hand trailing down his chest. “I- oh!” You touched what must have been a particularly sensitive spot at his side and his wings snapped open to their full length. Sasiel looked like he wanted to melt into the couch. “S-sorry. Sometimes they do that when I get, um, excited…”

You leaned down and pressed your mouth against his again. He was frozen for a moment, then his wings came in around you, holding you in a beautiful, warm embrace.

You're the manager at a target nearby your house. One day while coming into work, you find what looks to be a Cupid's arrow stuck to the target logo in the front of the store. That and a very distressed Cupid trying to get his arrow unstuck.

#monster x reader

378 notes · View notes

emmyrosee · 2 years ago

Text

Idk… I’m in like. A big Suna mood, friends

He’s just such a chaotic good, such an absolute loser, and how anyone thinks he’s more than someone who willingly, and for fun, plops down on the couch with uncooked instant noodles with the packet and eats them straight is beyond me.

The worlds most obnoxious snuggle bug, latches himself onto you when he’s tired and will not let you go. He’s adorable, of course he is, but to say he’s not the bane of your existence would also be an absolute lie, and makes using the bathroom sometimes infinitely more difficult than it needs to be.

(“Rin, I have to pee-“

“Pee the bed.”

“Absolutely not, if you’d just give me three minutes of my own personal space-“

“No. We’ve been together for four years. Your personal space is my personal space.”)

Sometimes, if he has the energy, he’ll let you go but literally seconds later, you hear padding feet outside of the door, a small poomf on the floor, and when you’re finished washing your hands, you’re greeted with the sight of Rin on the floor, scrolling through tiktok. “Seriously?” “You missed a really funny one.”

Every now and again, him being such a pain in the ass causes you to get into little fights, little spats here and there, and when you get into these fights it’s not impossible to have them turn into little ridiculous digs that you both know are things you love about each other, but are just ammunition for a petty disagreement.

(“You’re just mad that my hairline isn’t receding!”

“Oh yeah? At least I don’t dip my chicken nuggets into my milkshakes!”)

Sometimes, when he’s out of things to say (or he’s just in the wrong and he wants the fight to stop) he says very out of pocket things to throw you off.

(“I think you’re just jealous!”

“Of what?” You scoff.

“That I can juggle, and you can’t.”

“…..what?”) It’s an easy way to break up the ‘fight’ and have you giggling at him once again.

Sometimes, you come home, and something is very, very off. You cock your brow, you put down your keys and shrug off your coat, and with a call of his name, he quickly calls back “I love you!”

“Rin what did you do?” And after a few beats of silence, this man has the audacity, the gall, to round the corner with an animal in his arms, and the worlds most swollen eyes and red cheeks, and your jaw slacks. “Rin.”

(“It’s a baby! We have to keep her!”

“You’re deathly allergic to dander.”

“But it’s a baby.”)

This happens at least twice a month. Quickly prompted by a stop at the shelter so the animal can be put for adoption and rescued, and then a stop at the hospital for anaphylactic shock.

WILL, and I mean WILL, put off any gosh damn task you ask him to do; dishes, laundry, cooking, dusting, the only thing he does without argument is trash because once, he actually forgot to do it, and it was a wonderful time trying to get rid of the smell in your kitchen.

But otherwise, he waits until you offer to do it, and he shrugs and says “let’s just do it together.” And it’s so cute he wants to do things with you, and that’s the only reason you don’t leave him for it.

He knows all of your tells for anything you may be feeling- emotional or physical. He knows when you’re nervous, you fiddle with your fingers and dig at your cuticles, so he gets you some rings to fidget with. He knows you’re about to be sick when your eyes look heavy and you are extra, extra cuddly.

(“Don’t puke on me, let me get a bucket.”

“I’m not gonna puke.”

“And I don’t believe you, now stay.”

And you elbow him extra hard when he’s got the cockiest smirk while rubbing your back.)

#i literally want to marry him what happened to me.#no seriously what is going on #suna rintaro #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x gn!reader #suna rintaro x reader fluff #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

466 notes · View notes

spilledkauffie · 2 years ago

Text

Make That Seven

Pairing: Sergeant Hunter (TBB) x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.1k T/W: pregnancy description / discussion A/N: for this request ❤︎︎

↳ m a i n m a s t e r l i s t

“I have successfully acquired the cargo,” Tech’s voice came through Hunter’s helmet in a static, but proud tone.

“You mean we have successfully acquired it,” Echo chimed in with a strain, sounding as though he was the one struggling to physically hold on to the cargo.

Hunter, ignoring whatever situation was taking place aboard, turned to you; yelling so you could hear him over the few blaster fires coming hot on your tail from behind, “they have the cargo!”

“Great,” you respond, closing your eyes momentarily as the blaster fires stirred the gravel in front of you, causing dust to rush around your face, “so how do we get rid of them?”

You gestured behind, to the speeders closing in.

“Leave it to me,” Wrecker quickly fell back, punching his fists together, proceeding to pick up the nearest object of debris, hurling it at the two low speeders after you.

You came to a halt at the anticipation of an explosion, Hunter dived over to where you had sunk to your knees, using his body to protect you from any flying metal scraps that were once a part of a well-oiled machine Wrecker was dismantling. Feeling Hunter’s chest press against your back, you squeezed your eyes shut at a second explosion and pushed back against him, waiting to hear all the falling pieces come down before you looked up.

“Well,” you finally said in an exhausted sigh, looking over your shoulder to meet Hunter’s helmet, “that’ll do it.”

“Nice going, Wrecker,” Hunter said, half with a sigh, just glad that it was over.

“No problem, Serg! Ha ha hah!”

Shaking your head, you and Hunter were suddenly drawn to a familiar ship landing a few paces away. Wrecker was making his way over with some of the more interesting pieces of machinery that Tech had requested he bring along with him over the com. As you pushed yourself back onto your heels, Hunter’s arm came around you from behind, gently placing his hand on your stomach as you stabilize yourself, using his opposite hand to hold yours he softly pulled you up.

You stood, completely out of breath, dropping your head back against his chest for a moment, just thankful to be alive after the chaos that had taken place. Of course, for the boys this was a normal mission, so the rest started boarding the Marauder with only the slightest heaviness in breath. It was near impossible to keep up with them sometimes, but you were more than happy to be along. Exhaling deeply, finally catching your breath, you noticed Hunter’s hand still spread on your stomach gently. Turning around slowly and giving some space between you and him, you found him looking pensively and concerningly like you’d never seen before. Shocked he’d removed his helmet before boarding, you brought your arms closer to your side in a soft but mildly defensive manner, figuring something was wrong that you just couldn’t sense yet.

“Hunter?” You speak meeting his eyes directly.

There’s a pause as Hunter takes a deep breath, looking more and more confused by the second himself; he’s always been able to sense things, and they even seemed heightened when it came to those he loved most. But this was different, this was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. There was the resounding sense that the two of you weren’t just the two of you anymore. Of late, he swore he heard your heartbeat double, every time he sensed your pulse, he sensed it twice, one much more timidly than your usual, but nevertheless it was there.

“Are you. . . okay?” He asks suddenly, furrowing his brows and closing any space between you, which ironically made you feel more at ease that it wasn’t incoming danger.

Dropping your hands you shrug, chest still rising and falling a little faster than his, “oh yeah, of course. Not all of us can be elite and-“

“You’re sure you’re. . . okay?” Hunter ducks his head a little lower, squinting his eyes and speaking softer.

“Hunter,” you half laugh to yourself at his overprotective nature, “I’m fine, seriously, not even a scratch on me, Hun.”

Although Hunter’s expression doesn’t change, you smile before placing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips, pulling back to meet his eyes once more to assure him that you were fine, placing your hand on his chest plate.

“Hurry up lovebirds, or the nest is about to be blown up,” Crosshair calls from the open door on the Marauder.

Turning your head swiftly to face the facility you’d just escaped, you could hardly see anything on the horizon.

“He sees something we can’t,” Hunter acknowledges, taking your hand in his as you both make for the ship’s open door.

Once on board, Tech and Echo, who had been relieved from holding on to the cargo by Wrecker, immediately worked to get you all out of the new danger, but it wasn’t until you left the planet’s atmosphere that everyone relaxed, well, nearly everyone. Crosshair was busy disassembling and cleaning his gear in his usual spot by the map projector, Echo was near the back helping Tech strap down the cargo they hadn’t had time to truly and safely secure in the middle of all the action and you were with Wrecker in the cockpit, talking while he snacked. Hunter, on the other hand, was staring at you from the hull, bouncing a knee.

“Problem?” Crosshair’s voice suddenly broke into Hunter’s thoughts.

“Wh- no, nothing,” Hunter shook his head once, leaning back in the seat trying to act normally, having completely forgotten Crosshair was next to him, “mission went great, so everything’s fine as usual.”

Crosshair pointed an eyebrow, not believing a word Hunter said. He tried to keep eye contact with Crosshair, but every time there was a mildly loud noise coming from the cockpit his eyes darted over to double-check that you were okay. When he returned to meet Crosshair’s gaze, he found him with lips pressed together in a smile. Crosshair then shifted his toothpick and proceeded to make the most obvious shift in gaze over to you, causing Hunter to follow it before Crosshair dropped his head rolling back to Hunter his eyes as if asking him to explain.

“Okay,” Hunter gave in calmly, swivelling the chair away from the cockpit door so you wouldn’t be likely to hear; Crosshair followed suit, “I’m a little worried about her, something’s been…off, medically I think.”

“You’re not just overreacting?” Crosshair suggested, casually returning to cleaning his riffle, aware that Hunter clearly wanted to keep the conversation looking as normal as possible, just in case you looked over.

“I’m sure; it’s been going on for a few weeks now,” Hunter admitted, “so I know it’s not just me since it’s-”

“Persisting,” Crosshair finished the sentence, “right, so what’s your plan? Does she know?”

“No,” Hunter dropped his head.

“That’s not very good leadership communication,” Crosshair smiled, knowing it’d ruffle Hunter’s feathers.

“I’m trying to figure it out before I say anything,” Hunter got a little more defensive in his tone, drawing your attention.

You peeked around the chair from the cockpit back at the two; Crosshair acted like he was looking for something in his kit as Hunter gave you a soft smile that always let you know everything was okay. Returning it, you turned back to Wrecker who was trying to spot shapes in the stars with you out the front window as you drifted in space.

“And how is this investigation going, Hunter?” Tech’s voice came in, obviously curious about the situation; Hunter looked up to see Tech and Echo behind Crosshair, they’d clearly come up from strapping the cargo down. “I couldn’t help but overhear something about you trying to figure something out?”

Tech pushed the bridge of his goggles up, looking between his brothers, awaiting an answer. Hunter sighed reluctantly, he didn’t really want to tell anyone else about his suspicions, except you when the time was right, but nevertheless, he explained his feeling that something was going on with you medically, even though he couldn’t tell what.

“Oh, how interesting,” Tech said thoughtfully, after Hunter’s explanation, “well, I could conduct some exams if-”

“No,” Hunter quickly cut Tech off from finishing his sentence, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “I actually think I’ve figured it out already.”

“Then what are you waiting for,?” Crosshair dropped back in his seat, crossing his arms, now completely confused why Hunter was dragging the conversation out so long if he’d known all along.

“Well, because it’s- complicated,” he looked around at his three brothers, all waiting for him to say it, “I think she’s…pregnant.”

“What?” Crosshair said in a low voice.

“Oh!” Was all Tech had to interject.

“Well, I’ve been hearing-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Echo started, in complete shock, “Hunter, you’re telling me we’ve got a baby on board?”

“Look at it this way,” Tech turned to Echo, “she’s already been on various amount of missions that could have compromised the safety of herself as well as-”

“Believe it or not, that’s not helping,” Echo crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know,” Hunter tried to quell the group, certain you were overhearing every single word, “just don’t say anything.”

“I will if you won’t,” Echo stated confidently, purely out of care for you, “she needs to know.”

“I’m going to, I will,” Hunter strained to keep his patience, “I’m just figuring out the right time, and brace myself for the outcome; what if she doesn’t want me around now that a kid’s entering the picture? We’re not exactly safe, I’m working on it.”

“Well figure it out faster,” Crosshair said, getting up, “otherwise you’re jeopardizing her.”

“I mean, logically, she would figure it out eventually if you simply wait until the-”

“Would you stop?” Echo turned to face Tech directly, discouraging his scientific observations for the time being, “Hunter, you have to tell her, I’m sure she’ll take it a lot better than you think, but she has to know, it’s too dangerous to hold off on.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, “I mean, I could be wrong, but…”

The sound of your joyous laughter broke off the conversation between the boys; looking to the cockpit, Wrecker had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and was hoisting you up, stomping around the cockpit, obviously mimicking the creatures you had previously faced on a mission.

“Wrecker!” came a concerned and scolding exclamation from the hull.

Wrecker immediately and completely stopped in his tracks at what he was doing, as if he’d frozen. Turning only his head, he took to staring and blinking toward the four of his brothers. It was completely normal for you and Wrecker to be this playful, he picked you up and hugged you wildly all the time, so the sudden backlash from all four startled you. They had all moved closer to the cockpit doorway but stopped when Wrecker paused. There was a shared confusion between you and Wrecker as you glanced over to them as well.

“Wh-what?” Wrecker asked, suddenly feeling bad, unsure why and what for.

“Just- be careful,” Hunter tried, “with…her.”

“I- I always am,” he responded; worried that he’d hurt you, Wrecker looked to you in his arms, and you looked up just as puzzled before he assured the group, “she’s okay.”

Hunter grasped for words but didn’t have any. Glancing around to his brothers they all gave him a look telling him to come out with it, Hunter was fairly certain someone was going to start a countdown giving him a matter of seconds to tell you before one of them stepped in.

“Ah, Wrecker, think you could give me just a few minutes with her?”

“Ohhhh, getting jealous of our time together? Say no more Serg, she’s all yours,” Wrecker laughed, mood completely returning to his usual oblivious, but kind-hearted nature.

Setting you down softly, Wrecker winked obviously at Hunter as he passed and began looking for more snacks; you adjusted your outfit back into place. Sitting down in one of the passenger’s chairs, Hunter joined you in the seat adjacent. Looking you over, you were so stunning to him in the dim light coming from the window, a thousand stars and planets in your eyes. Hunter was beginning to worry he’d ruin everything if he said something, but then he heard and felt it again, he could feel it as if it was a part of him so deeply that he had to let you know it was a part of you too.

“What were you guys talking about?” You inquired, “it looked pretty serious.”

“Ah, yeah,” Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees avoiding your eyes for a moment, before looking up, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, “look, you’re sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Of course,” you giggled, “Hun, we went over this I’m totally-”

“I mean…before the mission, did you feel alright? No…stomach pain?” Hunter was entirely out of his league here, he had no idea the best ways to identify pregnancy other than when it started to show, but his instinct told him it was the case even if no one else could possibly know it yet.

“Stomach…pain?” You dipped your head and perked an eyebrow, still a faint smile on your face.

“Or…you know…maybe fatigue? Dizziness? Missed anything?”

“C’mon, what is this an experiment for Tech? He’s just too shy to ask?” You almost laughed again, yourself at the idea of Tech asking you these questions.

Giving a sigh seeing that this method was going nowhere and he’d have to present his idea sooner or later since you had no idea yet. Hunter turned quiet for a while, staring at the floor of the ship. You could tell there was something more serious on hand; Hunter was a protector by nature, but this seemed a bit much even for him, he trusted you when you told him how you were feeling, the fact that he was questioning it wasn’t like him.

“What’s bothering you? I’m okay, just tell me,” you encouraged, meeting him, leaning forward and placing a hand on his forearm, “we’ll work it out together, but I’ve got to know to help.”

Hunter half smiled to himself, looking at your hand on his arm, caressing it with his opposite hand; if only you knew.

“Alright, but just hear me out first,” Hunter glanced up with pleading eyes, a rare sight.

“Of course,” you moved closer to the edge of your seat so you could take both his hands in yours.

“For a while now…I’ve been sensing something I couldn’t explain. Every time I touch you it gets stronger, but it’s always there. It’s like it’s a part of me too.” You nodded for him to go on, “and as time has gone on, I think I’ve figured out what it is. It’s your pulse, and it’s doubled,” Hunter winced a little expecting a reaction, but nothing came yet, “it’s softer and not as strong, but there’s another heartbeat inside you and so I think…that…”

Hunter slowed his sentence down as he watched your eyes become brighter than the stars reflecting in them and your smile widen excitedly; he could feel your hands tightening around his. You nodded when he stopped, but he didn’t say anything more, he wanted you to be the one to say it, to confirm the thoughts and feelings that had been rushing through his mind nonstop.

“We’re pregnant?” You spoke in a whisper as delicate as a dove.

“I think so,” Hunter nodded, your energy contagious as he couldn’t help but smile back at you.

Letting go of his hands, you leaned back in your chair, tucking your legs up and covering your smile with your hands. The stars never looked so bright. Tears of joy were brimming in your eyes as a million future scenarios rushed through your mind. The fact that Hunter’s senses were so attentive to you that he could sense the moment you became pregnant made you even more emotional as you began to think of how attentive he was going to be with the child, forever keeping them safe.

“Honey, are you-” Hunter was cut off by a gasp as you leaned to grasp his hands tightly.

“Wait until we tell your brothers,” you smiled, “they’ll be so happy too, I just know it! How should we tell them?”

“About that,” Hunter returned to a mildly anxious state, “they might…already…mostly know.”

Your smile faded, “so…so I was the last to know?”

Hunter took a deep breath, realising how that came across.

“You knew and you told them first?” Your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Not intentionally. I wasn’t planning on it, but apparently, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was so they noticed, and Crosshair, he saw right through me.”

“He’s good at that,” you admit with a soft smile, thinking over the situation; of course, his brothers knew him best and it wasn’t that hard to tell something had been off with him, “well, as long as you didn’t hide it on purpose.”

“Promise,” Hunter stroked the side of your cheek with his hand.

“Hunter,” you sighed his name happily, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes, “I couldn’t be happier than right now.”

Leaning forward, Hunter kisses your forehead, lingering against your skin for a moment, before resting his chin against your temple.

“You know, there is someone who doesn’t know,” Hunter spoke.

“Really?” You pulled back a little bit, confused.

Hunter smirked, certain that Wrecker hadn’t heard when he looked to the hull and found him in the middle of trying to tease Crosshair with his Lula, a daily routine for him. Taking your hand in his, Hunter nodded for you to rejoin the group and you quickly wiped away the tears that had slipped passed your lashes. The four who already knew all directed their attention to you; they glanced to Hunter quickly to confirm that he had told you and when Hunter gave a subtle nod, their gazes met you.

“Congratulations are in order,” Crosshair nodded from where he was sitting.

“This will be a most fascinating time, I do hope that we can meet any requirements,” Tech said with a gentle smile and an adjustment of his goggles.

“We’re all very excited for you,” Echo joined.

“Yeah!!” Wrecker exclaimed, raising a fist to the sky, before a blanket of confusion came over his face, “wait, for what? What happened? It’s just been the six of us.”

He looked around at everyone, clearly, he was the only one out of the loop. Hunter and you exchanged glances before he gestured to you with open arms.

You bit the inside of your lip unable to contain your smile, “make that seven.”

#spilledkauffie #hunter tbb #hunter x reader #hunter x you #hunter x #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter tbb x #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #the bad batch imagine #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #sergeant hunter fluff

555 notes · View notes

lunelicmoone · 3 years ago

Text

// dsmp, rp, FICTIONAL CHARACTERS! NOT THE CC!'S!

Thought of the day: Quackity only takes his beanie off in front of people he trusts

Tommy's seen him without it twice.

The first time being when Big Q first joined Pogtopia. When he was running through the woods, his beanie got caught on a branch and it was practically ripped off his head (maybe it was some symbolic bullshit. like him getting stripped of his dignity for letting Schlatt get to him.). He didn't bother to put it back on since that was the least of his worries— seeing as he had just killed his fiancé moments earlier.

When Tommy came around, he was itching to put it back on. He felt.. weak? Naked (well, naked shouldn't be a problem considering that.. you know. it's literally his thing.)? But he tried his best to refuse the urge. He remembered their cartel business and how good friends they were before all of this. ..Besides, he wanted Tommy to know that he still cared for and trusted him.

The second time? November 16th. It was blown off in the explosion and it landed in the water. Quackity quickly grabbed it and tried to shake the water off before joining the others in their utter confusion. Once Wilbur was stabbed in the heart, Tommy's never seen someone grip something so hard. Water was dripping onto the stone as Q's knuckles turned white while gripping some piece of wool.

When everyone was moving their things back from Pogtopia, Quackity forced himself to wear the damp and wrinkled thing around everyone else. Just until it was only him and Tommy. He finally ripped it off and threw it on his bed— shaking his head and wiping the back of his neck to get rid of any leftover water and sweat. Tommy commented on the strangeness of it.

"Why are you just taking it off now?"

"Because you're the only person I trust around here now that Wilbur's dead."

Speaking of, Wilbur's only seen him without it once.

During Pogtopia, things were always tense. You could never really sleep all that well due to either internal conflict, the strong smell of dust and smoke, or both. Wilbur (with his constant inner monologue plus his unhealthy coping mechanism) Soot, and Alex (at a constant battle with himself plus being around Schlatt for a while) Quackity fell into that category.

They'd often bump into each other during the ungodly hours of the night and since there was nothing to really do, they did each other they'd hang out in some secluded spot that was away from everyone's room just so they wouldn't wake anyone up. They would spend hours talking and.. talking (if talking included touches that lasted a little longer than usual, secret glances with a hint of heat behind them, and "super subtle" flirting then yeah. they did plenty of talking.). Quackity was used to talking for long periods of time, but not when the conversations were so.. deep. And quiet.

As time went on, Quackity decided that Wilbur's shoulder looked like a pretty good spot to take a nap. He could finally rest without having to worry about piles and piles of paperwork to fill out. He finally rested his forehead on Wilbur's shoulder and closed his eyes— trying not to giggle at Wilbur's breath hitching. Wil was about to rest his cheek on top of Q's head before feeling the uncomfortable texture of his roughed-up beanie. Wilbur noticed that the beanie was already almost half off his head, so he carefully pushed it off and let it fall to the floor.

Quackity could never fall asleep sitting upright. He's known that for years. He was awake when he heard Wilbur murmur sweet nothings in his direction before finally dozing off himself. He was awake when Tubbo spotted them and did a comically fast 180 back into his room. He was awake when Wilbur took his beanie off for him. He never put it back on, though. He didn't want to. He was too tired to do it.

"Thanks for taking my beanie off, by the way. I probably would've ripped it off in my sleep."

"..No problem."

Schlatt could've sworn that Quackity's stupid beanie was glued to his head. Either that or he was scared of it flying away with how hard he gripped it when he was asleep.

"What's up with that stupid beanie?"

"What are you talking about? What's up with it?"

"..Whatever. Nevermind."

Karl and Sapnap are probably the only people who have seen him without it the most.

Quackity finally got out of the habit of gripping his beanie everytime he slept, and Karl washed it every Sunday.

Karl also had some.. weird obsession with his hair? He'd always wake up to his hair being played with, Karl would put any flowers he found in his hair, and he'd always comb through it whenever Quackity had trouble sleeping. Karl always hated it when Quackity had his beanie on outside.

Sapnap on the other hand just liked messing it up for some odd reason. Whether that be repeatedly (softly, playfully) hitting his head with a pillow, or he'd just simply ruffle it at different times throughout the day.

One time when Karl brought his beanie back from being washed, there were two patches sewn on. The letter 'Q' and a small white duck that looked nice against the dark blue color. Quackity remembered being super happy about it.

"Well now I don't wanna take my beanie off!"

"Dammit.. I thought you were gonna think that it was cringe.. I like it when your beanie's off.."

"Karl, if you wanted me to keep my beanie off so bad you should've gotten me hair clips or something. Plus, you can just ask me to take it off!"

Slime had just recently started seeing Quackity without it on.

At first, Quackity didn't bother taking it off. Not even to fix his hair. While he trusted Slime as his employee, he was quite odd. He knew a little too much about him and other people. For all he knew, this whole.. thing he had going on could be an act. He could be a spy, or an assassin.

He kept it like that for a while until Slime came to him one day.

"Quackity from Las Nevadas?"

"What's up?"

"Do you not trust me?"

"What? What- what makes you think that?"

"You never take your beanie off! I thought that was how you show people that you trust them!"

"..How..- You know what. I shouldn't even be surprised that you know about that, too."

Slime saw Quackity walking around without his beanie off that night.

#tntduo #tnt duo #quackbur #c!quackity #quackity #featherduo #dapduo #i actually really like how this turned out #guess who's my favorite dsmp duo based on this post /sarc #i wanted to write tntduo but it turned into my love for c!quackity #c!fiances #oh yeah btw #quackity's little dialouge in wilbur's part was a total lie #mans just needed an excuse for himself on why he didnt put his beanie back on #but anyway ENJOY #dsmpshipping

140 notes · View notes

keysmashingfantasies · 4 years ago

Text

An Old Fashioned Meet Cute

A/N: hi! this is my first fic here and i hope you like it. comments and constructive criticism is very much appreciated just please be nice and i tried not to describe nor reader nor the Hilda character too much apart from the fact that they are plus size so it can cater to more people (altough the Hilda character is a white woman originally, I left that out because I wanted everyone to be able to read it) :D. and a huge thank you to @divine-mistake for encouraging me to make this blog and post my fics. ily Tay <3, this one's for you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!plus size Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Bucky didn’t remember much of his life before the war. Not as much as he would like, anyway. But he was content to at least have remembered something. The memories of his teenage shenanigans with Steve always made him laugh. But there was a memory that he didn’t even know it was on his mind until that day when he accompanied Steve to the thrift shop. And until an Avengers party, where he met you.

“Steve, come on… Shouldn’t you be showing me the wonders of the modern world?”, he mocked. He knew Steve was doing his best, he did. But he knew that this wasn’t just a friends’ afternoon. And Bucky didn’t need a babysitter.

“I will! I just thought it would be nice to see something less overwhelming first and Sam told me a thrift store would be a nice place to start. Most of this stuff is new to us anyway”, Steve said, picking up a CD of a shelf.

“Yeah, ok”, he mumbled. The things he did for Steve. He mindlessly wandered through the little cluttered store, browsing the shelves full of knick knacks. He saw vinyls, old books, a great variety of toys, some paintings and an old fashioned vanity, with an old mirror, a few vintage perfume bottles, and… Oh.

“Steve?”, he said, picking up the old calendar that was propped up against the stained mirror. Carefully, he lifted the calendar up, looking at his friend. He had seen it before, he knew he did. He flipped through it as he waited for Steve to make his way across the store, careful to not bump in any of the tables containing delicate porcelain tea pots. His eyes scanned through the cover, a delicately painted picture of a curvy woman and with the saying “HILDA, 1940’s calendar” in bold red letters above it.

“Oh wow”, Steve let out a belly laugh. “You remember when we stole some of these? Man, we even took these to war”, he said. He started to remember. Him and Steve running, each one with a calendar in hand, flipping through the pages, Steve whining that he would never find a girl like that. He didn’t even think twice before taking it to the counter, with Steve giggling like a school girl behind him.

“For the memories, punk”, he said in a stern voice and a frown, but with pink dusted cheeks.

“Of course”, Steve said in a mocking voice.

“So, Tony’s throwing a party next weekend”, Steve said as he entered the training room.

“I prefer the thrift store”, Bucky mumbled, without tearing his eyes from the punching bag.

“Come on, Buck. I think it will be good for you to go”, Steve said. “It will be something small, Tony will introduce the new team assistant, so no eyes will be on you”, that got Bucky’s attention.

“Small?”, he said, pushing his hair from his face.

“Very”, Steve assured, but he had that look that Bucky knew very well from his young years; the look he would get when he was about to pick a fight. He was up to no good. But he didn’t want another trip to a dusty thrift store.

“Yeah, sure”, he mumbled.

You were shaking in your boots. Yeah, you knew that you would work for them, which meant that you inevitably would have to attend this kind of things. But this wasn’t like your former office jobs, no. You work for the Avengers now.

“You can do this. You have to. Do it for the paycheck”, you said, trying to reassure yourself as you shakily applied mascara. As you browsed through your wardrobe, you let out a sigh. You remembered shyly asking for advice on what to wear from Natasha, but you took it with a grain of salt. She could wear a potato sack and still look gorgeous, and you were… Well, a potato. You knew this was another test. If you couldn’t handle all eyes on you and the eventual bickering that was about to happen, you were not fit for the job. But damn, you at least expected a few weeks of taking care of documents and serving coffee before a party. In a room. With the, quoting the tabloid you read that very morning “super team that saves the world and looks hot doing it!”. You were a pretty confident person. But this… Anyone would be nervous.

“You can do this”, you told yourself one more time before heading out.

When you got to the party, not everyone was there. You politely greeted everyone with a nod, and gave your name to the ones you didn’t have the pleasure to meet yet.

“You, pick your poison”, Tony Stark pointed at you while walking to the bar.

“No, thank you, Mr. Stark, I won’t be drinking tonight”, you managed to say, silently thanking all the gods above (even the one that was sitting not too far from you) that you managed to hold back the quiver in your voice.

“She doesn’t want to be vulnerable around us. Smart, I like her”, said Natasha. Sometimes you wonder if she was a telepath like Wanda.

“Is there anything wrong, Y/N? I sense that you are uneasy”, asked Vision, with those glassy unblinking eyes. You wondered if he was in your mind that very moment.

“Gee, I wonder why”, said Rhodes, before taking a sip of his drink.

“I’m okay, just… A bit nervous, that’s all”, you said.

“Well, then you definitely need a drink”, said Tony, handing you a glass of champagne that no doubt cost the same as your previous paycheck.

Soon enough, the awkwardness made way to pleasant conversation. You laughed as you listened to their banter. It wasn’t like any business party you ever attended. No, it was more like a family gathering than anything.

The sounds of the elevator doors opening caught you attention as three men wide as refrigerators walked in, followed closely by a pretty young woman. Of course you knew them. You read all about them. Especially The Winter Soldier, the little devil on your shoulder taunting you by remembering you of every single time you talked to your friend about your crush on him.

“Sorry we’re late guys, Steve went to pick me up before the party and we had dinner”, said the blonde, linking her arm with Steve Rogers himself.

“Nah, Sharon, don’t cover his ass. We were late because the three of us had to wrestle Barnes into changing out of that old ass Henley”, said Sam.

Instantly, Tony and Natasha cheered and raised their glasses, making you laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny”, said a gruff voice coming from the bar, making you turn your head, seeing Bucky Barnes open a beer bottle with his vibranium hand. 'How did he sneak past everyone?', your thoughts were interrupted as you took him in. You wanted to personally thank Sam, Steve and Sharon for making him wear that tight fitting black shirt.

“Well, Y/N, here’s Capsicle, Mrs. Capsicle, New Captain, and Snowflake. Guys, this is Y/N, the new assistant. Oh, and there’s Spider Boy but he’s on curfew, Strange had to hop out of the dimension and Scott but he’s… He’s somewhere out there being small, I don’t know. Watch were you step, just to be safe”, said Tony

“Hi”, you gave a shy wave, being greeted right back.

If it wasn’t for the serum, Bucky is absolutely sure he would have a heart attack on the spot. You were wearing red heels, a form fitting black pencil skirt and a white button up blouse and he could see your curves, your strong arms, your thighs. You looked absolutely amazing. You look like one of the girls that Bucky would’ve rushed to ask for a dance back in the day. But what really made him stare is the fact that your body type looked eerily similar to the character of the calendar he spent an embarrassing amount of time staring.

As your eyes scanned the room as you were bombarded with questions, Bucky made sure to avoid your gaze, looking everywhere but your face: his shoes, the ceiling, the armrest on the couch, Steve’s shit eating grin. Oh. So THAT’S what it was about. Little shit.

Even avoiding your gaze, he made sure to keep his ears open. A man could be interested, right?

By the time the party ended, Thor and Bruce were sleeping, Tony was buzzed walking around singing Iron Maiden, Natasha and Sharon were talking, Steve and Sam were giggling like two school girls, Rhodes went home and Vision and Wanda were talking and looking out the window to the New York skyline.

Which left you – and Bucky – alone.

“Uhhh. I guess I’ll start cleaning, then”, you said. Your face was on fire. The only person that you were sure didn’t like you and you were awkwardly standing, not knowing where to look and what to say. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him but damn it, you were not going to lose this opportunity because of a school girl crush. So you decided to keep yourself occupied by taking some empty glasses and bottles from the table and taking them to the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, Y/N! Let the cleaning crew deal with this in the morning!”, said Natasha.

“No, no, I don’t mind. I like to keep myself busy”, you said with a smile. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. You only hoped she couldn’t see how awkward you were.

“I’ll help”, he said, picking up some glasses and following you.

“You can pick up more of these glasses and I can start washing them”, he said. “I- I noticed you got your nails done, so…”, he said, and you shyly looked away while thanking him and making your way out of the kitchen.

In no time, the room was getting emptier. Vision and Wanda went home and Thor took Banner back to New Asgard. And you were almost done with the dishes, having also gotten rid of most of the empty food containers. As you both cleaned, you and Bucky got a bit more comfortable with each other.

“I’m sorry for seeming a bit standoffish earlier”, he said suddenly. “I’m not used to parties and I don’t know how new people will react to me. Especially pretty women”, you smiled at the compliment, but felt your heart ache. You were so caught up in your insecurities that you didn’t even consider his side of things.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know how you feel but by what I’ve seen and heard, you have a family here. You’re out there fighting to save the world. Trying your best. This is redemption enough, don’t you think?”, you said as you put the glasses to dry, missing the awestruck look that Bucky sent you, a goofy smile making its way into his features. “Okay, you wait here and I’ll get what’s left”.

You were back in no time. “Okay, so just more two champagne flutes and one plate left”, you said but before you could give the dishes to Bucky, you slipped, and if it wasn’t for Bucky’s reflexes, you would’ve fallen hard. You yelped as the sound of breaking glass hit your ears and for a second you two just stared at each other, before Bucky pulled you closer and back to a standing position.

“Thanks”, you said as he helped you straighten up.

“Your ankle, does it hurt?”, he said.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so”, you said.

“Ah, I think it does. And I can’t let a dame go home alone on a hurt ankle”, he said, giving you a dashing smile.

“You know what, now that you’ve said it, it hurts really bad”, you said, catching on. “You know what’s amazing for a bad ankle?”, you asked, and the gentle smile in your lips and the mischievous glint in your eyes made his heart piston inside of his chest.

"What?", he said softly, stepping closer, like you were sharing secrets.

“Ice cream and a walk on the park. Very therapeutical”, you said, making Bucky laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky had already scooped you up into his arms and rushedly announced that you had slipped and fell, whisking you away into the elevator.

“Dude, that took all night”, said Sam. “This is the smooth guy you told me about?”, he said, while Steve and Sharon laughed.

While everyone got ready to go home, Scott came out of the kitchen in his Ant-Man suit eating some leftovers.

“Someone owes me 20 bucks for making her trip”.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x chubby reader

280 notes · View notes

notgonnarememberthis · 3 years ago

Text

below the surface (they can’t find you here) - chapter three

Everybody knows, there’s no escaping telling the truth now.

Going into a long shift today so I’m uploading this one earlier so I don’t forget about it later and crash before I do. Cheers

Joyce has to grip the sink to try to compose herself. She focuses on her breathing trying to ignore how her lungs burned with each inhale. When she looks down she can already see the angry bruises blossoming on her ankles. New scratches cross over the old ones on her forearms. She dares to take a look at herself in the mirror. The black liquid had dripped from her nose and mouth and down her chin. She was a hell of a sight.

She washes her face to the best of her ability trying to ignore the sound of voices outside. She knows they’re waiting on her. Hopper had insisted that they let her have a moment alone despite the torrent of questions once she was lucid enough to understand them. She’s thankful for the few moments where she can push the fear to the back of her mind. She was a couple steps away from a panic attack when she woke up. Now she can have a few minutes to calm down before facing the storm.

She has to brush her teeth twice to rid of the taste in her mouth. She closes her eyes and the events flash in her mind all over again. She feels the panic building in her chest as if she’s drowning all over again and she has to dig her fingernails in her palm to remind herself that she’s not there anymore. She’s in the cabin and her family is just outside the door. When she feels her heart has slowed back down she takes a cautious step out of the bathroom.

She gets a peek into the living room before they see her. Jonathan is sitting next to Will, a hand on his shoulder as he talks to him. He’s masking his fear well, putting on a brave face for his brother. Hopper is standing in the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee. It’s not likely any of them will sleep tonight. El is sitting on the couch, her legs crossed beneath her and staring at the floor deep in thought. All heads turn to her when they hear the floorboards creak beneath her feet.

The room erupts into noise, the three of them fire off question after question and she tries to listen to them all but it just ends up with her feeling overwhelmed.

“Hey!” Hopper’s voice cuts off the noise all at once. “Take it easy. You ok?”

“Yeah.” The lie is easy on her lips. None of them look convinced.

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan speaks up first. She tilts her head in disapproval of the language.

“It’s nothing. We’ve got it under control.”

“Nothing?” Jonathan stands, his arms outstretched in confusion. “I thought you fell asleep during the movie but when it ended I looked over and you had black shit dripping out of your nose!”

“Jonathan.”

“You coughed it up. Right in front of us! That isn’t nothing!” He points to the stain on the floor. “You can’t tell me that’s nothing!”

“Why are you hiding things from us still! You promised!” Will chimes in next, standing next to his brother.

“No more lies.” El looks at her, eyes shining. “You promised after you got back, no more lies.” Joyce feels her heart clench and the guilt eats at her all over again. After the dust settled and the excitement of Hopper being back had dimmed, El had grown angry over everything. How she’d lied to them, how she flew off without them, how if anything had happened in Russia they never would have known.

She promised them that night that she wouldn’t lie anymore.

“Kid, that’s not fair.” Hopper crosses the room and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t care. Something is wrong and you aren’t telling us.” She shrugs his hand off her shoulder moving to stand with Jonathan and Will. “Why? Why won’t you tell us what’s wrong?”

She looks to Hopper helplessly. They won’t take no for an answer. Her boys had unfortunately inherited her stubbornness and she’s afraid El picked hers up from him. She searches for a way to tell them something different. But all he does is shake his head.

They saw too much. She has to tell them.

She sighs, taking a seat in a chair facing the three of them. Her hands rub her knees as she tries to think of where to start. “They started a week ago.”

“What?”

“Not, that.” She gestures vaguely to the abandoned trash can. “The nightmares.” Their faces soften and they settle. Jonathan takes his seat back by the tv and El and Will sit on the floor, their hands clutched together. “Every time I fall asleep I wake up in the same place. In the middle of the forest in the upside down.” She can see Will tense up and El squeezes his hand. “I hear something chasing me and I run.”

“What’s chasing you?” Jonathan leans forwards, his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t know. I never saw it. I only heard it.” She waits for another question but when none comes she continues. “I thought they were just from stress because of next week.” Jonathan’s jaw sets and she can see Will trying to hold back his own panic at the thought. “But they’ve been getting worse.”

“Worse, how?” El frowns.

She looks to Hopper and he nods. She sighs at the silent meaning behind his gaze. “Two days ago, in the dream one of the vines grabbed me and started pulling me back.” She rolls her sweatpants up slightly revealing the darkened bruise around her ankle. “When I saw this I knew it wasn’t just a dream.”

“Two days?” Jonathan huffs. “You’ve known for two days.” His anger is turned to Hopper now.

“Actually, kid, she just told me this afternoon.” That seems to settle him, but just barely. His frustrations center back on her again, at least. “I came into Melvad’s and your mom looked ready to pass out while she was standing.”

“Wait,” Will straightens, his eyes on her. “You haven’t slept for two days?” She opens her mouth trying to think of a response but none comes.

“Seriously, mom?”

“They were getting worse.” She protests. “And clearly, I was right.” Jonathan swallows and Will’s eyes shine. “Tonight, the vines got me again. Last time Hopper woke me up before I could get far but this time they dragged me into a lake. I tried to get them off but by the time I did I couldn’t tell what was up from down. I just was-”

“Drowning.” El finishes the sentence for her. Jonathan covers his face trying to hide the fact that he was wiping at his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“So what is it.” Jonathan’s voice cracks a bit and she feels the same guilt creep up the back of her neck again.

“I don’t know.”

“Is it him.” Will’s voice is laced with so much fear that it chokes her for a second. She hadn’t even thought about what it would look like to him. How for months after the upside down he was coughing up black sludge. That time is a blur in her memory. She preferred to lock it away deep in the back of her mind. It was better if it haunted her in the dead of night rather than being another weight she had to carry. She pushed it so far back that she hadn’t thought of it. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could be the mind flayer.

“I don’t know.” She wishes she did. She wishes that she could tell him that it wasn’t, but after what she saw in Russia. The shadow monster swirling in the containment. She isn’t a fan of ruling anything out now. It wasn’t the same as what happened with Will. He had visions like he was attached to the hive mind. He saw things that weren’t there. She didn’t have that connection. Only the pain lingers from her sleeping to the waking world. “I still hate the cold.” Will visibly relaxes at the joke. All the tension seeps from his shoulders and he leans against El. Even the small chuckle that leaves her makes her lungs ache again. The laugh turns quickly to another coughing fit that has Hopper’s hand on her shoulder. More black sludge spills onto the floor, her body lurching with the force.

Will moves immediately, walking quickly from the bathroom and back to the room with a towel in hand. She takes the towel, covering her mouth as she coughs. It works remarkably well. She tries not to think about how he knew it would. When her coughing slows and only the ringing in her head remains she hears a door shut.

“I’ll go talk to him.” Jonathan moves and Joyce realizes Will isn’t there anymore. The sound was him going to his room. El’s hand grabs Jonathan’s arm and she shakes her head. El moves to the room slipping inside wordlessly. Jonathan’s attention moves back to her. “Are you ok?” She really wishes they would stop asking that. She nods, eyes avoiding the black spot on the towel. She scrunches it in her hands to avoid the sight. It’s too much, she figures that’s why Will walked away.

Even with the spot out of sight it taunts her. The taste in her mouth is a bitter reminder. After all this time, it’s still not over.

A shameful part of her thinks it never will be.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #eleven #jonathan byers #will byers #stranger things #stranger things fic #no creative tags today #head empty only dread

7 notes · View notes

bellassims · 3 years ago

Note

Anon again, EA did confirm early access is still okay. I sent that message during the first round when they did get rid of it, but they brought it back a bit later. Sorry for the confusion! (Also people who responded to that ask can not be jerks, I was just trying to look out for you :c you’re one of my faves so I was really worried! Do they not know that asks may not get answered right away??)

I saw some of the responses and did feel bad, I saw the update shortly after posting it which I think was a few hours after it was released or something, idk, timezones and I haven't been online much the past week, wasn't all great timing lol. I understand you were just looking out for me and I really appreciated it! I'm sure it goes both ways too - those responding also looking out for me because, at the time of posting, I was clueless lol.

For anyone wondering - not much if anything at all is going to change for me going forwards, and if you want to hear my ramblings under the cut:

I was initially quite worried when the statement was released originally, but at the same time I had plans for how to go forward. I've had a lot going on this week so It didn't feel right to post anything straight away and I would let the dust settle and have time to sit down and write something out.

Motivation and drive and energy has been something hard for me to get lately - dealing with burnout, lack of structure in my life, capitalism things, mental health things, etc etc. So just recently like 2 or 3 weeks ago I finally put together a kind of schedule/routine that has actually been working for me - they usually don't so I don't even bother anymore! But it is working, I'm motivated again, I'm going to be releasing more structured content on more of a schedule nowadays.

It's still not a solid release schedule, because I still need that flexibility in my life, but there will be releases twice a month - on the 5th (ish) and mid month, leaving room for either smaller content on the off weeks or some free time for me to just... enjoy things, or work on personal projects, that kind of thing.

In saying that, tonight's (5th) release is going to be delayed until tomorrow (6th), I had such a big day driving and moving furniture and I simply do not want to finish it up tonight haha

In terms of patreon - Content is released early to those who choose to support me financially, beta testing content before releasing to a wider audience, providing feedback, etc etc. And then as always 14 days that content is released to the public. No one is ever required to support me, I super duper appreciate it and you get some cool perks for it, but if you're just here for pretty content, that's cool too.

Like I said, this was going to be ramblings, this is just things that have been floating around in my mind the past few days, I've also forgotten a lot of what I was thinking about writing because I procrastinated it so much, but yeah! Questions are fine, but for now that's all I've got <3

#qanda

14 notes · View notes

missinghan · 4 years ago

Text

falling for the first time ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : hogwarts au; fluff

❖ word count : 2,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : your plan of putting all effort into avoiding bang chan as much as possible has been going smoothly for almost seven years until he asks you for a dance at the Yule Ball. or alternatively, your families hate each other but wait...has he always had those golden flecks in his eyes?

❖ author’s note : here’s the song they’re dancing to 🖤

one.

The once cold ballroom has waited for eons it seems, for a real heart to beat a new rhythm into the matter that made it.

Meanwhile, you too have been waiting (for two-ish hours) in the corner with your cup of root beer abandoned at a table for your dance partner. You’re currently half-clutching your dress and half-panicking because Chan wouldn’t miss an event as extravagant as the Yule Ball. He’s not the type to be sour over little things either just because he didn’t win the Triwizard Tournament. Or perhaps someone else just happened to ask him?

A blood-curdling shriek bursts your eardrums.

Jeongin gives you a nudge with his elbow from behind. “Grilled scream-cheese?” he asks with a mouthful of gluten and carbs, a plate of a sandwich with a (literally) screaming slice of cheese slapped in the middle.

“No, my appetite is ruined,” you say, pushing it away slightly and heaving an audible sigh.

The Ravenclaw boy makes an alarming noise—something similar to ‘uh-oh’ and swallows the big bite from before as fast as he can. “Where’s Chan?”

You only shrug, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” If only you could do that with the train of thoughts that have been going in and out of your ears for the past a hundred and twenty minutes.

“Y/N, you look troubled,” he purses his lips, frowning at you.

“I’m not,” you voice in denial, trying your best not to come off as snappy. No, you will not give up your facade that easily. You won’t leave Chan’s ego nor Jeongin to rest without a fight by saying that you actually want to dance with the heathen!

“Yeah right, let me-“

“Don’t. What if he’s already asked someone else?” You momentarily shudder at how sad you sound. The root beer shouldn’t have hit you this hard. “I mean look at him, he’s Bang Chan. I’m pretty sure those girls from Beauxbatons have been eyeing him up and down since the Tournament.”

Jeongin lets out a huff of laughter in disbelief. “Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“One of you guys could have asked me. Or I should have paid Jisung to be my partner yesterday. I just, I don’t know, what am I saying? I’m confused.”

Your friend is officially done with your bullshit so he decides for himself that he will now set down his food to make your first and last Yule Ball arguably unforgettable. “Honestly? I can lie and say I would dance with you if you weren’t so full of pride. But truth is, none of us asked you to dance because we all know how badly Chan wants this opportunity. Wake the fuck up! He’s been planning this since forever. I’ll go look for him, wait here,” he points a finger at you before running off, leaving your heartbeat pause awkwardly like a broken record.

The ballroom feels significantly colder now.

“Miss Y/N?”

Ah, perfect timing. What’s another way to phrase ‘being an absolute idiot at a ball’? Oh right, it’s ‘talking to your professor five minutes before the first dance while your friends are socializing left and right’.

“Yes, Headmistress McGonagall?”

Your professor peers around when she realizes that you’re all alone. “Are you and Mister Bang ready?”

“R-ready?” Suddenly, you feel out of place.

“Well, of course. It’s only traditional that the three champions start the first dance!”

“Oh.”

two.

Only the celestial bodies above can know how melancholy you are. But you’re met with a sky without stars tonight.

With your head on your elbows, lips pressed into a straight line, your gaze falls from the endless canvas of darkness to the hustle and bustle of students leaving the Great Hall to head back to their designated dormitories. A sigh. You definitely don’t need to know what they’re going to do for the after-party. Ryujin used to show you an article on this peculiar machine called ‘a laptop’ that the more you sigh, the faster you age. If Chan keeps doing shit like this to you, you’re gonna be all old and wrinkly by the time he comes here.

If he is going to show up at all that is.

The moment you peel your eyes away from the overcrowded main gate, a broad figure is shuffling himself through his drunk Quidditch teammates, sloppy couples, and burnt out professors. He dashes through the empty hallways to reach the spiral staircase, skipping three steps at a time, risking the chances of falling on his face just to get to you.

Pulling himself to a halt at the last step, Chan sees you all curled up against the balcony railings and feels a pang of guilt wash over his innards like a wave. You’re pulling your legs toward your chest, defeated eyes gazing into the space ahead while your hair falls to your face messily. Like you’ve gone through the depths of the Fourth Dimension, struggling through dark matters and a rite of divinity at the end of the line. All for him.

You’re beautiful.

And the amount of affection that’s piling upon his rib cage? Astronomical.

Your gaze is averted away; even with a slight scowl, sloppy clothes and messed up hair, you still flare radiance. He thinks that if a meteor shower is happening right now, you can still outshine it. “You came,” you mention.

For once, Chan finds himself at a loss for words. “Y-Yeah,” he manages to swallow. Yeah? What the fuck, Chan? Is that all you’ve got to say?

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N. Yeji accidentally mistook one of Minho’s potions for her allergy medicine so I gotta take care of that before coming,” he scratches his forearm awkwardly, head hung low with guilt. “I didn’t know it would take that long…”

“Oh.” Wow, jealous stinks. This isn’t pre-school, you’d better snap out of it. “Let’s head back. I wanna check on her before passing out.”

“She’s fine now, sleeps like death. Chaeryeong is there too, you know, just in case.” Chan feels perplexed as he tries to coax anything but the ‘head back’ option from you.

You tilt your head. “And...?”

“I’m afraid you owe me something?” A slow smile begins to outstretch upon his facial muscles, deepening the dimples on either side of his cheeks that you adore the most. “A dance, I believe,” he makes a thinking face while striding toward you.

Coldly, you stand up to dust your dress. “I don’t want to.” You’re not having it, he can tell. But does Bang Chan ever give up?

“A bet is a bet, Y/N.”

Chan’s hand fishes inside the pocket of his trench coat to take out his wand. His hand delicately gives it a swift flick; once, and twice followed by a low mumble from his lips. Immediately, light pulses from the tip of the wand before shooting upward, disintegrating into a million bits as though a starry night is embracing the both of you. He does the same action again to cast a different spell. Music laces through every fiber of air without effort, like honey being poured into your ears.

“It’s just one bet,” he pouts with a hand fully extended toward you.

You should have realized how good Chan looks tonight. A black dress shirt that’s buttoned below appropriate, matching trench coat, silver accessories lining his fingers and ears with naturally tousled hair from running here. He looks so gorgeous that it almost suffocates you, that it almost makes you want to hiss ‘fucking unfair’ out loud.

Enchanted by his poise and grace, your body reacts without the consent of your mind. You seize up when you unknowingly place your hand on top of his, the touch sending electricity down your spine. A simple response has become all too complicated for your brain to process.

You grow breathless the moment he grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him. “Yeah, a bet so you’ll leave me alone,” you remark sarcastically to ease your nerves.

“Look, it’s not my fault that the Goblet of Fire chose me to participate in the Tournament,” Chan chuckles lowly, eyes crinkling into crescent moon shapes while he sways you to the soft melody. Dots of light continue to float around weightlessly, reflecting the golden flecks in his eyes. He’s ethereal in the worst way—the way that isn’t healthy for your heart.

But you soon slap on another scowl when you realize he just reminded you of why you’re even here in the first place. If only you weren’t so salty about Slytherin winning your team over at the final Quidditch match before the holiday occurs. Let’s just say you weren’t exactly in the best mind state after getting your ass kicked in your favorite sport.

And Chan wasted no time to slip in between the line of comical humor and your ultimate torment. Which results in—if you get to attend the Triwizard Tournament, he will leave you alone for the rest of your life; but if he is the chosen one, he gets a dance with you at the Yule Ball.

It’s really not all that bad if you think twice about it. Dancing with Bang Chan, the Slytherin’s Quidditch team captain, the student with perfect academics and conduct for six years straight, and now one of the Triwizard Tournament champions this year.

Music threads through the atmosphere and lifts away gravity. You can’t count how many times you have stepped on his toes due to nervousness because you’re too much of a coward to look him in the eye. But he’s the only thing you can seem to focus on right now.

“Besides, don’t you think this is a good opportunity to get rid of the tension between us?” Chan asks honestly, and this causes you to perk up.

“What?”

Lights are twinkling with every step as Chan spins you around gently, your dress billowing out prettily as your heels click against the cold concrete. After that, he swiftly pulls you back into his arms and you exhale in relief like you were meant to be there all this time.

“Don’t act dumb, you’re terrible at it. I know the only reason why you’ve been avoiding me since first year was because of our families’ stupid grudge. ”

Your eyes are cast downward, sadness glinting in your round pupils. “Either way, my parents wouldn’t like to see me talking to you. And look at what we’re doing. It’s going to be catastrophic if they find out.”

“Well, they can’t just magically appear now, can they?” Chan leans a little closer to lock his eyes with yours.

And you break it seconds later because you’re an absolute coward for a Gryffindor. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

“Did they even tell you what the actual problem was in the first place?” he huffs out in faint annoyance.

You shake your head. “I don’t think they’d even remember.”

“Then would you stop giving me that look as if I just shooed your owl way every time I said ‘hi’ on my way to class? Have you ever thought about my feelings? About us being civil for once? Like friends? Or even more so?”

“I-“

“We’re not our parents, Y/N.”

Your heart becomes all erratic at his words. It’s nothing like those fully-fledged, tear-jerking nor cheesyass confessions that you’ve gawked at one too many times, but it makes your heart flutter and stirs up those cliché butterflies inside your stomach. This can’t be compared to the Yule Ball—it’s even better than that. Because it feels as though you and Chan are the only presences that graze the surface of this land. There’s no one to judge, no fingers to point, no gossip spreading like wildfire.

It’s perfect. Almost.

“Us...it’s not- it can’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen. It’s not possible, Chan.”

Wordlessly, he stops, moves both of your hands to his shoulders, and wraps his arms around your torso. The sound of your heartbeat against his is so in sync they just drown out the music completely. Time is frozen in place, leaving you to hang on the edge with him, hanging onto this single moment as thin as the red string of fate. You’re waiting for him to do something, say something.

Just then, Chan cracks a wry smile and pulls you closer by the nape of your neck, resting his forehead comfortably on yours. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

647 notes · View notes

wavesmp3 · 4 years ago

Text

you jump; i jump

sunwoo x reader

requested from sensory prompts #46: the waver in someone’s voice when they’re stressed genre: spy au, exes (ish) to lovers wc: 5.6k warnings: cursing, tiny bit of gore/blood

Sunwoo used to pride himself for being able to keep his cool, in even the most unimaginable situations. He kept his exterior when Haknyeon turned out to be double crossing their agency, Creker, and secretly sending information to a rivaling one the whole time. Sunwoo didn’t crack when his entire mission in Sydney blew up right in his fucking face, never even flinched when his gear malfunctioned dumping him in a hospital for a week. But all those instances seem to fall flat now. All the times where Sunwoo stayed strong seem to disappear the moment he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around only to come face to face with you. “What are you-“ he falters, grasping at the last bits of crumbling pride and hanging on to the dip in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot this,” you continue, ignoring him entirely, “forgot it in Vienna specifically.” You dangle a watch in front of his face. The same watch he lost somewhere in Austria three months ago, at the same time that he was in the middle of the most intense and longest mission the agency had ever given him, and more notably, around the same time he met you. “Don’t look so shocked.” You scoff when he fails to respond. “You told me you were gonna be here.”

Sunwoo laughs, except it’s less of a laugh and more of an exhale of pure disbelief. “I know what I said, but you’re…” his voice trails off, some part of him unable to finish the sentence and another part of him still too disturbed to believe it.

You tilt your head with faux confusion. “I’m what?”

Sunwoo gulps. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

VIENNA, AUSTRIA THREE MONTHS AGO

Sunwoo remembers, with a starling amount of clarity, all that happened three months ago. He can recall every day he spent roaming the streets of Vienna with you despite the way he’s been trying to drown out the memories and douse his lingering feelings.

When he met you at a pub on one of his first nights there, he told himself he entertained your conversation because, well, to put it bluntly, he thought you were cute. Although the small tug in his gut doesn’t help justify why he found himself stumbling back to his hotel room with you by his side. And there’s really no good excuse for the tiny sting of disappointment Sunwoo feels when he wakes up alone the next morning.

It’s two days after that night when Sunwoo sees you again, sitting on a bench with a book in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. It’s an odd coincidence that he should see you in Vienna again, but the small pang of doubt is quickly replaced with a more promising burst of elation. Sunwoo can’t tell if it’s exhilarating or terrifying.

“Ah,” you mutter when you notice him approaching, “Sunwoo right?” It’s a facade, Sunwoo thinks to himself, he knows you remember his name, knows you only pretend to forget. But he doesn’t mention that, instead he nods rather lamely, shoving his fists into his pockets and burying away the voice of reason in the back of his head telling him this is a mistake. “Sit.” You say, moving your things to the other side of the bench and patting the now empty spot next to you. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

And in retrospect, it’s quite obvious that Sunwoo should have found the words alarming. Really, he should have begun to put his guard up the second he spotted you in Vienna again. But at that moment in time, the only thing Sunwoo can think to ask is if he was worth the wait.

Your tongue darts out, swiping at your bottom lip in thought for the smallest of seconds, before disappearing into your mouth again. “Yeah,” you say, lips turning up into an intrigued smile, “you were.”

—

Sunwoo doesn’t think much of the way he comes to trust you so easily, telling you the truth about his job in the darkness of the hotel room. He doesn’t think anything of the way you hang onto his every word without ever sharing much about yourself. And when one day, you sit down at the cafe booth across from him and ask, “what’s your current mission,” Sunwoo doesn’t think twice before telling you everything about his objective to infiltrate Pegasus. He also doesn’t notice the phone call you make soon after.

—

When the truth does come out, it comes fast, like water rushing off a cliff and crashing into Sunwoo sitting unsuspecting at the bottom. It comes in the form of a charity event that he only attends as part of the mission which sent him to Vienna to begin with. The truth arrives, like a rock in his gut, at the same second that Sunwoo sees you across the hall. You, who he last saw at the hotel, and you, who’s supposed to be on a train to Paris right now. And when your eyes finally catch his, there’s something unmistakable swimming in them. You’ve been caught, Sunwoo thinks, finally placing a name to the familiar way you swallow and dart your eyes around the room. Sunwoo recognizes the feeling, vaguely remembers the rush he felt once in Santiago and again in New York.

“I can explain,” you hiss, quiet and breathless, finding him outside the hall after a few minutes.

And Sunwoo knows he should be dying for an explanation of what you’re doing here or who you’re really working with. Some small part of Sunwoo knows that he should already be replaying every conversation and trying to determine how much information he’s given you to use against him. But another, larger part of him, that’s poking at his heart and prodding at his brain, chooses to stare at your lying eyes, study the face he’s come to memorize, and lamely ask, “how much of…” his voice tapers off, gesturing to the empty space in between you two, “of this was a lie?”

You don’t respond, but in the silence Sunwoo finds the answer anyways.

All of it.

—

It’s not long after that night that a new message from the case officer shows up for him.

You’re on thin ice. New mission: get rid of that Pegasus agent.

PRESENT TIME THREE MONTHS AFTER VIENNA

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here?” Sunwoo asks you again, shifting in his plastic red chair and keeping his gaze focused on the street you’re both seated beside. He hadn’t planned on hanging out after crossing paths with you earlier today. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but when you offer him a meal in exchange for a conversation, his rumbling stomach agrees before he can even consider the offer. The scene you lead him to is a busy one, filled with people rushing down the road and bustling behind each of the food stalls. It’s a mosh-posh of neon signs, kicked up dust, and the aroma of food being fried. More importantly, it’s a loud area, one where you and Sunwoo can talk freely without the worry of being heard by someone seated nearby. He takes a bite into his skewer, waiting for your response.

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t follow through with the mission,” you counter, twirling your lime green straw with the tip of your finger. “The one where you were supposed to kill me.”

You say it plainly, but something in Sunwoo’s stomach turns hard at the reminder anyways. “We’re spies,” he mutters behind clenched teeth, “not assassins.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking a sip from your coke, “the job description is pretty vague.”

The words are met with a taut silence, a snap of Sunwoo’s eyes towards yours, and a search for any implication of murder behind the sentence.

“It’s a joke,” you choke, wiping the coke that slips from your mouth and quickly shaking your head, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Well anyways,” Sunwoo continues, “I tried to finish the mission. Even hired someone to find you.” And as soon as the words leave his mouth, Sunwoo realizes he’s told you too much, realizes he’s let the truth slip too easily--again. Biting his lip, he thinks this must be what people mean when they say ‘old habits die hard’.

“He didn’t follow through.” You tell him as if to fill him in on how exactly you’re still alive and sitting across from him right here, right now, miles away from Vienna and months after Sunwoo’s hire took his money and ran. “But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

And this you say with a taunting smile, catching his eyes like there’s a private joke concealed behind them. Sunwoo only gulps and pulls his focus back to the busy street.

“So what do you want with me?”

“I left Pegasus.” You answer, clearing your throat.

Sunwoo waits. He waits for you to take it back, for you to laugh at his widened eyes and say it’s a joke. The punchline never comes. “You’re an idiot.” He settles on.

“And I’ve got two agencies who’d prefer me to be dead right about now.” You grimace. “But despite the bounty on my head, I’m still here which means you’re probably not on great terms with Creker either.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both have people who want us dead. We both have next to nothing to lose at this point. So let’s team up.” You pause, checking Sunwoo’s reaction. He watches you intently, body pushing against the creaking plastic table in an attempt to hear you better. With an almost mischievous glint in your eyes and a satisfied quirk, you continue: “Let’s take back what we stole for them.”

There’s a long moment where Sunwoo just stares at you, deciphering what to make of the proposition. You appear genuine, Sunwoo decides leaning away from the table until his back hits the chair, but Sunwoo isn’t exactly sure how much he trusts his own judgement considering the last time he decided you were sincere you had been lying to him left and right.

Sunwoo lifts his hand to the vendor of the food stall you’re sitting by. The previous glint in your eyes is gone, overshadowed by a darker shade of doubt. “What are you doing?” you finally ask, voice lower and less excited than it had been a second ago.

With a tired sigh, he replies, “I’m gonna need more food while you explain your plan.”

Sunwoo has to swallow back the smile that nearly emerges at how happy you get.

It’s a simple enough idea. Clear our names, you had explained, wipe ourselves entirely from both agencies. And it’ll work too, Sunwoo realizes when you begin the second explanation on the logistics of the whole operation. The only downside to your plan is you. Because the last person Sunwoo wants to start a new mission with is the same person who broke his heart three months ago. And it’s bothersome, almost, how calm you are and how collected you appear, especially compared to how scattered Sunwoo feels just to be around you again.

“What do you think?” You ask once you’ve explained your plan completely, tapping anxiously on the table.

“I think,” Sunwoo starts, inhaling deeply, “you’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gulping down some more coke, “three months is kind of a long time.”

And yeah, he thinks, it is. But despite the time that’s passed since you’ve last seen each other and despite the way Sunwoo thought he was over you, his stomach still flips each time you look his way. He just prays that the past three months have at least somewhat watered down how he used to feel about you.

“How do I know you won’t ditch me after we clear you?” Sunwoo asks, pushing away the thoughts of lingering heartache to a corner of his mind.

“We’ll do you first.” You state simply. “Steal your file off Creker and get the bounty off your head first. Then we’ll do me.”

“And then how do you know that I won’t ditch you?”

You falter at that, frowning for the smallest of seconds, then say, “I don’t.”

Sunwoo nods, pretending to contemplate your offer. But in all transparency, Sunwoo knew he’d agree to your plan despite the bile that turns up at your name because with the way he’s been hiding in a crappy motel and eating instant ramen every night, it’s kind of hard to refuse any proposition that gives him the slightest chance at an out from Creker.

“Okay,” he finally utters, wiping the crumbs of his second skewer off his hands, “let’s do it.” You meet his eyes expectantly. Nodding, he says,

“Let’s team up.”

You and Sunwoo clash more than anything else on the first day of prepping for the mission, crammed in a corner of Sunwoo’s dingy motel with two half finished cans of red bull sitting forgotten on the table, fighting about even the smallest details.

“I know the building,” Sunwoo argues, pointing to the floor plan you have pulled up on your laptop, “and this is the entrance we should use.”

“But using this entrance,” you refute, dragging your finger across the screen to show him exactly what you mean, “will give us better access to security and admin. And trust me, I know the building better than you do.”

“How do you—” Sunwoo stills. Something seems to register in your eyes at that moment as well, a small recognition of the tiny slip up, a barely audible acknowledgement that comes in the form of a cough. And all at once, Sunwoo’s reminded of the time he spent spilling his heart to you in Vienna under more covers than he was aware of. Sunwoo’s harshly thrown against the realization that you must’ve been watching him, surveying him long before you ever found him in that Austrian pub.

“See, I knew this wouldn’t work.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “You know too much about me. No, actually, you know everything about me. And I--” there’s a dip in his tone, “I know nothing about you.”

“Fine then, ask.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you think will even the playing field between us. Whatever it is you want to know about me,” you shut the laptop and turn your body to face him completely, an action that exudes largely frustration but more faintly, guilt, “just ask.”

Sunwoo learns more about you than he had intended to. He learns about the origin of the scar that runs along your spine. A fucked up operation in Shanghai, you tell him, writing over the lie you told him three months ago about it being from your childhood. He learns about your old partner Younghoon and about the shadow falling over your forehead at the sound of his name. He’s told about how you got involved with Pegasus to begin with, a similar story to Sunwoo’s beginning with Creker: an unlucky concoction of desperation and coincidence. You tell him, with reluctance, your most embarrassing story, followed by a long list of firsts and favorites. So by the time night falls, with two empty red bulls at the foot of the bed and the building’s floor plan now forgotten behind the black screen of your laptop, Sunwoo learns enough to rebuild a fraction of the trust he lost.

Everything goes smoother after that. You and Sunwoo seem to fall into a rhythm, meeting at a café in the morning and at the motel in the afternoon, planning out the missions with far less difficulty than before. A rather quick adjustment, from both of your ends, and an even faster allocation of responsibilities. He finds himself looking forward to sitting in front of your open laptop each day and conjuring new ways to distract you every hour.

And it’s after meeting up with you one night, not as partners but—perhaps more cruelly—as friends, that a dangerously familiar warmth blooms in his chest and refuses to wilt away when he sees you again the next day. Sunwoo knows that he should be doing something, anything to blow out the flame, but instead he feeds the fire and prays that this time it spreads from his heart to yours.

“Where’d you get all of this?” Sunwoo questions one day when you show up at the motel with a suitcase full of equipment. An assortment of laptops, earpieces, weapons, and randomly picked gadgets.

“Took it from Pegasus before I left,” you smirk, pulling out an earpiece and holding it out in front of his ear. “You’re usually on the field, right? The one in action?” He nods. “Good, you can be the agent for this mission then,” you mumble, setting down the earpiece and holding up another. “I’m usually the person behind the computer anyways. Was even a handler for a mission in Seoul once.” You place the earpiece in his palm and begin to pull out the other pieces of equipment from the suitcase.

“What about Vienna?” Sunwoo says, inspecting a certain gadget from the case. “You were on the field then.” And it’s a question that would’ve been asked with malice if it had come up a couple weeks ago, but right now, there’s nothing but curiosity behind Sunwoo’s words.

“Oh,” you hesitate, a small smile appearing briefly, “I guess I do both.”

Sunwoo doesn’t ponder over your answer for long.

It’s later that day, right as you’re about to leave, that you frown at Sunwoo’s head, matter-of-factly saying, “you should change your hair before the mission.” Then, with a laugh bubbling behind your teeth, you add, “again.”

(Sunwoo changed his appearance a lot. One of the tactics that had stuck from his training days. Never really in big ways, but small changes here and there every couple of months. Sometimes it was a new piercing that he’d wear for a year and let close up in the next, and other times the change came in the form of a temporary tattoo imprinted on his neck whilst in Vancouver with Kevin. When Sunwoo met you in Vienna his hair was a light brown that he had gotten done in Tokyo and hadn’t bothered to touch up since. So when the time had come to change something again, he headed to the hair salon.

“When’d you do this?” you asked him that night, running a hand through the new red hair.

“Just today.” He answered, hoping you wouldn’t ask for a reason.

“I like it.”

“More than the brown?”

“Way more.” You whispered, leaning in until he felt the breath of your words on his lips.

And in the moment before you closed the distance, Sunwoo had made a silent vow to never change his hair again.)

Sunwoo gets his hair done the day after you suggest it, and when he returns to the motel from the salon, he finds you already there.

“Oh good, you’re back.” You mumble, arms full and an extra key card to his room that he had given you out of convenience a while back held between your teeth. “I just came to drop these off because I have to go to—" you stop, straightening yourself and eyes fixated on him. “You got your hair done.”

It’s an observation, a small, stupid thing really. A comment made in passing that should feel routine with as much time as you and Sunwoo spend together and one that should feel even more mundane considering you were the one to suggest it. But there’s something about the way you say the words that makes Sunwoo feel slightly breathless anyways. “Yeah,” he finally affirms, running a hand through his now black hair, “I did.”

You nod in acknowledgement, setting the things in your hands down, then turn to leave.

“Wait,” he calls out. You do, pausing three paces away from the door and give a long look to the hand he’s placed on your arm to stop you before turning around to face him. And the next words seem to fall off the edge of Sunwoo’s mouth at that moment, tumbling back down his throat and landing heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still…” he hesitates, attempting to smooth over the nervousness folding up in the corners of his mind.

“What?”

“Do you still like my hair?”

You consider it for a moment, bringing a hand up to tug at the new black fringe. And there’s something unmistakably domestic about the way you tilt your head in concentration, eyes fixed on Sunwoo’s hair as if there’s nothing more important for you to be doing in this moment. He watches you evaluate his hair closely.

“Yeah,” you finally say, eyes meeting his and something like a double meaning swimming in them, “I still like it.”

The first mission goes smoothly thanks to you sitting back at the motel instructing Sunwoo which turns to take and what files to download. So with a flash drive containing all the information he needs to free himself from the agency stuffed in his pocket, he turns to leave, whispering into his earpiece, “is the exit path clear?”

“Shit.”

He stops walking. “What?”

“It’s blocked. I think I can get you out another way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, go one story below. Take two rights and then a left.” He does as you say, feet hitting the ground as quietly and as quickly as possible. The less time he spends in the building the better. “At the end of the hall, there’s a window.” You say once he’s near the place you directed him too. His stomach drops. “Jump from it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, studying the drop with grimace. “I really hate heights.”

“I know.” And there’s a misplaced softness when Sunwoo hears you mutter, “I remember.” You wait a beat. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I trust you?” He echoes, dread and disbelief coating his words. “I don’t even—”

“Just answer the question, Sunwoo. Do you?”

“I—” he studies the drop again, thinks and overthinks the newfound steadiness in your voice. Quietly, he mumbles, “yeah.”

“Then jump.” You tell him how exactly to do it as well, where to find the rope you packed and which hook is best to use. He does as you say, preparing for a jump he hasn’t decided to take yet. And once everything is prepared, the only thing that passes between you and Sunwoo on the intercom is silence. “Hey,” you mutter after a long while, something like a joke audible in your voice, “you jump; I jump, jack.”

“Except you aren’t jumping.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true but—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up.” Sunwoo inhales deeply, closing his eyes and letting silence fill the intercom again. The silence, however, is interrupted the second he hears a group of voices travelling from somewhere down the hall. His eyes snap open.

“Sunwoo—”

“Fuck it.”

He jumps.

—

“You’re bleeding.” Is the first thing Sunwoo hears when he walks through the motel room’s door, quickly followed by you rushing to him, tilting his head with a finger against his chin, and inspecting the cut above his eyebrow.

“Yeah well your little jump stunt didn’t make for the smoothest of landings.”

He means it as a joke. A bad one he realizes when you pull your hand away, eyes dropping from his face and guilt hanging over your head. “Sorry about that.”

He shrugs. “It didn’t kill me.”

“Come on,” you beckon, grabbing the first aid kit and heading to the bathroom, “I’ll help you bandage them.”

Sunwoo sits on top of the closed toilet lid, folding up his pant leg to examine the gash running across his shin. The cut, he realizes, isn’t nearly as bad as it feels, but you make a small face at the sight of it anyways. It doesn’t take you very long to clean the cut on his leg, quickly finishing it while kneeling on the cold bathroom tile and asking him questions about the mission.

“No stitches?” He wonders when you pat a bandage in place.

You shake your head. “You should be fine. Nothing more than a gloried scrape really.” You add teasingly while rearranging the objects in the first aid kit. And when you laugh at the look he gives you for the comment, Sunwoo does his best to ignore the fluttering that appears in his gut at the sound.

You move on from the cut on his leg, placing the first aid kid on top of the counter and poking the bruise that’s forming above his knee before getting up yourself. He smacks your hand away.

“How’d you know about my fear of heights by the way?”

“You told me one night in Vienna.” You answer, tearing open an alcohol wipe packet. “Do you not remember?”

He shakes his head.

Frowning, you let out a small, “oh.”

Neither of you say anything after that. And Sunwoo’s so focused on the frown that’s yet to leave your face that he barely registers the way you lean towards him for better access, propping your knee on top of the toilet and between his legs for balance. Although he does notice the warmth that radiates off your body. And a minute after that, he notices how much longer it takes you to clean this, smaller cut than it took to clean the one on his leg.

“Sorry.” You quickly apologize when you press against the cut too harshly. Sunwoo waves you off. “I am sorry though.” You repeat, seriously, lips still turned down in a frown and brows knit together.

“It’s really fine.” He chuckles, amused by the amount of gravity in the apology.

“No. For Vienna.” The amusement dies in the back of his throat. “I never apologized for…” you falter there, fingers paused against his forehead, “for that. But I am sorry.”

“It was your mission.” Sunwoo gulps. “You were being a good agent.”

“And a shitty person.” You say, no hint of a joke laced in the statement. “In fact, the mission was just to observe you. Make sure you didn’t find out anything too important about Pegasus. Meeting you was mostly on accident. And everything that followed,” you bite your lip, and Sunwoo can’t tell if you’re biting back a smile or a frown, “all those other parts just sort of came naturally.”

The flame in his chest from before bursts into a bonfire, filling his lungs with a hopeful smoke. “Naturally?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you repeat, tongue darting out in concentration while you complete the last step of smoothing out the bandage. You don’t lean away when you finish. You don’t remove your knee from between his legs. Don’t pull away the hand you have holding back his hair or the one resting against the side of his face. Nothing but your eyes move, trailing down until they find his, visibly gulping, then wandering further below. “Naturally.”

And the word is like a spell, lifting his chin and drawing him towards you until his lips are brushing against yours. It’s barely a kiss, a small hesitant press of lips that lasts no longer than a second, but one that has Sunwoo’s heart pounding wildly in a way it never did three months ago. He pauses there, lips unmoving and hovering just below yours, waiting for you.

You don’t move. Neither leaning in nor away. His gaze flickers up to your eyes, finds them half open, focused on the upper curve of his lip. He captures your lips between his again, a second attempt that is met with response when you lean into it, inhaling him in for a tiny blissful moment and exhaling him out in the next, pushing him back by the shoulders and stepping away yourself.

“I should…”

“Fuck.”

“I should go.”

And you’re gone before he can say anything else.

The kiss is ignored by both of you while prepping for the second half of the mission. A silent agreement to act like it never even happened and another one to not discuss whatever misplaced feelings led to it. It’s almost sickening how easily you and Sunwoo fall back into being just partners. Especially considering the fact that Sunwoo’s feelings haven’t faded, the bonfire in his chest still burning with the same brightness. So Sunwoo spends his days with you, attempting to put out the fire between his lungs, and he spends his nights alone, replaying the kiss you both pretend to ignore.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” You mutter on the last night, a trail of anxiousness slipping off your tongue. “And then we’ll be done.”

Sunwoo only nods, watching how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek and mulling over whether you mean done with the mission or done with him.

The Pegasus mission doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as the Creker one, complications toppling around Sunwoo from the moment he begins. They start small first: a locked door resulting in a change of entry and a janitor straggling in a hallway that should have been clear. He makes it to his first destination eventually, quickly shuffling through the room of file cabinets until he finds your physical files, slipping them into his bag, and heading to the next room with you whispering directions into his ear. The next room is empty when Sunwoo arrives. He works quick, bypassing the security system and fingers flying across to find your information.

“Faster.” He hears you mutter over the earpiece. A hasty reminder of what you had told him earlier that week: the room never stays empty for long.

“Got it.” He exhales, finally pinpointing your files and beginning the process of downloading and deleting them.

“Sunwoo,” he hears an elevator ding from somewhere outside the room at the same time he hears you, “someone’s coming.”

He doesn’t move. Keeping one eye on the closed door and the other on the still-pending status of your files. “I’m almost done.”

“If you leave now, they won’t see you.” Voices fill the hall. “But you have to leave now.”

“I’m not done yet.”

The voices move closer, louder. “It’s not worth it. Please, just go!”

He hears them behind the door. “It’s you.”

There’s a jingle of keys. “How will you—”

“Hey,” the door unlocks with a click, “you jump; I jump, right?”

“Sunwoo—”

He pulls the earpiece out at the exact moment that the door swings open.

The rooftop is obscenely pretty at this hour, with the golden sun partly hidden by a high-rise building but still growing in the distance, scattering its light across the sky, and casting a golden shadow on everything it touches. It’s a gorgeous sight, and yet, there’s no one but Sunwoo here to appreciate it.

“You’re okay.”

He whips around only to find you standing on the rooftop with him, body trembling and hands clasped over your mouth. Behind you, the door to the roof is still falling closed. Your eyes are red, dark circles hanging under them that make it look as if you haven’t slept days. Silently, Sunwoo wonders how he’s just now noticing your sudden restlessness, and a small part of him hopes—no prays that whatever’s chasing your sleep away is the same thing chasing his.

“I got it.” He says, pulling out the flash drive he stayed to retrieve. Your eyes never flicker off his. “How’d you find me?”

“How’d you get out?”

Neither of you answer. Instead, you begin to walk towards him, asking if he’s hurt with a voice that’s too soft and too concerned for Sunwoo to make out an answer. You ask it again.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in front of him. Close enough for Sunwoo to see the tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re okay.” You repeat, voice wavering with a sudden gust of wind.

“I am, but I—” he hesitates; you take a step towards him, “I miss you.” He succumbs to the fire in his chest; lets it fill his lungs, burn up his throat, and throw the sentence, “I just miss you so much,” out of his mouth without bothering to hide the crack in it.

He meets your eyes and finds a starling amount of clarity in them. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You laugh at that, nodding your head and stepping closer to him again. “I missed you before we ever met.”

He stares at you. For too long probably. Watches a smile grace your features, spreading like a fire. The flame feels familiar. And for the first time since seeing you after Vienna, Sunwoo doesn’t have to hold back the urge to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He does. Lips crashing into yours, and you meeting the motion halfway, leaning into his lips, his body, him. A fervent want present in the way you pull at his neck and grab onto the collar of his shirt that would’ve probably been surprising if it wasn’t matched completely by him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his and deepening the kiss for a second more.

You both pull away, just barely, faces still close and bodies pressed against each other.

“Hey,” you begin, breath hot against his lips and a knowing smirk appearing briefly, “was I worth the wait?”

And suddenly Sunwoo’s in Vienna again, sitting on a bench, and asking you the same question.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling, “you were.”

a/n: i apologize this request took me forever to get around too. and if the actual spy aspects to this fic make zero sense then my bad i was spit balling here. brownie points if u can find the scene inspired by queens gambit and the other scene inspired by the office lmao

471 notes · View notes