#if you go out sick and didn’t mask i hope it stays on your conscience forever

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

is it not hard to just wear a mask? or call out if you don’t feel well? “oh i only felt a little off” wear a fucking mask or call out i don’t give a shit. “it’s not that big a deal” if you go out somewhere sick with no safety measures to protect other people you need to know you could potentially kill someone and i know this because people close to me have died because someone wasn’t careful when they got sick and went out and spread it

[krappykawa]

i mildly like you more than like (pt. 6)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

word count. 7.9k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. ahhh final part!! this story has been a thrill to write and it really does hold a special place in my heart so i’m so so happy with the positive feedback it’s gotten from all of you! for those that have stuck around every week for an update, here’s the final part! i hope you all like it :D

author’s note 2. so sorry for the repost! something went wrong with the tags but i hope it’s fine now!

previously ...

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter.

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” He’s almost glad that you had to spend your lunch tutoring one of the first-years because he’s not too sure what he would do with himself if you were here.

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face.

“You love her?”

The question echoes over the soft whipping of the night wind, poorly masking the sound of heartbreak that seems to reverberate within every uttered syllable in the three words that had just left your lips on their own accord. Three measly words, and yet - you can feel the way that your heart slowly tears itself apart.

Your love for him was kept silent for so long, a love that you only ever communicated through glances that lasted longer than they should have, arms that wrapped just a centimeter too tight to be friendly, and smiles that tipped upwards in a way that it only did for him. It was the fear of this - that despite everything you had to offer, the object of your affections would never see you in the light that you saw him.

And you hate it. You hate how fast he stands from the bench, hate how the wind whips softly over his hair and forces chestnut strands over his eyes, hate how under the pale moonlight and with someone else standing next to him, he’s still all that you see.

Maybe if you’d just let go of that fear and just told him, maybe you wouldn’t be standing here feeling this way. Or maybe he’d have broken your heart back then and he wouldn’t be in your garden in the first place. You decide that you’d rather be standing here, eyes locked with Oikawa in an awkward standstill than have that scenario come to fruition.

“How long have you been standing there?” is all he says.

You turn your gaze down to the wide slabs of rock under your feet, unable to look at him in the eye any longer. There’s no inclination to cry, which surprises you. Maybe it’s because you already wasted all your tears earlier on in the day and have now run empty. Or maybe it’s because the possibility that he had already fallen for Hishoko had already been echoing over and over in your head throughout the night.

“Not long. I only just came out,” you say as you tilt your head back up to look at him.

Oikawa seems to let out a breath of relief, which sends pinpricks further into your heart. You wonder what could’ve been so personal about his love for Hishoko that he wouldn’t want you knowing.

“Oh, okay,” Oikawa pauses. “Iwa-chan and I were just out here for a breath of air. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.” A small smile makes its way onto his lips, almost sheepish in shape. There are lies on his tongue, that much you can tell.

“So? You love Hishoko? That’s a pretty big deal for you.”

Oikawa’s mouth comes open, but no words fall out. An answer instead comes from beside him.

“No,” is all Iwaizumi says. He’s looking at you with a hard stare, as if you should be able to read the unspoken words in his sentence. For the first time, you can’t.

Oikawa’s head whips to Iwaizumi. From where you’re standing, you can just barely make out the minuscule movement of his lips and the glare he directs in Iwaizumi’s direction.

Your eyes follow both their expressions as Oikawa’s goes from panicked, to angry, to firm, and Iwaizumi’s goes from angry, to stubborn, to a firmness that matches Oikawa’s. You don’t know what to think of the staring match that seems to have started between the two, each both unblinking and equally as stubborn in their resolves.

The tense air between the two of them stretches on for far longer than it should, and for the first time, you think that Oikawa might be the first one to throw a punch this time. It’s not that these two haven’t physically fought before, but it’s never Oikawa that throws the first punch or kick. You wonder what could’ve happened to make Oikawa so firm in his glare. It’s almost off-putting to see it directed at Iwaizumi.

“Am I missing something here?” Neither of them immediately turn at the sound of your voice, but there’s a tick to both their jaws that inclines that they did indeed hear you.

Iwaizumi breaks eye contact first, but not without a snide click of his tongue. He crosses his arms as Oikawa’s face finally returns to a state that doesn’t resemble the devil.

“No. Iwa-chan and I just got into a little spat before you came out. Not a big deal. We’re alright now,” Oikawa says pleasantly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

You raise a brow at him. “So you managed to fix whatever shit went down between you two with a staring contest?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Iwa-Oikawa, Y/N-chan,” he says again with that same irritating fraud smile.

The smile doesn’t relent. You feel whatever patience you have drain out. You wouldn’t have minded if he was just honest about lying to you, but there’s something about being treated like someone who hasn’t been by his side for 11 years that makes your blood boil. You don’t care if he has secrets (you’d be the biggest hypocrite if you got angry for that), but what you won’t tolerate is being met with this fake version of Oikawa that you’ve never known because you were there before he even had the thought to hide his real self around you.

“Cut the shit, ‘Kawa. Stop fucking lying to me,” you grind out.

The smile drops.

“I’m not lying to you.”

The lies on his lips stay firmly glued on.

You fix one hard stare on Oikawa before switching your gaze to Iwaizumi. His position hasn’t moved from when he crossed his arms, but his jaw is hardened even farther that you almost find yourself worrying for the well-being of his teeth. “Iwa? You see that he’s lying too right?”

“He is.”

Oikawa’s head snaps to Iwaizumi’s for the second time. “Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi just holds a hand up to him and sighs.

“But,” Iwaizumi pauses, his gaze fixing on you with what might be sympathy. “For once in his goddamn life, he’s lying with good cause.”

Your gaze switches wildly between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. If it was anyone else that had said that, you would’ve engaged in a potential screaming match with Oikawa by now. But there’s something about Iwaizumi saying it that only makes you lose a bit of that bubbling anger. You know that Iwaizumi might have the most unbiased opinions for anyone that you know, so if he’s saying that whatever’s going with Oikawa isn’t something you’re meant to know, it almost feels like a defeat.

“Okay,” you finally say. You know that you’re not getting anything out of either of them if Iwaizumi is covering for Oikawa. The breath in Oikawa’s lungs seems to return and you wonder again what he so badly wanted to keep from you. Instead of asking, you just sigh. “I’m gonna head in then. Don’t stay out too late. You might get sick.”

Before you turn and head for the door, you swear that you see a flicker of regret in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Shoko-chan, can I speak with you?”

Oikawa walks up to Hishoko’s figure in the middle of a hallway. She’s standing next to the best friend he’s always hearing about, fingers wrapped around her best friend’s arm in a delicate manner. As Hishoko looks up at him and nods, he attempts to send the girl a friendly smile while he takes Hishoko away, hoping that he won’t get hunted alive for breaking Hishoko’s heart. He already knows from what Hishoko’s told him that this girl might love her more than anyone on earth, and he can only hope that her wrath isn’t as harsh as he deserves.

As he holds loosely onto Hishoko’s hand and pulls her beside a pillar that’s clear of people, he recites the speech he made in his head.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t regret how the night at your house had ended, but he knew that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be able to confess his love to you with a clear conscience if he was still with someone else, and from how close you and Hishoko seemed to be, he takes that you wouldn’t be able to accept his confession (He hopes, he hopes. Iwaizumi’s reassured him that you feel the same, but he doesn’t want to assume) with a clear conscience either.

He recites his plan over and over again. Break up with Hishoko with as minimal heartbreak on her end as possible, wait a few weeks so that he doesn’t seem insensitive, then confess his love to you with something special that you’ll forget that you were mad at him for keeping it a secret in the first place. (He also feels like he owes you something special, especially after Iwaizumi told him about how long you’ve potentially been in love with him. Though Iwaizumi never really specified that you were actually in love with him for what he can only guess is respect for your secrets, Oikawa could feel the weight of the unsaid words just from Iwaizumi’s gruff words).

In getting caught up with his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that he’s been standing in front of Hishoko in silence for who knows how long. He’s surprised that she’s not confused. Instead, she’s grinning.

“Shoko-chan, I’m-”

“Breaking up with me?” she interrupts before he can even get the rest of his prepared explanation out.

Oikawa blinks at her, unsure of how to react. He was expecting her to maybe push him away or maybe cry, but instead, she’s looking up at him with a knowing sparkle in her eyes. He takes a breath. “How did you … how did you know?”

Her smile only widens. “I would be a fool if I didn’t notice. I think I knew even back then, from the way you looked at her when you introduced her to me. No best friend looks at their best friend unless they’re in love with them.”

“Then why did you stay with me for so long?”

“I didn’t know at first. I … I thought all best friends looked at each other like that,” she says. Oikawa doesn’t miss the way that her eyes dart to where her best friend is standing against a pole in the adjacent hallway.

Oikawa stares at the two of them, and suddenly he understands. It really doesn’t surprise him. Hishoko’s relationship with her best friend was similar to his relationship with you now that he’s truly thinking about it. “Why didn’t you … break up with me sooner? You know … if you ..” he asks while cocking his head towards the girl that was still discreetly watching them.

Hishoko just shrugs. “I was in denial for a long time. I think I finally realized it when I kissed you after your game. You’re like the most wanted guy at school, and yet I just …”

“I get it.” Oikawa nods in understanding and Hishoko flashes him a grateful smile. “I think she might love you too by the way, if the way she’s looking over here is any indication.”

Her gazes flicks back over to the girl in question and Oikawa can’t help but recognize the look on Hishoko’s face. Not that he’s actually ever seen what he looks like when he looks at you, but there’s an odd sense of familiarity at the look. After a few seconds, Hishoko turns back to him, her smile even wider than before. “Thanks, Oikawa-kun. Treat Y/N well, she’s an angel.”

“I know. I know she is.”

Hishoko grins cheekily up at him. “And tell her to text me, just because you and I are broken up doesn’t mean that I’m losing her friendship.”

“Will do, Shoko-chan.”

“Hishoko broke up with you? Tooru, what the hell?”

Though there was still a certain air of terseness that surrounded you and Oikawa, you knew that you had to talk to him the minute you heard from some gossiping group of girls that he’d been broken up with by his month-long girlfriend. Despite how much it had hurt you to learn that he was nursing such strong feelings for Hishoko, you still cared enough about his happiness that you would never have wanted him to be heartbroken over someone he really did love.

But the sight you’re met with when you finally find him is not a sight you would expect from someone who’d just gotten broken up with by a girl he potentially had strong feelings for.

When you find him standing with Iwaizumi under one of the cherry blossom trees, his face doesn’t hold an ounce of distress. You wonder what the hell might have changed between Saturday night and right now that could make Oikawa so relaxed about getting his heartbroken by the second girl he’s ever loved.

Oikawa’s gaze immediately finds yours as you walk up to them and whatever conversation he and Iwaizumi seem to be having is paused. You don’t miss the way that they exchange glances.

“Actually, I was the one who broke up with her. It was mutual, but she jokingly asked that nobody find out that I was the one who broke up with her. I figured I would do her that little kindness,” he says simply. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you seemed adamant on avoiding me. I was going to tell you later tonight by barging into your house and forcing you to speak to me but-”

That’s news to you.

“You broke up with Hishoko?”

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “Yes …?”

“But, I thought you said you loved her? Why would you break up with her if you loved her?”

Iwaizumi answers before Oikawa can. “He doesn’t. He never did.” This time, Oikawa seems to be prepared for Iwaizumi’s words and looks eerily calm rather than panicked.

The truth behind Iwaizumi’s words is evident, but if Hishoko wasn’t the person they were talking about before you stepped out into the garden, then who was? A tiny voice in your head supplies you with an answer, but it’s an answer that you’re sure your brain is just supplying in order to make you feel better. You pay the tiny voice no mind.

“Then … what was Saturday night about?” You look between the both of them. “What was I missing there?”

Oikawa’s staring at you once more, but this time he doesn’t look as if he’s searching for an answer. Instead he’s looking at you with something that you can’t pinpoint. You’re not even sure if the way he’s looking at you is negative or positive.

When Oikawa doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to speak anytime soon, you switch your gaze to Iwaizumi. He’s staring at Oikawa knowingly.

You can’t help but feel like there’s something huge that you’re missing here. What irritates you most is that you don’t know what it might be.

One moment, you believe that Oikawa’s in love with his girlfriend and the next you’re being told that he never loved her like that in the first place? You’ve known Oikawa long enough that he doesn’t throw around the word “love” when it comes with a romantic connotation. Not when he expressed to you that all he knew about his future was that he wanted to keep chasing volleyball, and he wasn’t entirely sure how many people would be willing to put up with that.

“I can’t say,” Oikawa finally says. There it is again, that odd tone in his voice.

The conversation is much too reminiscent of the same conversation you had with Oikawa in your kitchen that Saturday night. You wonder if this is the world’s way of making you realize your own hypocrisy. You know that you put Oikawa in the exact same position then that he’s putting you in now.

But Oikawa’s always been more trained in masking his emotions with whatever facade he wants to use. You on the other hand, have always let curiosity and anger have too much rein on your emotions.

“Iwa? What’s going on?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “It pains me to say this, but I think you should listen to him. He has a reason for not telling you right now, and it’s the only reason he’s ever come up with that’s made sense.”

That anger spikes again and you feel a stab of guilt at how hypocritical you’re being. “So you’re just going to keep me in the dark about why the hell you broke up on the girlfriend that you said you loved.”

“Iwa-chan wasn’t lying,” Oikawa says. “I don’t love her.”

“Then what …”

“Y/N,” Oikawa interrupts. This is the first time in 5 years that he’s ever said your name without the teasing ‘chan’ at the end. “I’ll let you know soon, okay? I promise.”

Your gazes stay locked on each other and there’s something about the depth of his look that you can’t seem to look away from.

You know that you could probably stand here and force him to tell you, but that’s not how the two of you worked. Your decade of friendship has gone through plenty of highs and lows, but it’s always been a relationship built on mutual trust and love.

There were times when he would promise you that he wouldn’t stay overtime to practice that you knew were lies, but you trusted him well enough to believe that he wouldn’t incessantly push himself to the brink like he might’ve used to.

There were times where he’d get in arguments with his sister that he’s never told you about, but he’d come to your house anyway and spend an hour just sitting in silence with you in the backyard because he knew that you trusted and respected his emotions enough to not push.

There were times when you sat in his bedroom and listened as he tried to pretend like his eyes didn’t light up at the idea of travelling the world to play volleyball, but you both trusted each other enough to know that when the time did come for him to admit it to himself, you would both figure it out.

So no, you won’t push, no matter how much you might want to. For the second time in two days, you say, “Okay.”

Oikawa knows he has to wait. He knows he can’t confess to you right away. He’s well accustomed to the ruthless rumor mill at Aoba Johsai, and he would hate for a repeat of second-year.

For his three years at Aoba Johsai, he’s seemed to become exempt from any nasty rumors (with the exception of the inevitable few that he just chooses to brush off), but he found that you were not. Late last year, Oikawa had gotten out of a short relationship, one that he’d ended because he was prioritizing volleyball a little too much, and he just couldn’t find it in him to compromise.

He of course expected the tears from the girl he was with, but what he wasn’t expecting were the tears from you. Somehow, a rumor had gone around that painted you in a terrible light with a few choice words that made Oikawa grip his locker with white knuckles. They’d dragged you into a situation that you weren’t even a part of because someone had gotten jealous of his close friendship with you.

So yes, he would wait. Even though he and Hishoko had ended on friendly and mutual terms, he wouldn’t give the nasty rumor mill anything to talk about.

He knows that you might be angry with him for keeping secrets so deliberately. But if there was something he never wanted to experience again, it would be watching your smile drop off your face as heard the rumors. He’d gladly let you be angry with him for whatever amount of time you wanted if it meant that he didn’t have to frantically search for you all over the school during lunch only to find you crying  in an abandoned restroom because you’d been called a demeaning word that had no place being used to describe you.

Besides, the time he’s using to wait until his relationship with Hishoko has gone its rounds in the rumor mill has been time that he’s been using to concoct a surprise for you.

So far, his plans haven’t been working.

He’s been coming home late everyday from practice and staying up well into the night due to unsuccessful attempts at baking a cake. He’s well aware that you’re a baker and that whatever mess of a cake he might be able to concoct won’t hold a candle to the cakes you can make. But he wants to let you know.

Oikawa’s well aware that his rocky past with his relationships hasn’t set a great track record and he’s noticed more than once that you seemed to be surprised anytime that he showed an inclination for trying with any of his romantic relationships. He doesn’t want you to still think that way when he confesses.

He wants you to know that for all his faults and shortcomings, he’s not going to mess up with you.

That’s why he’s sitting at lunch with yet another crumbly piece of half-scorched cake. It’s been two weeks since his first attempt at a cake, and it seems that he’s severely overestimated his own baking skills.

“That’s the fifth piece of burnt cake I’ve seen you miserably eating this week,” Iwaizumi says from beside him.

Oikawa just shrugs. “I’m trying to bake a cake for Y/N-chan. I think my oven just hates me.”

“It more than hates you if your cakes always look like that pile of shit.” A voice says from in front of Oikawa. Hanamaki is looking down at the miserable looking cake sitting in his bento box with an amused grin.

Oikawa lifts his nose arrogantly in the air. “Like you could do any better, Makki,” he crosses his arms. “You nearly burned down Y/N’s house only two weeks ago.”

Hanamaki lets out a small laugh before taking a seat across from Oikawa. Matsukawa slides in next to him.

“Yeah, but Mattsun can.”

Oikawa turns his head in Matsukawa’s direction. “Mattsun? You … know how to bake?”

Matsukawa lets out a snort. “Yeah, dipshit. Who do you think makes the brownies?”

In hindsight, Oikawa probably should have known that. Matsukawa often brings brownies for the third-years to eat after practice on their way home, but Oikawa never knew that Mattsun himself had been the one to make them. He always just assumed that his mother made them.

“Why are you making a cake for Y/N anyway? It’s not her birthday isn’t it?”

“He finally got his shit together and is planning to confess to her. I think he’s already failed,” Iwaizumi notes with a glance at the cake that looks like something Takeru would make.

“Fucking finally,” Hanamaki says a little too loud. A few heads turn to their table, but Oikawa just smiles politely at them until they have the decency to look away. Once the eyes have stopped looking in their direction, Hanamaki speaks again, this time considerably quieter than before. “Mattsun’s gonna help, isn’t that right Mattsun? Only because it’s for Y/N.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes before mumbling a reluctant, “Fine.”

“Why does Mattsun’s look like that? Mine don’t look anything close to that.”

Oikawa’s leaning against his kitchen counter, watching with a concentrated stare as Matsukawa skillfully coats the small, round cake in fluffy, white frosting. The cake this time came out perfectly cooked and came out of the pan without falling apart. Oikawa finds himself cursing all of the half-burnt cake sitting in his fridge for not cooking properly.

Iwa snorts. “Because you’re a shit baker Oikawa.”

“Shut up Iwa-chan! My oven just hates me!”

All he gets from Iwaizumi is a chuckle and an eyeroll. Makki laughs lightly.

“Hey, ‘Kawa. You said you wanted to write something on this?” Mattsun asks as he finishes frosting the cake.

Oikawa stares at the small cake and around at the three standing in his kitchen. Suddenly the phrase he wanted to write on there sounds far more embarrassing than it did when it was only him making the cake.

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

Iwaizumi looks at him. “You’re lying.”

Oikawa’s hands come up to cross against his chest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Hanamaki leans against the counter and sports a grin that Oikawa thinks looks far too close to a hyena. “Come on, as long you weren’t planning to write a dick joke, it can’t be that bad.”

“Makki!”

Hanamaki holds his arms up. “Hey, no need to yell, captain.”

Before Oikawa can whine out another reply, Iwaizumi reaches an arm behind him and snatches the paper that Oikawa had used to first sketch out the cake he was attempting to make. Oikawa tries to snatch it back before Iwaizumi can read it, but Iwa pulls far away from him before he can get the chance to do so.

Iwaizumi’s eyes scan the paper with a mildly amused smile on his face. When he lifts his eyes back up to meet Oikawa’s, his eyebrows are raised. “Really, Oikawa? You were going with this line?”

“Iwa-chan, be nice to me!”

Hanamaki comes up behind Iwaizumi and snatches the paper from the shorter wing-spiker.

His mouth drops open as he stares between the paper and Oikawa. “You’re a sap! You’re a fucking sap!”

Oikawa groans, already wanting to shrivel up on the floor and just sit there. Matsukawa attempts to take a peek over Hanamaki’s shoulder. “What’s it say?” His eyes skim the paper. “Ew, gross. You’re even worse when you’re aware of your feelings. You’re like a walking romance manga.”

“Mattsun shut up! It’s special to me!”

Matsukawa waves a hand at him, but there’s a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s a little cute. It’ll be hard to pipe it on though. I’ll just make one of those little toothpick banners.”

The hands that Oikawa was previously hiding his face in fall to his side. “Wait, you’re actually gonna put it on there?”

“Only because I think Y/N will like it. Knowing you, you’ll mess up the actual confession part. At least, if that happens then you can just show her the cake and maybe save your ass,” Mattsun teases.

“Do any of you have any faith in me?”

“No.”

“Iwa-chan!”

You’re wiping down a dirty table when the bakery bell chimes to indicate a new customer. Rather than a new customer however, you’re instead met with the sight of Oikawa Tooru with his hair looking more coiffed than usual and wearing an outfit that you’re sure he’d taken straight from a Pinterest aesthetic board. Coupled with the soft smile that graces his face, he looks as beautiful as ever.

“How many loaves do you want?” You ask, already mid-stride on the way to your place behind the cashier with the expectation that he’s come for another purchase of the milk bread that seems to be his holy grail.

“Actually, I’m not buying anything. I came here to pick you up,” Oikawa says.

You furrow your brow at him. “My shift doesn’t end until nine.”

Oikawa makes a flicking motion with his hand. “I already had a conversation with your boss. He said he’ll let you off early.”

That makes you pause. You vaguely remember a conversation between you and your boss nearly two months ago when you left early to pick Oikawa up from practice.

With that memory also comes the memory of what happened after you picked Oikawa up, but you will the thought out of your head.

However, since then, your boss Hada-san told you that every time you left early, you would have to be make up with overtime hours. Since then, you hadn’t left early for any of your shifts.

“How did you manage to do that?”

Oikawa flashes that grin that seems to be second-nature to him at this point, his teeth flashing brightly. “Don’t question my charm Y/N-chan.”

You raise a brow at him across the counter.

Before Oikawa can say anything else, your boss pops his head out from the kitchen with flour littering his cheeks. He looks rather cheerful for a man whose bakery is empty on what is usually one of the busier days of the week.  “Oikawa, hey! Don’t forget about tomorrow. My grandson’s practically dying to learn.”

It isn’t hard to figure out then just what Oikawa bribed your boss with. Oikawa greets the older man with a friendly smile and a promise that he’s more than excited to teach his grandson. Before Hada-san retreats behind the door, his statement of “Your boyfriend is a very lovely young man, Y/N!” makes you nearly choke on air.

You try to cover up your little malfunction by coughing into your sleeve.

“So, only your charm then?”

You swear that there’s a light redness to Oikawa’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe I promised to teach his grandson volleyball so that he can let you off early today. With pay.”

“With pay?” you gape as you look between him and the door your boss just disappeared behind. “Have I ever told you about how much I love you?”

“No, but you really should say it more often,” he says cockily at first. With a softer voice he says,”It sounds nice coming from you.”

You try to keep your face neutral. Even after everything, Oikawa’s breakup with Hishoko has only intensified your feelings for him. Especially since Hishoko herself has been bugging you about confessing to him ever since their breakup happened (though she won’t give you any other reason to do so other than just do it, trust me).

You start to strip the gloves off your hands as you say, “Alright, shut the ego up.”

“Get out of that apron then. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Oikawa grins. “Well, you’re just gonna have to hurry up and find out aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes at the smug smile on his face before disappearing into the kitchen. At the counter, Hada-san is busy with creating a batch of cookies that will have to freeze overnight. You smile sheepishly at him when he looks up from chopping blocks of chocolate.

“That boy cares a lot about you, you know.” He lets out a chuckle. “He practically begged me to let you off early.”

You remember how he mistook Oikawa as your boyfriend earlier and shake your head at him. “We’re only friends, Hada-san. He’s just like that.”

“Friends?” He pauses his chopping once more to give you an almost incredulous look. “Really?”

You offer your boss a small smile. “Yeah. That’s all we ever are.”

He just shrugs. “You should tell him how you feel, you never know.”

“He doesn’t feel the same, it’s practically a lost cause at this point.” You try to hide the bitterness in your voice as you hang your apron up near the small rack at the far end of the kitchen.

Hada-san clicks his tongue. “Hmm, my head baker giving up? I don’t like to see that. But hey, it’s your life. Just make sure you don’t have any regrets.”

You wonder what could be so interesting about your miserable love life that even your boss is attempting to give you advice. “Of course, Hada-san.” You stop right before the door. “I should get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He lets out a small hum of agreement. You turn to push the door open.

“Y/N, one last thing.” You pause. Hada-san flashes you a small grin. “I think you need to look a little closer.”

“So. What’s the surprise?”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at you. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it Y/N-chan?”

“We’ve been walking for 20 minutes and you still jump at any mention of ‘surprise’.”

“Because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You groan and place you head in your hands. “I hate you,” you mumble.

“You love me.” Even though you can’t see him, you know for sure that Oikawa’s currently sporting a teasing grin on his lips.

You let your hands drop back down to your sides and your left hand brushes against Oikawa’s right hand lightly. You merely shake your head at him, already over the irony of those words. The two of you continue walking in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Okay now close your eyes,” Oikawa instructs. The two of you are standing at the edge of the park near Seijoh. Oikawa peers at you with an almost pleading look. You raise a brow at him. “Just do it,” he pleads again.

You have half a mind to pretend to refuse in closing your eyes, but Oikawa’s pleading eyes are ten times harder to resist when they turn golden under the setting sun.

“Fine,” you mumble before reluctantly letting your eyes flutter closed. You feel a larger, more calloused hand being slipped into yours and fight the urge to smile.

You let yourself be guided by the pull of Oikawa’s hand in yours and only hope that you don’t fall straight onto your face. The two of you only walk for a maximum of two minutes before you feel Oikawa’s hand starts jostling wildly as if he’s making exuberant hand motions with his other hand.

“Tooru? Can I open my eyes now?”

“No!” comes his almost panicked reply.

“Are you in any immediate danger? What’s going on?”

Instead of a reply, you feel the hand that’s intertwined with yours only move more jerkily. “I’m opening my eyes.”

Before Oikawa can even let out another high-pitched squeak, you let your eyes open.

Your mouth nearly drops open at the sight. In front of you is what looks to be a picnic blanket, a basket off to the corner, three guilty-looking Seijoh third-years, and one cake collapsed into two pieces on the picnic blanket.

“Makki? Mattsun? Iwa? ‘Kawa, what’s all this?”

“Y/N-chan, please avert your eyes. I’m about to commit three murders.” Oikawa briefly turns his head to you and sends you an exaggerated grin before directing a glare in the direction of Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa. “Please tell Coach that he will have to find a few new players for the team.”

You blink between him and the three figures staring sheepishly at the both of you.

Makki’s eyes switch between the ruined cake and you. “Surprise?”

Oikawa’s hand slips from yours as he places his head in his hands and groans. You’re left to stare at the three on the picnic blanket and at the cake laying in pieces on the ground. From it you can see vanilla cake, white frosting, and strawberries. Your baker’s instinct cringes at the fact that a perfectly good cake went to waste.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. You’re surprised that even he looks a little guilty. “Uh, I’m just gonna … take these two dumbasses away. You two … figure shit out.” His eyes flick to Oikawa. “Good luck.”

You watch as Iwaizumi drags Makki and Mattsun away from the picnic blanket. From where you’re standing, you can already see that an argument has started between them.

A sigh from besides you catches your attention. You turn to look at Oikawa to find him staring at the picnic blanket with hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“Tooru? What’s going on?”

Oikawa’s frown only deepens. “This was meant to be the way that I confess to you.”

You swear that your heart stops beating. For a second, you almost panic at the very real possibility that your heart actually stopped.

“Confess … confess what?”

“I think you’re plenty smart enough to figure it out, Y/N-chan.”

If a brain could actually sputter and malfunction like a broken car, you’d say that your brain came pretty close to doing so. He’s right. You’re plenty smart and have been in enough relationships to understand what he’s implying.

But that doesn’t mean that it feels real.

You pause. “But … you don’t like me like that.” The statement is more for your own head to get a grip rather than an actual response to Oikawa. It’s hard to erase the constant nagging insecurity you have when it comes to him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“You don’t actually believe that do you?” Oikawa’s voice is mildly panicked.

“But Hishoko-”

“We broke up because I realized my feelings for you.”

You stare at him. “But. You like me? That doesn’t-”

Oikawa turns so that his body is completely angled toward you. Whatever ending you had for your sentence dies on your lips when that smile that’s only slightly upturned makes its way onto his lips and he says, “I’m in love with you, Y/N-chan.”

Your breathing stops for just a moment. Your lips part in surprise.

“You’re … in love with me?”

Oikawa looks at you like you’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world. “I called you at 3 A.M every night without fail even when I had a girlfriend that I could be talking to.”

“We always did that.” You shake your head. “Maybe not every night, but you still called sometimes.”

The tips of Oikawa’s small smile perk upwards the slightest bit. “I did it because your voice was the only thing that calmed me down enough that I could finally sleep.”

“Really?” You feel your mouth go dry.

Oikawa shakes his head and lets out a little chuckle. “I spent two weeks trying and failing to bake a cake while potentially almost burning my oven because I wanted this to be special. I even had this whole paper mapped out with how I would decorate it.” He pauses. “I think I was a little over my head with that.”

His gaze falls on the ruined cake that’s laying on the checkered picnic blanket. “We were supposed to have this cute little picnic that I read about on the internet and you’d forget that you were slightly mad at me for keeping secrets from you and then I’d slice a piece of cake for you. There’s even a little banner on the cake that Mattsun helped me make. I hoped that somewhere along the way, I’d figure out how to do the actual confessing stuff. But then we got here and apparently some kid ran into Makki while he was holding the cake and really Mattsun made most of the cake, but we were all really proud of it and now the cake’s a mess.”

A pout finds its way onto Oikawa’s lips and you get the urge to kiss it off his mouth. You shake your head and focus instead on what he just said.

“All of that … for me?”

“What part of ‘I’m in love with you’ did you not understand Y/N-chan?” Oikawa chuckles lightly. “Oh, this might be a good time to show you what the cake was supposed to tell you. I think you’ll like it. It might just be my favorite quote of all time. The author was a genius.”

He walks to the fallen cake and bends down to sift through the remains. He calls you over when he seems to have found it. When you bend down next to him, you see that he’s pointing to one of those little banner things that you’ve stuck into cupcakes denoting ‘it’s a girl!’ multiple times. But what’s written on this banner isn’t “it’s a girl”. Instead, it reads “I mildly like you more than like.”

“You remembered me saying that?”

Oikawa turns his head to look at you. The combination of the look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips nearly knocks the wind out of you. It does so because it’s not any different from how he’s always looked at you. You always believed that you would never get to be privy to Oikawa ever looking at you with love in his eyes and yet, he’s done it all this time.

“Take a look around you Y/N-chan,” Oikawa whispers. He shifts his gaze upwards. “Look at the tree we’re at.”

You stand. In front of you is the tree you pulled Oikawa against when you kissed him.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Oikawa stares at the tree fondly. It’s almost as if he’s reliving the memory. “That kiss quite literally turned my entire life upside down. I would never forget the moment I first started to realize that I was in love with you.”

“So something did change because of that kiss? I didn’t imagine it?”

A chuckle escapes Oikawa’s lips. “If you mean that you sent my thoughts spiralling into overdrive, then yeah, I guess you could say something changed.”

You stay silent, your thoughts buzzing. You’re not questioning it anymore - he’s in love with you.

“Y/N-chan?”

You turn to gaze at him. He’s here and he’s proclaiming to you what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Kiss me.”

Oikawa’s reaction is almost synonymous to the reaction you had when he first asked you to kiss him to get rid of those girls. “What?”

For the first time since he began confessing, you smile up at him. “You know, cause if you do, you’d know that I might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Oikawa looks as if he might be frozen in place. His eyes are wide as he blinks at you.

“So? Are you going to do it or not?”

He shakes his head and seems to be moving with reality again. With a step towards you, he gently cups your jaw and tips his mouth down to yours.

His other hand comes down to hold your waist with light fingers, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands come up to rest against his chest. Oikawa smiles against your lips when he notices the reaction he elicited from you.

This kiss is softer that the kiss you two shared before, but you can feel every single word that came from Oikawa’s mouth about his love for you being reinforced with the way his lips move gently against yours. The action is still dizzying to you, as if his lips are lined with something addicting. You’re more than willing to get lost in it.

Oikawa’s the first to pull away. When you open your eyes, his gaze still hovers lightly over your features warmly. His thumb stays situated at your jaw, moving in circular movements. You can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. “So, how was it? Any plans to get a girlfriend in approximately two weeks time without telling me?”

A laugh escapes his lips at that - a melodic sound that you want to bottle up. “No, but I do have plans on getting a girlfriend in approximately two seconds. I think she might say yes.”

“I feel incredibly sorry for said girl.”

Oikawa gasps in a playful manner. “Y/N-chan!”

You roll your eyes, but the widening grin on your face ruins the act. “Yes, I will take on the burden of being the person that’s liable to be annoyed by you 24 hours a day.”

Oikawa pouts, looking much like a child and a dog all in one.

“Don’t make that face.”

“You’re mean,” Oikawa huffs. You let out a laugh. “Tell me that you love me and maybe I’ll reconsider crying in the middle of this park.”

Oikawa turns his head upwards pettily, eliciting another chuckle from you. “I’ll do you one better.” You bend down and pick up the banner from the cake and hold it up to Oikawa with a grin.

Oikawa still doesn’t budge. In fact, he only tightens his crossed arms and holds his head so high that you start to wonder if his neck is doing okay.

An idea pops into your head as you stare down at the small banner written in Oikawa’s handwriting. The banner is still attached to a chunk of cake.

With a grin, you take the bit of cake stuck to the bottom of the banner insert and smear it onto Oikawa’s lips. His reaction is instantaneous.

“Y/N-chan!” His mouth falls open in shock. You laugh heartily at the way his mouth is now covered in frosting and cake crumbles. Oikawa flashes a competitive smile in your direction. “Oh no. You don’t get to get away with that.” Your laughter stops.

You see him pick up a bit of cake and set his eyes on you before you get the mind to start running. You know that this game of tag is gonna be a game that you lose because his legs are much longer than yours, but you run anyway. You’re only able to run a few feet when Oikawa’s hands come to snatch you at the waist.

You wriggle in his grasp as he smears the cake onto your mouth. The sweet taste of buttercram frosting enters your tastebuds and you get the random thought that this cake is delicious pops into your head.

The two of you laugh as your hands wrap around his neck and your head comes to rest on his chest, the fabric of his clothing muffling your laughter. His arms are wrapped around the small of your back. You wonder what you two must look like to onlookers at the moment.

With a final laugh, you look up at Oikawa. He’s still laughing, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that he’s yours now. This Oikawa - the one that can’t bake for shit, that one that calls you at ungodly hours in the night, the one that gently strokes your jaw as his lips move against your own - is now yours.

His face is gorgeous as it contorts into a laugh that makes him tip his head backwards. And as the sun perfectly encapsulates his features in a golden light, you’re reminded that you’re sickeningly in love with this boy standing in front of you.

When his laughing stops and his gaze turns back to you, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to yours.

This time, he tastes like frosting and vanilla cake.

taglist: @bumbledunce @angelkogane @waitforitillwritemywayout​ @mrsbakug0u @salty4tsukki​ @ppangiiroo @pharvhs​ @haksblade @whosmorales​ @yoitsseulgi​ @seijohreign​ @intheawks​ @smellssharpies​ @my-neighbor-todoro​ @fightcalum @yatoatyourservice​ @woo-youngs  @fandomlover-universe​ @cowward​ @iwaizoom​ @keitsukki11​ @airheadpillar​ @hockeycoaching​ @catchmeb-r-awling​ @gudetamalifestyle​ @starryhyun​ @babbykawa​ @chickentendo315 @bettys-other-shoe​ @darkshadowsofmetbh @anseoo​ @daydr3am3s @saucyleftovers​ @cleopatera​ @introvertatitsfinest​ @ughxghoul​ @smellssharpies​

AHH that’s a wrap! i hope the ending was satisfactory and i would love to hear what you guys thought about the last chapter!

[scorpionyx9621]

I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons 

3.75K words. 

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

————————————————————

"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness. 

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak. 

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself. 

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.” 

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.” 

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling” 

“Those reptiles deserve to die” 

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple. 

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“ 

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room. 

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone. 

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black. 

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

STOP IT. SHUT. UP. 

*CRASH* 

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence. 

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son. 

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around. 

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son. 

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son. 

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again. 

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help. 

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.” 

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver. 

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach. 

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son. 

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.” 

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives. 

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.” 

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.” 

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason. 

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed. 

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce. 

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly. 

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.” 

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives. 

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind” 

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

pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made. 

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey. 

[beatleszeppelin]

If I asked you to stay, would you?

Summary: After a tough case, Reid stays home from work. You have to check on him. He looks sick, so you take him to the doctor, and it’s your job to take care of him.

Category: Sick Fic

Warnings/Includes: First couple paragraphs are sad criminal minds things, but feel free to skip that, and mention of puke

Word count: 4k

Written in (gender neutral) second person.

The piercing cold, and slight drizzle falling out of the dark sky around, adding insult to injury. Spirits were low, as rain washed a child's blood from the dirt. The case had not gone ideally; two lives lost, and the team just had to walk away.

 A somber walk back to the cars freezing water hitting, stinging his face. Reid’s nose was red, clothes and hair sopping wet, freezing. He got to the back seat of the car, he pulled his knees up, and let his head fall onto his hands. Morgan and JJ waited outside the car, giving the kid a minute alone. 

The drive back was quiet, JJ glanced back ever so often hoping Reid had fallen asleep, but every time she’d look back she would see his head pressed against the window, eyes darting with every opposing car. The street lights passed over, illuminating his face, and a shine lingering in his eyes. She’d put a comforting hand on Reid’s knee, like a mother would on a long car ride.

In damp clothes he finished his reports, and finally left the office at two. 

He entered the subway tunnels, light coming out as a path marker. The eerie feeling that comes with two a.m. is in the lingering, on the streets, in tiled subway tunnels, and definitely present in anything the moonlight touches. There is a surprising amount of people on the subway for being so early. A man in the corner, held a bag with paper towels in it. A little farther along was an old bag lady. Finding someone normal to sit near was going to be too much to ask for, until he saw a woman, sleeping and seemingly destitute, a baby squirming on her lap. He waved. And she returned it.

So he sat. He was talking to her, and playing with her. Doing magic has always gotten him far with kids, except when he was one. She squealed as he pulled a coin from behind her ear and he laughed along. She laughed at the look of him smiling, and when he leaned in to make funny faces at her, her giggle turned into a cough. He patted her back a little bit, to quiet her barking cough, trying to not wake the baby’s mother. If you’re tired enough to fall asleep on those plastic seats, then any sleep you could get must be a blessing.

His stop neared, and he pulled 20 dollars from his wallet and slipped it into the woman's purse. He also shook her shoulder to wake her up, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave the baby unattended.

“Sorry for waking you, I just thought…” He said nervously, and awkwardly smiled and waved goodbye to the baby.

“Thank you,” she whispered. And she started to pat the back of her daughter.

He got off the metro happy, and walked the rest of the way to his apartment, the yellow glowing street lights making the falling rain sparkle as it fell to the earth.

He got home and wanted to get some sleep before he had to get up and go to work at nine. He didn’t want to shower and change, he could do that in the morning. He threw a soft blanket across the couch. He sat down, and kicked his converses off of his heels. He laid down, wet hair hitting the pillow. 

***

You walked up the stairs to his apartment. You have twenty minutes until your lunch break is over, but when Garcia told you to check on Reid you knew you had to.  He has a tendency to shut everyone out; say he’s fine when he’s actually far from. He would say he’s fine until he literally exploded. 

You walked past apartment #19, #20, past an empty coffee cup on the floor, #21, then you ran back, picked up the coffee cup, and threw it away at the end of the hall. Apartment #23, you knocked. “Hey Reid, you there?” You tried knocking harder. “Hey kid let me in!” You were about to pound the door down like you were the cops, but you heard a click. Reid unlocked the door, and squinted at you.

“Why,” he cleared his throat a little, “Why are you here?” 

“Hi, it’s 1 in the afternoon, you didn’t show up to work today, and apparently you guys 

had a particularly bad case last night.”

“It’s one?” he said walking back into his apartment, to go find a clock.

You walked in, and straight to his kitchen, to wash your hands after touching that coffee cup. 

“You didn’t purposely not come in today?” 

“No, you’re insistent knocking woke me up.”

“So, you’re wearing your clothes from yesterday?”

“Yeah, I’d gotten home late last night, or actually early this morning, I guess.”

“Are you feeling okay?” You looked at his hair that was sweaty and stuck to his forehead.

“Kinda tired, I guess, but I’m fine.” He said staring off, trying to focus on how he actually felt.

“Here let me feel your forehead.” You reached up and pressed your hand to his face. You couldn’t tell, because you had just washed your hands rendering them cold. You ran your hand through his hair, and kissed his forehead. It was warm. His face turned red, and it came in splotches.

“I think you’re a bit warm. Would you like to try to get to the doctor before they close walk-ins?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then I’m going to go back to the library. I hope you find a good excuse for not going to work today,”  You said, but couldn’t make a move for the door.

“If I don’t go, will you leave?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You look really red, your face felt pretty warm, you slept in your wet clothes last night, and you may try to mask the fact that chills have been making you vibrate in front of me, but there is no way your not sick, no matter how many times you tell me you’re fine.”

“Okay, but I am fine.” He said, arms crossed, before heading to his bedroom to get dressed.

You waited in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through some of his books. There were stacks of books everywhere; every spot you could fit a book, there was one. Two stacks of books were towered on his coffee table. On top of one was The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath, you hadn’t read it since high school, but you remember it being forward, and a bit unnerving.

Reid’s door opened, startling you. He walked out wearing a striped shirt and a sweater, with his signature mismatched socks and Converse. He looked comfortable, and very childlike.

“Are you ready?” You asked him.

“Yeah, I’ll grab my keys.”

“You drive?” You ask, never having seen him drive, you just assumed he didn’t or didn’t know how. How could you assume there was something that Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t know how to do.

You followed him down stairs to the parking garage, to a 65’ Volvo. “This is your car?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s so cool, I did not picture you driving something like this.” You didn’t picture him driving a cool older car, but you also didn’t picture him wearing mismatched socks, or dressing up for Halloween every year without fail. At this point nothing he did would surprise you.

“You didn’t picture me driving something cool? So, you don’t think I’m cool?”

“Well now I think you're cool, I mean after seeing this car.”

He pressed the volume button to turn on the radio, Tchaikovsky, the universe is restored. It was a ten minute-ish drive to the doctors. He signed in at the front desk, and you went to sit down. There were two seats under a window that you chose. The dark green vinyl was hot from the sun, but it was the only two isolated seats that you could see, other than the two girls that had the seats leaning on the wall. One of the girls had her hand under the other's skirt, and were kissing, very passionately. Hope one of them isn’t sick. You picked up one of the magazines next to you to avert your eyes. Home decorating, not the best option, but the bright colors and Pinterest mom’s will definitely keep you occupied.

Reid walked over to you and sat down, you could see him looking at the girls in the corner, and his face had bright red splotches on his cheeks. “Hey, are you into this?”

“What? No!” he said in a high pitched voice, like that of one of the chipmunks in Alvin and the Chipmunks. “Then why is your face bright red?”

“Maybe because the seats under the window are hot, and you shouldn’t be touching those magazines. They are one of the grossest things in here. Actually, the pen used at the front desk is, it has 46000 times more germs than the average toilet seat. That’s why I bring my own.”

You set the magazine down. “Hey is your face warm, you're still bright red?”

He looked over at you, shrugged at you and did his little awkward smile, and looked back down at the ground, head resting on his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

“Spencer, Spencer Reid!” A woman yelled from the doorway. 

Reid smiled and waved as he stood up.

“Wait, do I come in with you, or should I stay out here and see if I can join a thruple with those two?” He grabbed your wrist, seeing as to not touch your contaminated magazine hand, and helped you up to follow him in.

You guys walked back and the NP asked him to take his shoes off to step on the scale, he stepped up, a lime green sock and one purple striped sock now showing. “153 pounds,” the nurse said.

“Now stand over here so we can get your height,” You picked up his shoes for him, as she guided you across the hall to mark his height. He stood, back against the wall, “Okay, stand up straight.” He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his chin up. “6 foot 1 and ¼ inches”.

You passed his shoes back to him, following the nurse to one of the rooms in the back. You got to sit in one of the chairs that mom’s would sit in and talk for their kids. He hopped up on the bench, with a crinkle of the paper.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she said, right before the nurse left the room.

Reid scooted back against the wall, letting his head fall back. You looked over at him, his face still looking flush, and his eyes were closed as he sat there. 

A knock on the door interrupted your observation, but made Reid sit up, attention now focused on the man. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bradman. What brings you in today?”

“I don’t…” Reid said looking over to you.

“His face has been a bit flushed, and he may have a low fever,” You said for him. “Oh, and he was out in the rain and cold last night, I don’t know if that would do anything.”

Reid piped up to say “Actually, being in the rain and cold doesn’t affect whether you will get sick or not. Being exhausted, stressed, under emotional duress, and having allergies with symptoms pertaining to nose and throat are the main reasons people get sick. Other than catching if from someone who is contagious.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” The doctor said, sitting down on a chair with wheels. 

Reid awkwardly smiled, looking down at his hands.

The doctor took Reid’s temperature, asked him a couple questions, and left for a couple minutes. 

You and Spencer sat in the room for a couple moments in silence, he was looking sicker by the moment. And after a while of silence, his head resting on the wall, eyes shut, the doctor walked back in.

“It looks like you are sick, your temperature was raised a bit, and the redness on your nose and cheeks is a common symptom of sixth disease.”

“Wait, that’s roseola, right?” You asked.

“No, that’s only for children under the age of three.” Reid said, slightly perplexed.

“Well yes, but it can occasionally affect adults who’ve never contracted it as a child.”

Reid’s shoulders dropped, “How long will it last?”

“It should clear up in the next three to five days.”

“Okay.”

“You can take medicine to reduce the fever, and stay hydrated.”

You two left the office, but not without teasing him on the way out. “I once babysat a kid that had sixth disease. He was up all night crying, do you need me to babysit you?”

“No! Just because I have a baby disease doesn’t mean I’m a baby” He crossed his arms on the walk back to the car.

“Do you want me to drive, so you can get some rest?” You asked, holding a hand out for his keys.

“Is this another joke?” He pushed his eyebrows together, and cocked his head slightly.

“No; no it’s not.”

“Can you drive a stick?” 

“Uh yeah, actually. I had a truck that was manual in high school.”

He gave an impressed nod and passed his keys over.

On the way home he laid his head against the cool glass of the window. His breath, making water bead up and fall. You walked him up to his apartment, but before you left you wanted to make sure he’d be okay.

“Do you have a thermometer? I just want to see what your temperature is before I leave you.” 

He walked away to his bathroom and came back with a thermometer sticking out of the side of his mouth. He was pouting, you don’t know if it was because you made him check his temperature or if he just felt sick. You pulled the stick out of his mouth after hearing the beep.

“100.3” You put your hands on his face, burning. “Do you want me to stay here for a little bit?”

“You don’t have to…” He said and raised his shoulders to shrug. “I know I don’t have to, but do you want me to? It would be no trouble.” You said walking to his kitchen to wash the thermometer.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I would like you to stay, please.”

“Okay, why don’t you go to bed and try to rest, and I’ll run to the store and get some food for dinner.”

He nodded, “How long will you be gone?” Reid’s voice broke.

“Not too long, I should be back before you wake up, but if you need me just call me.”

“M’kay.”

You walked out of his apartment, down the stairs, running your fingers across the banister. Should you grab some clothes in case you need to spend the night? Yeah, might as well run home and get the car before going to the grocery store.

At the store you pick up some soup, popcorn to eat while watching a movie, cough medicine, ibuprofen (for the fever), and you couldn’t find any Gatorade, so you bought Pedialyte (I mean it’s the same stuff, and this is a baby disease). You also got a few other things you weren’t sure he had, and headed back.

When you twisted the key into the lock is when you started to hear some slight coughing and some whines in between. So, you put the soup on the stove, and went in to check on him. His face was covered in little red spots that trailed down into his shirt; he was asleep and his hands were balled up into fists by his face. Sweat stuck his bangs to his face, and every cough made him subconsciously whimper. 

Reid was asleep in front of you, looking like a baby. If people didn’t think he was a baby before, if only they saw him now. It’s hard not being able to help him, other than just letting him sleep, but when he wakes up he’ll feel a whole lot worse, so why not prolong the contentment here. 

You decided to go tend to the food, while he slept. In a few minutes though, you heard him get up out of bed and a door slam. You walked over to his couch, leaning on the arm rest waiting for him to come out. A couple moments went by and you were still standing there. If he came out now, it would be like you were just standing there staring at his door waiting for him, which is exactly what you are doing. You went around the couch and sat down, moving the pillows from how he had slept on them that morning. You picked up a book from the top of one stack, and opened it, but his door swung open. Reid stood there, in the doorframe, the sleeves of his shirt pulled down over his hands, his head hung low, and tear streaks down his face. His voice wobbled when he said “I threw up.”

“Are you okay, what do you need?” You asked, looking toward the giant toddler.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Let me check your fever.”

He nodded. You walked over to the kitchen to where you had left the thermometer, and while you’re in there you turn the heat off of the soup. You don’t think he wants it right now.

He puts the thermometer in his mouth and stares at you with puppy dog eyes until it beeps. He takes it out and hands it to you without reading it. “102.4!” You rush over to get some medicine, and a mug to put water in. “Here take this, baby. You must be miserable.”

He closed his eyes and gave a labored smile. Taking the medicine made him wince as he swallowed.

“Why don’t I run you a cool bath, to see if we can get your fever down faster?”

“‘Kay,” he started walking back to his room, stopping to brace himself on the wall.

You wrapped your arm around him, guiding him to his bathroom. You two stood awkwardly for a couple seconds not knowing what the first move was gonna be, but you sat him down on the toilet to wait for the water to fill. You ran the bath with lukewarm water, not hot, but not uncomfortably cold. Reid sat on his toilet, knees hugged to his chest, and his face and body were sweaty. 

You turned off the tap and looked at him quizzically. Reid quickly stood up to usher you out, but got a head rush and had to lean against a wall. You walked to the doorway and waited for his next move. He tried taking his shirt off, but only got one arm out; on the second arm his wrist got stuck on the sleeve. He flailed his arm for a second, before giving up and frustratedly slumping against the wall. You walked over to him, pulled his shirt over his head, and helped pick him up. You put your arms around his waist and pulled him up with little to no help from him. You two stood there for a second, holding Spencer; all of his weight leaned into you as you held him. He was shaking.

You helped him sit on the edge of the tub, and asked “How do we do this?”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” He looked up at you with his big brown eyes.

“Absolutely.”

You helped wiggle him out of his pajama pants, and left him sitting in hot pink briefs. Then, turning around, you heard a little splash of him kicking his legs over, and then a slosh of water displacement.

“Okay, you’re good,” he whispered.

You turned back around and bent down next to the tub. He leaned his head on the edge of the bathtub and you folded up a hand towel and shoved it under for him to use as a pillow. You scooted back, and reached for a washcloth off of his counter. A small stack of them fell on top of you. You picked one up, that hadn’t touched the ground, and ran it under some cold water. After squeezing it out, you sat on the back of the tub, and dabbed it across Spencer’s forehead. He leaned his head against your thigh and looked up at you. You looked down at him, “If I knew I was staying here, I’d have run you a bubble bath.”

He smiled; you could tell his fever was going down a bit. Seeing him without clothes on, showed you just how much of his body was covered in little red splotches. They ran from his cheeks, down his chest, and stopped a little lower than his protruding hip bones. 

A few moments of you silently dabbing his face was interrupted by a coughing attack, leaving Spence shaking a bit. 

“Laying back may not be the best thing for a cough, why don’t we finish up in here so we can sit on the couch, maybe watch a movie or something?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, it’s wet already from the washcloth,” you handed him the washcloth, and picked up the mug he drank water out of earlier.

“Yes please.” He placed the washcloth over his eyes and you dunked the mug in his bath water. You poured it over his head as he leaned back.

“Where’s your shampoo?”

He leaned forward and handed you the bottle. Johnson’s cotton touch 2 in 1 shampoo and body wash.

“You use 2 in 1 baby shampoo?” 

“It’s for sensitive skin.”

“It’s for babies.”

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.”

“Can we at least buy you some conditioner some time?” You asked, giving him a mohawk with baby soap.

“Sure,” He said, defeated.

You pour the cup over his head again, rinsing his hair clean of soap. You handed him his towel from behind the door, and walked out, leaving the door open a little and sitting on his bed in the next room in case he needed you. In a minute he walked out in pajama pants with little cowboys on them, and a robe. 

You got up, went to his bathroom and brought out a comb. “Sit,” You scolded.

He sat on the edge of his bed, you behind him brushing his hair.

Once you were satisfied with the style, you linked arms with him and went out to the living room. He started moving the books and things off of his coffee table, while you went to go make popcorn. 

You came back with a box of saltines, a bowl of popcorn, and a bottle of pedialyte with a straw in it.

“Is this another joke?” he asked reading the label.

“No, they were out of the other stuff.”

You sat down, handing him the box of crackers. His laptop was open on the coffee table, and he threw a blanket across the both of you to share. 

“What are we going to watch?”

“Star Trek” he said and pressed the spacebar to play it.

“You’ll like it,” he said and put his head on your shoulder. “Hey, thanks for staying with me today.” 

“It’s no problem, I like hanging out with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and eventually we will need to buy you some conditioner.”

“It’s a date,” he said and snuggled closer to you.

You played with his hair until he fell asleep on your lap, leaving you watching Star Trek all night, but you do like it now.

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write fic based on the song let her go by passenger. Have you ever seen “If I stay”? Maybe something like that but Andy Barber x reader. You can choose the ending! Stay safe!!

Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Angst, Coma Summary: You were in a car accident, the trauma caused you to be in a coma for who knows how long. Doctors know you’re unstable, but having your outer-body experience, you can see and hear those people around you. But they can never hear or see you. Your husband doesn’t take it so well, memories flooding and he gave up everything for you. It was now your choice to stay or not.

REQUESTED: I honestly think this is so sad for me and I wasn’t sure if you were wanting a daughter or wifey fic. So I made it into a wife fic. If any of you want a remake for a daughter part, I can do that.

It may be short, but I honestly think this was a great request. The song is beautiful.

The ending will be horrible, but not just by my writing. It’s the sadness. This was a good distraction for me. Thank you.

You were heading back from New York. A small business trip wasn’t hurting you much to home. Sure, your family lived in New York, you had someone special at home. He called you at that moment when you said you were coming back in time for lunch. He was telling you all about his day at work after he asked how you were doing.

“How is it back there?” He asked. You tried not to go over the speed limit to reach home quicker, it was scary enough to see snow fall during January. “Well... freezing,” You laugh, “But I might be able to get there soon.”

You could hear him laugh on the other end, “Well, you be careful.”

Well you only need the light when it’s burning low. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow. Only know you love her when you let her go. After a couple more minutes of speaking, Andy had gotten another call from what sounded like his boss, Lynn. You then sat in your seat for the next hour, hands on the wheel like you were on a mission. The heat never bothered you when you had it on since you got in. You’ll know the temperature will go up a little in Newton.

The roads were a little wavy, every turn was almost unexpected, but luckily you were going slow to notice them. The snow seemed to get thinner and thinner. The ground was slick, your tires were barely new. They lose their grounding from every time you drove on harsher roads and you needed to get new ones anyway.

You just a couple miles from Newton and you wanted to call Andy. You searched for his number on the small screen above the radio. Glancing for a split second, you hear someone come towards your car. A truck drove off from its lane and you could hear the sounds of glass shattering.

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low. Only hate the road when you're missing home. Only know you love her when you let her go. And you let her go.

What felt like an eternity, you thought you’d never wake up. Feelings around you were nothing, you woke up on the cold ground. Your fingertips never caught a cold, not even your own breathing could be seen in the air. You hear chattering by the road, where you see people walking around. 

You picked up your feet and walked over to the accident and saw the crash. Your car drove off the road, it collided with a tree and the front of the window had shattered. The driver’s side door was opened.

“We need a trauma team!” Someone called, you let out a disbelief exhale towards the frantic people. “Hello? Excuse me?” You call out to them, none of them responded. “Please. Where-? Hey!” You call out to the next. They all ignored you, like you were invisible. 

You hear clattering behind and hear two people talk, “We gotta take her to the Newton General.”

“Better get going then,” The woman says. You rush over to the gurney and saw yourself on the bed. Eyes closed, your cheek cut and your knuckles were bruised and bleeding. You let out a gasp and reached for your mouth, keeping what felt like you were gonna scream. You felt like you couldn’t. “No... This...” Your head turns to the other car who turned on its side. 

You couldn’t tell if that person every made it.

“Hurry,” You hear the woman say, you followed yourself on the gurney and hopped in the back of the ambulance. The man closed the back and jumped in the front. All you did was stare at your own body on the gurney. The woman found ways to treat you, putting on a mask over your face. She stuck needles in your arm, kept checking your pulse every once in a while.

Sitting there what felt like hours, coping with what your mind was going. A roller coaster wanting to make you sick. There was no point into getting the woman’s attention, you couldn’t grab anything. You tried tapping your own self’s arm and head trying to wake your unconscious self up. 

You pinched yourself thinking you’re dreaming. Nothing. Were you dreaming? If you were, you would’ve waken up by now. “Wake up,” You urged, you pinched yourself again, “Wake up, Y/N. Wake up...” You closed your eyes and felt tears pool in your eyes, “Wake up, please...” You opened your eyes and saw the medics rush your body out of the back.

Quickly, you followed them and tried your best to chase after them. You dodged every body that walked in your path. People clamoring over each other to treat you. They take you into the emergency room and once you dart for the open doors, they close on you. Your hands slap onto the doors, seeing them lift you onto the table and people began to dress for what they were prepared to do. Once you pull away, you read the clear sign with words printed on.

COMA 1 No cell phones allowed in patients room.

A gasp barely came out, your hands lift from the doors. Turning away, all you could do was sit outside on the ground. Knees pulled up to your chest as you quietly cried. You felt weak to have tears run down your face, like you were never to do anything. Hours had passed and you see the doctors come out and you took the advantage and slipped in between the doors before they closed and you stood at the end of your body.

Tubes were attached to you that were attached to machines. Your heartbeat monitor was going off quietly. It seemed to get louder in your ears, it was started to make you think this was real. The monitor gets cut off by the chattering and the door being pulled open from someone. 

You turn and your face drops, “Andy.”

“Y/N.” His eyes were hurt and filled with worry. Your heart seemed to crumble when his eyes never met yours. They were on your unconscious body. His coat hanging on his forearm, he made his way over to your self. He places his coat on the ground, not even caring on how the floor could be dirty, he got down on one knee and took your hand in his.

You could almost feel it in yours when he stared at your closed eyes. “I’m here, Y/N...” He whispers, “I’m here.” You slowly made your way to the other side of you. His other hand covered yours in between his as if you could feel his love just by a simple touch. 

And you could. 

He lowers his head, “I’m sorry... I’m...” He lifts up his head and his hand removes itself to lay on your side. You slowly sat down in the seat across from him. The only thing separating you two was you in a coma. This all felt too real. You couldn’t cry, not even speak to him. Like someone had ripped your throat out. “Andrew.”

His head turns toward your direction, but it remained low. You reach over to touch his hand. You couldn’t grasp his hand in yours, you couldn’t feel his touch under yours. The warmth and love from his hands. But you could see it in front of you. His love to just hold you there, to keep you warm and let you know he’s there.

After hours of being with him, Andy had left before 8pm. You saw him drive off but that didn’t take long for you to go home. You walked over there for an hour and a half. You didn’t feel tired but it felt like you needed it. You didn’t hear from doctors about how long you could be in a coma for. Was it your decision to choose that?

You were lucky to head into the back of the house and find the door open. You walked in and heard what sounded like Andy’s sobs. You peered around the corners, reaching about halfway in the house, you turned to see him on the ground. 

Hair tousled in stress and sadness. It was overwhelming for you than it was for him. You were gone to him, but to you, you couldn’t tell him you were still there for him. Have anyone listen to you. See you. No, he didn’t have a lot of friends and you were only there for him.

You stood by his side from now on.

One Week Later...

Everyday, he’d spend his days at the hospital. You didn’t come home to him a lot. You only visited him that day when you first got to the hospital. You were trying ways to get your conscience to wake itself up. You attempted to say to God you needed to go back. 

Nothing worked. You tried shaking yourself, pinching, hitting things around. You screamed once and nothing happened. You needed to wake up but you had no idea how to. 

The day you followed Andy back to your home. You noticed how he was ordering himself takeouts. You see him take the whiskey from the top cabinet and pour himself a small glass. He stared the surface on the table, his chopsticks stuck to his fingers like he was tensed now. His frown never removed with a smile or grimace. You turned to the living room to see what he had done.

Only to see you and Andy on the couch, laughing. His arm around your shoulder, your legs thrown over his with a gray blanket over you two. The lights were on, giving you the thought on how bright you two were. Andy from the table seemed to darken the room once he appeared in your view. The memory disappeared in front of you as he sat down on the couch with his drink in hand. Another was poured after the other. Till the clock struck 11.

Staring at the bottom of your glass Hoping one day you'll make a dream last But dreams come slow and they go so fast You see her when you close your eyes Maybe one day you'll understand why Everything you touch surely dies

That night, you followed him to your own bedroom. The sheets already moved from the night before, giving you the realization that he struggled sleeping. His lamp was on in the room. He wore casual, comfy clothes and slipped into bed so deliberately. 

You watched as he leaned on his side to reach for his book. You remembered he read that every night. You remembered when he read it to you. You see the lights surge to their fullness and see you in bed with Andy. His book in hand while you snuggled next to him. His voice soft and low, you never gotten annoyed by his words.

How they fell out of his mouth like nothing. Words he could define so easily like he was a dictionary. With a soft sigh, he finished off the last chapter and closed the book on his thumb. “One more chapter?” You hear yourself ask him. Andy grins down at you and opens it again.

“All right, one more and we go to bed.”

You see the lights decrease their brightness and see that Andy didn’t bother to read the first word in the book and closed it. You watched as he put the book back on his nightstand and shuffled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, expecting something to happen. You couldn’t read his thoughts, but you knew you were glued into his mind.

You and Andy had been together ever since you two were 18. 20 years later, you’re laying on a separate bed as he lays in a colder one. An empty home that he couldn’t no longer call it that without you. The neighbors liked you two. You were the youngest couple in the neighborhood. High school sweethearts, everyone adored you two.

Now, Andy walks alone on the sidewalk, hand freezing and unlaced with another. You don’t know how many times he’s heard those same five words.

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

Everyone just stared and could only watch a guy without no friends, a good job and end up without someone he loved.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark Same old empty feeling in your heart Love comes slow and it goes so fast Well you see her when you fall asleep But never to touch and never to keep 'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep

You walk over to your side of the bed and slowly got in bed with him. You couldn’t pull the covers to join his warmth. You see him stare at the ceiling, the moonlight shining through the open bathroom, you could see the glistening in his eyes. Carefully, you shifted closer to him, still not meeting his touch. You still couldn’t feel his warm body. 

You could just feel the weight of him under you. Your hand places just above his heart, you look up to him with the same wet eyes as you tried to hide your sobs. “I’m sorry, Andy.”

The next days, Andy visited your unconscious self once again. That day you felt weaker. Your hands started to feel cold this time. Your feet that were bare throughout your time started to get cold, too. You could still hear your heart monitor beep. You began to hear your own heart beat in your ears. 

Slowly.

You breathing was getting slower. As if you were calm. Relax. Andy held your hand like you were gonna wake up to feel him near. You couldn’t feel his hand on yours. You sat on the edge by your self’s arm on the other side of where Andy sat. He lifted himself up to place his hand on your forehead and place his lips just below his hand.

You grinned weakly. 

One last time, he lowered his head to press it to yours. His eyes closed to think of you in front of him smiling. “I’m sorry...” Your fingers began to feel numb. Your eyes got weaker by the second. With that you closed your eyes and rested your head.

Andy lowered his head and let out a sigh. The sound of the heart monitor began to slow down. Andy lifted his head up when the monitor made a continuous beep. Like a siren ringing in his ears, his heart drops and he immediately rushes out for a nearby doctor.

He shouted for assistance and doctors came in. They made Andy leave the room, pushing him into a different section. He pushed himself away from running back to you as they tried to find ways to bring you back. His hands grip his hair and his lip trembles. Just after that, he crumples to the ground.

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[amusedyan]

Little Talks

Hey folks, this one was a commission from one of you amazing people who wants to stay anonymous. Thank you!

The first time you heard the name Hannibal Lecter was after Will had a seizure in your kitchen.

Will had come over after his latest case, trying to clear the air. It was old hat for the two of you. Will would talk and you would work on your jigsaw puzzles.

Honestly it was one of the most terrifying things you’d ever seen- he’d been confused, and he’d looked like he was hot, so you’d made him sit down and were about to get him a glass of water, when suddenly his whole body had just locked up. His teeth had clenched, and the tendons in his neck had stood out against his skin. When you had tried to help him, floundering (were you supposed to put something between his teeth? What if he bit his tongue off?) and straining yourself- Will wasn’t a small man, and it seemed like he was trying to fall to the floor.

It seemed like a moment locked in time- lasting forever, far longer than it should have. And just as you were about to call 911- God, you were stupid, why hadn’t you done that yet?- his eyes rolled forward again, and he took a shuddering breath.

“Jaim’?” He slurred. His mouth sounded like slush on a winter morning. “Happen’?”

“Will, I think you had a seizure,” you said, and damn you for how your voice shook. You had to take a moment to keep it together. “I’m going to call 911, okay? You need to go to the hospital.”

A litany of illnesses ran through your head like a fucked-up song.

Epilepsybraindamagecancertumorpriondiseaseheadinjurystroke

”’M fine,” he grunted, and to your horror he tried sitting up. You fought him on it, putting your hands on his shoulders and shoving him back down.

“The hell you are!” You snapped, and then winced. He was sick, you reminded yourself. People coming out of seizures were confused, you can’t get mad at him. “Will, please, I have to call someone.”

“Hannibal.” He said, wincing. “Call ‘annibal.”

“Who?”

It took some prodding before he could tell you. But thankfully with every word he seemed to come back to himself.

‘Hannibal’, it turned out, was his off the books therapist, as ordered by Jack Crawford. Off the books, you found out later, so that Will could hide his increasing instability from the higher ups of the FBI- and so Jack Crawford could tell his conscience that he did all he could to support your boyfriend.

But if Hannibal could talk some sense into Will, you’d clench your teeth and deal with it.

Dr. Lecter, because he was a doctor, Will assured you, answered on the third ring. An accented voice answered, alert as could be, “Will, it’s late, is something wrong?” It was at least 11 o’clock at night, and the first thing you wanted to say was an apology.

Instead what came out of your mouth was an explanation. “Hello Dr. Lecter. You don’t know me, but my name is Jaime. I’m Will’s significant other. He had a seizure in my kitchen a minute ago, and I’m hoping you can help me talk him into going to a hospital to find out what’s wrong.”

Will took advantage of your distraction to sit up. At least he did it slowly. The silence dragged on for a bit, and on the other side of the phone, under the static of the speaker at least, you heard rustling.

“Jaime, can you tell me your address?” Dr. Lecter asked. “I would like to look over Will myself.”

And that struck you as seriously unprofessional.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I would like to assess his condition.” Dr. Lecter repeated.

“Just tell him,” Will grumbled. It hit you how uncomfortable he must be. Will hated attention more than anyone you had ever met. And here he was, facing being poked at in a hospital, one of the worst places in the world- at least to him.

Sympathy warred with common sense in your mind, but Will turning his puppy eyes on you settled it. Begrudgingly you gave the ‘good’ doctor your address. He would be there in an hour. Joy.

For now, he told you what to do. If there was another seizure, you shouldn’t hold him down or put something in his mouth. Take Will’s glasses and keep him away from anything sharp- despite how he might feel, walking long distances wasn’t a wise idea.

You hung up the phone and then carefully helped him to the couch. Will looked exhausted- sweaty and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He was never one for eye contact, but you knew it was bad because he was going especially out of his way to avoid yours.

“Are you feeling alright?” You asked him, wanting to talk, to do anything to get some of this nervous energy out of the way. You had a desire to go on one of your cleaning sprees, to bake, to do something. You settle for taking care of Will. You bring him water and a couple of cookies (even though he doesn’t touch them). The minutes ticked by one by one, and you found yourself making a pot of fresh coffee 45 minutes after the phone call- no doubt the good doctor would be tired.

The headlights crawled across your wall as he pulled in. When you got up and unlocked the door, you stood and waited for him, to get a peek before you had to share Will and his illness- whatever it may be- with this strange man.

And strange he was. Perfectly poised and coiffed, as if this weren’t an emergency house call in the night, in a suit tailor made for him. When you glanced over his shoulder, you saw a Bentley in the drive. Just as pristine as the rest of him, apparently.

But Will needed him, so you got your shit together.

“Hello, you must be Dr. Lecter.” You wondered if you’re supposed to shake his hand. There’s a half second where you hesitated to let him in.

Something wasn’t right. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and your hindbrain, the part of you that shies from the dark and avoids cracks in the sidewalk, it pulled away from this genial, smiling man. You couldn’t put your finger on it, couldn’t see it with your human eyes- but if you had a cat’s membrane, perhaps you would’ve seen horns, or smoke, or feathers. You didn’t want him there. You wanted him to stay away from Will.

There’s a pattern in old fairy tales and the monsters they contained.

They had to be welcomed in.

If you invited him in, safety was gone.

But he was smiling now, and like a charmed snake you could only step aside to let him in.

“You must be Jaime,” he greeted, stepping in. “Thank you for calling me.” His accent is European, it had to be, and his eyes were strangely red. “You said that it was a seizure?”

“I can speak, Doctor,” Will grumbled from the sofa.

“But those who seized often can’t remember the details,” Lecter explained patiently. “Like how long the seizure lasted, what preceded it, any strange behavior after.” And then he looked at you expectantly.

Hesitatingly you filled him in, answering the questions one by one as the doctor looked Will over. He shone a light in his eyes, had him tell the date, things like that.

“We should take him to the hospital, right?” You said after a minute of quiet talk between them. “I tried to talk him into it but he doesn’t think it’s necessary.” You don’t want to drag Will’s dirty laundry up to this man- he has no right to it.

“As the seizure has passed and there hasn’t been another, I see no reason for it.” Lecter said, looking up at you. He was irritatingly calm, the bastard. “Seizures are only at their most dangerous should they last longer than five minutes,” he explained, perhaps seeing the disbelief on your face, “or if another occurs right after, or if, perhaps, an injury is sustained during. As Will has not suffered from these, I believe it might be best that he just gets some rest.”

“I’m fine, Jaime.” Will said, and you could hear the relief. What parallel universe were you in that this was happening?

“But Will doesn’t have seizures.” You protested. “There has to be a reason for them- he needs to go to the hospital.”

“You’re right,” the doctor agreed, and when Will’s head snapped to glare at him, he raised a hand to speak. “Will should go to a hospital, but it is not a pressing concern. Let him get some rest and he can go in the morning. Calling an ambulance would be a waste of resources and to go tomorrow would yield the same result as tonight.”

It was a losing argument, and they were both insistent about it.

It was with a heavy heart that you let that man leave with Will- it only made sense to stay with Hannibal, after all, since he was a doctor.

You didn’t sleep that night, instead making good use of the coffee you’d brewed that Lecter had never touched.

-x-

Will called you the next morning, highly embarrassed and apologetic over the whole thing. He was fine- Lecter’d kept an eye on him and made sure he ate that morning. But more importantly he had an appointment that night. Apparently Lecter had pulled some strings at the hospital he used to work at. “I’ll call after,” he promised. The knot in your gut unclenched just a bit when he’d explained.

It soothed you some, knowing that he was at least going to get looked at.

And he did, the day after.

And everything was apparently okay.

He’d had a CT-Scan and an MRI. There had been no lingering effects from the seizure.

“So what the hell do they think caused it?” You asked in disbelief. Something wasn’t adding up, it wasn’t right. People didn’t just have seizures like that!

“Stress,” he sounded relieved. Answers could do that, you supposed. But still, you were calling bullshit. “I’m, uh, I think it’s the cases.” He confided, and unwillingly, the fire died a little.

How scary it must be, to see all the evil little monsters in the shadows of the world. How trying it must get, to see the secrets and the lies and the petty masks we all wore.

If it were stress, you’d understand.

But it couldn’t be.

“Are you going to speak with Crawford about it?” You finally asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. You could pick your battles.

“I’m going to have to.”

You turned the conversation away from the seizures and the ‘not stress’. You could hear his gratitude in how he managed to keep talking longer than usual.

God, you loved him.

-x-

It seemed like, after that incident, you were hearing about Hannibal Lecter all the time. The floodgates had been opened, so to speak. And Will, in his typical attitude, cycled from just dropping information on you about the man or rambling without a point as a non sequitur.

Honestly, you were hating him on principal more than the sketch medical exam these days.

But, thankfully, you didn’t see him again for some weeks.

As per usual, your luck ran out when Will brought you to visit Abigail Hobbes.

Which you felt…conflicted about.

You were sympathetic to this girl, you were.

Even if Hobbes never abused her in the traditional sense, like Will claimed with vehemence, god what a nightmare.

But Hobbes brought out something ugly in Will (both of them did). It had left him sleepless and sick and lashing out because he couldn’t see. And then he had. Like Semele, he wanted to see and he was blinded.

After Minnesota, Will had come to you. He was clean in body, but not of soul. Like an exorcism, you tried to help him expunge Garrett Jacob Hobbes from his mind. He hated the pity, but you didn’t pity him.

You loved him, that was the difference.

Hannibal Lecter was there, virtually unchanged, and looking pleased as punch by the sight of Will standing there. But when his eyes slid to you, you could have sworn you smelled ozone, or saw sparks.

Inhuman, whispered the back of your mind.

“Will, Jaime,” he greeted, standing up in a smooth motion. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His gaze flicked to the large slow cooker you were holding, and you felt the urge to flush. “Did you bring dinner?”

“Jaime did,” Will coughed, setting down the bag- bowls, cutlery, spoons, parmesan, milk, and red solo cups- on the table. “Dinner’s always appropriate for a visit.” He quoted, smiling a little.

“Dinner?” Lecter repeated. “Pasta?”

“Mostaccioli.” You said. “Pasta makes everything better.” His smile was amused, and honestly unpleasant.

Paint could quell under that gaze. Was anything good enough?

“Jaime always brings pasta.” Abigail chimed in. Was that a look that she shared with Lecter?

“And you always eat it.” You pointed out patiently, filing it away for later.

Between you and Will dinner was distributed and milk was poured.

You had a rule about your pasta- it had to be eaten on real dinnerware. Plastic ruined the flavor and the balance. Because this pasta was half a step down from medicinal as far as you were concerned. Who needed haute cuisine when there was a culinary staple made with love? Maybe, you reflected, loading up the bowls, you were being a little too personal in your attack.

You tried to calm down.

Objectively Lecter had done nothing to you.

He’d come when he’d found out Will was in trouble, had made sure that he was alright. You’d looked him up, had seen all the certifications after his name, the glowing reviews from his patients. Logically speaking, this was the man who could best help Will. A man who was on his side instead of Crawford’s, who could pin Bloom into doing something to help. And clearly Abigail, damaged, wounded Abigail, liked him.

But you didn’t like him. Not one bit, as the children’s song went.

“You alright?” Will’s quiet question pulled you out of your head, which you were glad for.

His eyes on you soothed your ruffled feathers a bit. If he was looking at you, that meant that he wasn’t looking at Lecter’s stupidly charming smile and getting lost in it, for better or worse.

“Abigail, how’s therapy been?” You asked, eager to get the shitshow over with.

Will, in his typical way, was eager to let you take the reins of conversation with her, just glad to see that she was alright. You sometimes got the uncomfortable feeling that he filtered her words through Garrett Jacob Hobbes’ ears, as if it would give him an even more personal insight. But you’d never gotten up the courage to ask if you were right or to suggest it. Abigail, in contrast, was a little thorn bush, almost aggressively eager to share with you, and by extension Will. She wielded innocence and sarcasm as if that would deter you both.

It might have turned Will away, to be fair, but luckily for him you were there to force the issue. To confront his issues.

But there was an extra tension in the room today, a three-way tie, as it were, between you and Hannibal, and, of all people, Abigail. Why on earth did she have a stake in it? And poor Will, you saw him pick up on it, like a hunting dog, looking this way and that, trying to figure out what was going on. He had that cute little line between his eyebrows, the one he got when he was thinking especially hard.

(Will had tried to explain how he did it- the pendulum swinging back and forth, wiping his identity away. It was horrific, that explanation. You wondered what Jack Crawford would say if he was told, that it wasn’t some easy transition, like putting on a pair of goggles, or a mask)

‘Luckily’ the esteemed Doctor Lecter was willing to bridge the gap, asking all sorts of questions.

“What do you do?”

“How long have you been with Will?”

“What is your opinion of his work?”

“If I seem intrusive, I apologize,” he had the good grace to say at last, just as your patience was running out. “I’ve been talking with Will for some time and he’s never mentioned a significant other.” He explained.

My my, was Dr. Lecter trying to drive a wedge between you?

“We thought it’d be best for my safety that he not share.” You admitted, nonplussed. “Not to mention, with Crawford crawling up everyone’s ass to get an opinion as a justification,” you shrugged, “I’d rather not be involved.” His comment did give you a wonderful opening though. “He hadn’t mentioned you before either, Dr. Lecter.”

Abigail’s eyes flicked back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. Not even a fly dared buzz in the room.

“Maybe we should go,” Will suggested.

No one disagreed.

-x-

“Why don’t you like him?” Will asked without preamble on the way home.

You were driving because of his burgeoning headache.

There were a lot of ways to answer that question, and you had to sort through them.

“Since I love you, I won’t bullshit you.” You announced to him softly, not taking your eyes off the road. Will snickered. “What?” You asked.

“You don’t bullshit anyone, whether you love them or not.” He countered.

“You’re so cute, thinking you know me.” You wonder if you make him smile when he thinks about you.

“So? Go on, lay it on me, Jaime.”

“I look at him and he makes me nervous.” You admitted, finally. Will’s silence is permission to go on, so you did. “There’s something about him that makes me hesitant to give him my back, let alone trust him to help you. He isn’t right.”

“I’m not right.” Will’s answer was closed off and short, defensive. You needed to tread carefully.

“Not like him. I trust your imagination, so please trust my intuition.” You countered.

“Fair enough. He’s not…awful. He’s just different.”

Like me, hung between you.

But he wasn’t like Will. Anyone with a brain could see that. Everyone but Will.

The rest of the car ride was silent, but your hand was in his, and you smiled every time his thumb brushed the back of it.

-x-

It should be no surprise that the next time you saw Doctor Lecter, it was while you were alone.

You’d gone to surprise Will at work, dropping off a lunch for him- he needed to eat more. You were less than pleased to see a familiar doctor on your way out of the building.

“Jaime,” he called out, socially backing you into a corner. You’d made eye contact now, you had to talk to him, dammit.

“Doctor Lecter,” you smiled, “how have you been?”

“I have been well. Busy, of course. I take it you came to see Will?”

“I had hopes, but he was in the middle of something, so I settled for dropping off lunch as a surprise.” You admitted.

“Will is very busy,” he agreed. “But if you were looking for company, I’ve found myself free for an hour or so.”

This felt like a trap. You didn’t like it. But again, you were backed into a corner so to speak, held hostage by social conventions you smiled and said, “that sounds lovely, Doctor Lecter.”

You were able to decline lunch at least but did have to suffer through some company in the form of a walk around campus. The campus was your suggestion, of course, because were else was safer? And the grounds were ‘so pretty’.

“To tell you the truth, Jaime,” Lecter spoke in that rumbling accent, “I am glad that I got the chance to speak with you. I would like to clear the air, privately.”

“Clear the air?” You repeated in confusion.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Lecter asked, turning those eyes on you. “If I have, I assure you, it was unintentional. But I get the feeling that you don’t care for me very much.”

What the hell was he playing at? “You haven’t done anything, Doctor Lecter.” You kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk.

“But you didn’t deny disliking me.” He pointed out. The wind picked up, and you could smell his cologne. Something dark and musky- it made you think of leaves dead and decaying after the spring thaw.

“I don’t know you well enough to dislike you,” you avoided neatly. The parking lot couldn’t come soon enough.

“I would like to understand why you feel the way you do, Jaime,” it wasn’t a plea, or a request. But it did get your attention. You felt more sympathy for Will than you ever had before, and that was saying something.

“I don’t know.” Was what you finally came up with, staring down at your feet.

“You don’t know what you feel? Or you don’t know how you feel?” The question was curious, said in that tone that made you bristle against the wind.

“I know how I feel, Doctor Lecter. I don’t like you. I don’t like how you look at Will. But to answer your question; I don’t know why I feel that way.” You gnashed your teeth and shoved your hands in your pockets.

“How I look at Will?” He repeated.

“How you look at anyone.” You corrected. God you just wanted to get this over and done with. At his confused look you went on, “like you’re looking at everyone under microscope.” Was as close as you could explain.

His chuckle was unsettling, and you gave him a side-eye.

“From an objective standpoint, it sounds like you’re being rather possessive of your partner.” He pointed out to you, finally. And that touched a nerve in the worst way.

Because what if he was right? If you were just…twitchy, because this man was getting to know the vulnerabilities that Will could never show you. Vulnerabilities that you had been fine not knowing- loving him meant accepting Will for what he was, the good and the bad. But to know he could expose himself to someone… And you could appreciate that this man was a ‘threat’. He was intelligent, he was accomplished, he had a social standing in a time that that kind of shit didn’t matter anymore. And what did you have? What could compare to the Bentley and the accent and the doctorates?

Just…just Will.

And you knew that that was what he wanted.

“I prefer protective.” You said, turning it over finally. “And I love him. Why wouldn’t I want to protect him?”

“Ah, but where is the threat? To see danger at every corner isn’t normal, Jaime.”

You knew that. Hell, you had your own worries about it, but fuck him, that wasn’t his business.

“A broken clock is right twice a day.”

“I suppose, but one in twelve is not a high success rate.”

“It’s enough for me.”

The walk had wound around the building, and you realized with dawning horror that you were out of sight of the windows. Of anyone. Your goosebumps were back, and you shivered.

“For what it’s worth, Jaime,” in the silence of the walk, Doctor Lecter’s voice was like a stick snapping, bringing you to immediate attention. “I don’t dislike you, no matter how you feel about me.”

You waited, because that couldn’t be all.

It wasn’t.

“I suggest being very careful with Will, Jaime.” He advised, gravely. “He needs a special sort of care.”

“Care I suppose you could give him,” you grumped, despite your fear.

His smile was all teeth, without exposing any to you. That had to be a gift. Or a curse?

“I could.” He agreed, shaking his head. “But even doctors make mistakes.”

The implications of that statement made you hesitate, and you fell a half step behind.

“Be sure to keep up, Jaime.” His eyes were damn near sparkling with, dare you say, amusement? “It can be dangerous to walk alone.”

The only thing that stopped you from bolting to your car was the knowledge, the certainty, that you did not want to expose your back to this man.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You felt like you weren’t really moving, instead like you were a passenger in your own body. As it was, all your energy was focused on staying strong and moving, you’d forgotten about being polite, and silence, serious as a heart attack, had fallen between you.

When the parking lot came into view you could have cried at the sight of it. As it was, it was a struggle not to run- again, you’d be damned if you showed him your back. So you had to make the slow, slow walk at his side back to the lot. But you weren’t rid of him yet because Lecter was such a gentleman, he had to walk you to your car. By some miracle, you managed to stammer out a thank you or some variation of ‘have a nice day’.

You slammed the door and locked the car, sitting shivering in the driver’s seat, watching Lecter strut away.

For several minutes you just sat in your car, your heart thundering. You thought it might burst out of your chest. You gripped the steering wheel tight enough that your knuckles were straining. Your vision wavered.

Christ, were you having a heart attack?

Panic attack, you corrected yourself distantly.

One

Lecter at your door, the devil in a suit and tie

Two

Will, weak and shivering and vulnerable, alone in a car with him

Three

“Even a doctor can make mistakes”

Four

“Nothing showed up on the scans”

Five

“They think it’s stress”

Six

“Will is very delicate”

Seven

“You don’t seem to care for me. Why is that?”

Eight

“Why don’t you like him?”

Nine

“Will has never mentioned you before.”

Ten

“You look at him like he’s under a microscope.”

It…it was coming together.

There were pieces missing of course, you’d…you’d have to sort it all out, once you were safe at home.

And Lecter, Lecter in all his arrogance had just given it to you.

-x-

Your cell phone sat in front of you. Will had texted you during that nightmare walk, a short ‘thank you’. It was a testament to how long your day was that it took a few moments to remember why he’d even send that. You sat with your elbows on your thighs.

You thought about calling Will and telling him about that conversation.

But those thoughts were dismissed.

The fact was…you had nothing. You were grasping at straws and jumping to conclusions.

You’d told Will to trust your instinct like you trusted his imagination. The problem was that Will’s imagination was backed up by facts. By knowing people like he did. You had nothing to prove to him that something was wrong with Hannibal Lecter.

And a small, traitorous part of you, whispered that it was best. That you should pretend you hadn’t seen the clear distinction between mask and beast on that walk. It would be far safer to never speak of it, to never think of it.

After all, nothing did happen, did it? Said Gaslight-Gertrude. It was a walk and an awkward conversation.

He wanted to clear the air, said David-Denial. And talking about difficult subjects was uncomfortable.

Christ, maybe you were going crazy.

The memory of that…that not-smile though, made you doubt it.

Already, you were scared of forgetting the small details that terrified you. The odd stillness- the serenity- of the good doctor. Desperate, you lay back, with your arm over your eyes, trying to reconstruct the walk. The Walk. The sounds (footsteps, wind in the trees, his accent), the smells (mist and damp, evaporation on the trail, cologne) the words spoken (toomanytoomanytoomany).

You committed everything to memory. You didn’t care how long it took, how insane it made you feel. This was important, you had to remember.

Will had blinders on where Lecter was concerned. Somehow this snake had gotten to Will, had navigated through the minefields that safeguarded him. Lecter had earned some form of trust from your boyfriend, certainly for worse.

You didn’t know what he wanted with him. What there was to gain from lying about seizures, from trying to isolate him and make Will more unstable. What was he planning? Why was he doing it? You could scream those questions into the void, or beat your head against the wall until your brains rattled, and never have a clue. But it really didn’t matter. Who cared why he was doing this to your Will? The fact was, he was doing it.

Lecter had started this…game. Was it a game? If Will- for good or ill, was the goal, it sounded like a game.

Like a shark- no. No, you could see sharks coming. Their inevitability was the most frightening thing. Lecter was an alligator. He lurked in the shadows, still and waiting. You never saw him coming until he got careless.

You were lucky.

Lecter didn’t see you as a threat, or competition, and so he was playing a, well, a DLC, with you. A bonus cat-and-mouse game, to ease the wait as he sat back and enjoyed the long game with Will.

He was giving you enough rope to hang yourself.

You’d have to keep on your toes for this game, you decided, in the far away parts of your mind.

It was a high-risk match.

Finally you sat up and plucked your phone off the table, staring at your lock screen. It was a picture of you and Will, a selfie. He’d been…happy and relaxed enough to take the picture himself, even.

Hannibal wanted to take Will from you.

You’d kill him first.

[kanamesharisenwrites]

kh’s story snippet celebration sendoff, entry #3

Oh, I had so much fun with this twisted plunnie! And even though only the opening scene is complete, I did finish a first draft for the entire fic (which I’ve included). It’s rough and vague, but the whole plot concept is there!

Inspired by the story, The Ones that Walk Away from Omelas, by Ursula K Le Guin.

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Kakashi Hatake/Sakura Haruno Word Count: 2217 Genre: canon-divergence!AU, drama, angst Rating: M Warnings: brief profanity, abduction, manipulation, brainwashing, dark fic

... [ kingdom come ]

"Where's Sakura?"

"Gone, obviously." Sasuke laughs, bloody spittle coating his lips. He groans as he pulls his body off the ground. Swelling from a large contusion over his left eye mars his fair face; there is a matching one at the base of his skull. His right arm, severed and cauterized, lies in the dust a few feet away. "If he didn't kill her, Tobi probably took her. He likes shiny new toys."

Kakashi bristles and widens his stance as Sasuke walks towards him. "I want to know what happened. Now."

"Relax, old man, I'm not looking for a fight." Sasuke picks up his arm and throws it over his shoulder. "Sakura told me to get my head out of my ass and go home. That's what I intend to do."

Kakashi eyes Sasuke with suspicion, searching his demeanor for tells of dishonesty. "After all these years, you’ll forgive me if I doubt your word. It's all a little too easy, don't you think?"

"Easy?" Sasuke scoffs and levels Kakashi with a hard stare. "I knew she only wanted to join me so she could capture or kill me. I decided to kill her first – chidori through the heart." A smirk twists Sasuke's mouth, sharp and cruel, as he watches Kakashi flinch. "One stab and I'd permanently slice through those bonds Naruto rants about. Only it didn't work. Her chakra neutralized my chidori when she grabbed my arm." Sasuke shakes his head, and his smirk softens. "What the hell have you guys been feeding her, anyway? She's as strong as a fucking ox."

Kakashi shrugs. "Ask Lady Tsunade."

"Figures. Sakura managed this," Sasuke gestures to his missing arm, "with nothing but a chakra scalpel. Pulled the rest of it through her body like she was unsheathing a sword. Then she beat me unconscious with my own severed appendage. Last thing I saw was the hole in her chest close up like it'd never been there."

 "You were a fool to underestimate her."

"So were you."

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Shikamaru gives Kakashi his weekly “state of the village” report.

Kakashi asks about Sakura sightings; there’s been none.

Shikamaru turns to leave, but stops. Tells Kakashi he thinks it’s time to give up the hunt.

After Shikamaru leaves, Kakashi stares out the office window and wonders aloud why he’s still there when everyone important to him is gone.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Sakura comes to him in a dream. She’s older - ethereal yet weary-looking. She reminds him why he needs to stay, about the good he brings to the village, to the world. When she goes to leave, he chases her, promises to find her. She looks puzzled.

“Why, sensei? I was never lost in the first place.”

Kakashi wakes up in tears.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

When Kakashi makes his weekly trip to the memorial, Karin is there. He’s tired and his memory is fuzzy; he doesn’t remember her at first. When he does, he’s surprised. He didn’t think she’d stay in the village without Sasuke.

“Visiting Konoha, huh?”

“Hardly.” She huffs. “I never left.”

“Strange. I never see you around.”

“I keep a low profile. The village isn’t especially kind to Orochimaru’s castoffs.”

“Why do you stay, then?”

Karin pauses, her fingers hovering over Sasuke’s name. When she speaks, it’s slow, deliberate.

“Because that’s what he would’ve wanted. For me to carry on in his stead.”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi dreams of Sakura again. She seems disconcerted that he acknowledges her - you weren’t supposed to know that I’m here, sensei - but speaks with him anyway. It’s a soft, gentle conversation, and it lulls him into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

He wakes up more rested than he has in a long time, but his mind anxious.

Sakura seemed too sentient for a figment of his subconscious.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Shizune comes to see him, asks how life as Hokage is going.

Kakashi admits it’s boring - too much paperwork, too little action. Village life has become too idyllic since the end of the war, to the point that it feels unnatural.

Shizune says she feels it too.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi starts dreaming of Sakura every night. 

He tells her silly stories about the new batch of genin trying to unmask him. She shares some of Tsunade’s most “creative” teaching techniques.

She asks him how the village is doing. He tries to explain how it’s so perfect it feels wrong, but can’t quite find the words. Her coy smile suggests she understands anyway.

He asks her to stop calling him “sensei.” She laughs and calls him “Lord Hokage.”

He thanks her for keeping his nightmares at bay. She asks him what his nightmares are, but he doesn’t answer.

After a few nights where he dreams they walk through the forest without talking, he finally opens up.

Before her, he dreamed about lightning and blood: his chidori through Rin’s chest; Obito crushed and plucking out his own eye in offering; Naruto and Sasuke’s lifeless bodies on the battlefield still holding hands; searching for Sakura in an endless maw of darkness.

Sakura holds his hand and cries. Her hand feels so real, so warm and solid, that it wakes him up.

In his next dream, he confronts her. Begs her to tell him where she went, what happened to her. Sakura goes pale. When she tries to speak, she writhes in pain as if the words she meant to say were choking her. She falls to her knees and looks up at him, still no words falling from her open mouth. But he sees it - the Root seal on her tongue. 

He wakes up angry.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi calls Sai to his office and asks questions about Root. Even though it’s been years since Danzo’s execution, Sai can’t answer and it leaves Kakashi frustrated as well as angry.

That night, Kakashi doesn’t dream of Sakura. He dreams of the absence of her.

He dreams about capturing Sasuke and bringing him back. Of entrusting Sakura's rescue to Naruto and Sai. Of their return, empty-handed.

He dreams of Naruto’s grief and anger and disbelief - that Root (Danzo) captured Karin, but found no trace of Sakura. Of Sai's silent lips and clenched fists.

The memories fall away and Kakashi calls for Sakura in the dark void of his dream until his throat is raw. 

She doesn’t come.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi sees Karin at the memorial again.

She seems agitated, on edge, but she extends a gruff invite to her place for tea.

He declines.

She tells him she lives in a small house painted yellow at the foot of Hokage Mountain, if he changes his mind. 

That night he dreams of Obito, of the Tobi mask falling away revealing his old teammate. Of cruel taunts - so, poor, tragic, Kakashi lost another kunoichi - and cryptic denials - come on, Kakashi, I’d need more than one Sharingan to capture that sweet little cherry - and unfounded accusations - sounds like an inside job, if you ask me. 

Kakashi wakes in a cold sweat.

Then he goes in search of Karin’s house.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Karin seems almost relieved to see him. She opens the door and he steps inside. Immediately, he can feel it; Sakura’s chakra signature rolls over him like a wave.

Karin leads him to the basement.

Sakura sits in a dingy, old recliner in nothing but a bra and training shorts. A crown of wires connects her to a wall of softly whirring machinery. She opens her brilliant green eyes and smiles.

“Kakashi!”

He turns to Karin. “Unhook her. Now.”

“It’s not as simple as that. If we--”

“If you don’t do it, I will.”

“No, you can’t!” Sakura screams. “If you do, the village will be destroyed!”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi sits silently fuming in a meeting with the village council and the daimyo. They throw a lot of facts around: higher birth rates, reduced healing times for injuries, near elimination of sickness, increased shinobi numbers and quality, improved financial stability, etc. It doesn’t take long for him to realize.

“You authorized this project of Danzo’s.”

“Of course. How else do you think he got the technology to accomplish such a feat?”

“I suppose it’s pointless to petition for this project’s end.”

“We truly are sorry, Kakashi. We didn’t know your kunoichi was the one chosen for the experiment. But it has turned out so well for the village. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Kakashi says. 

He walks out.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi visits Karin and Sakura again, asks them to tell him everything they know about Sakura’s situation: unhooking Sakura will reverse all the good her chakra network has accomplished.

Absolute, utter destruction, they say.

Kakashi seethes. “Danzo was a fucking liar.”

“Maybe.” Sakura shakes her head. “But I can’t take that chance.”

Kakashi storms off.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi summons Shikamaru.

“The safety of our civilians has been weighing on me.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“Just… been thinking. How many times has a significant threat infiltrated our security in your lifetime, Shikamaru?”

“Point taken. What do you want to do?”

“I want you to develop a village-wide evacuation plan. Be sure to include provisions for temporary shelter and two week’s worth of rations for every family. I expect a working model ready for drills by the end of the month.”

“Yes, Lord Hokage.”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi arrives at Karin’s house with Sai. He tells her to leave, to follow the rest of her neighbors to their designated rendezvous point.

“She’s gonna hate you.”

“I know.”

When Kakashi enters the basement, Sakura is waiting for him, ready to strike. 

“Don’t make me fight you.”

“It’s time to let go, Sakura.”

“I can’t. The village will collapse and people will die. I can’t have that on my conscience. I can’t be why Konoha disappears!”

“Konoha isn’t a place. It’s the people who live with the will of fire in their hearts. And those people have been evacuated. They are safe. Konoha will survive.”

Sakura squares her shoulders and chin, digging in her heels. “I’m a kunoichi. My purpose is to be of use to my village, no matter the sacrifice.”

“You are of more use to your village free than you will ever be wasting away in this damned basement!”

“But the village--”

“Fuck the village. It can burn to the ground as long as I know you’re safe. You’re it, Sakura. You’re all I have left.” Kakashi's voice cracks. “I can’t lose you to this.”

Sakura lowers her fists. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But it will be okay, I promise.” Kakashi presses the button on his earpiece. “Shikamaru, are we good to go?” After the affirmative answer crackles in his ear, Kakashi turns back to Sakura. “Do you trust me?”

Sakura nods.

“Sai is waiting for us upstairs. He’s ready to fly us out of here if needed.” Kakashi takes her hand. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’re sure everyone is safe?”

“I’m sure.”

“Flip that lever.”

The rumbling begins almost immediately. Kakashi scoops her up, pulling the crown from her head and smashing it to the ground. Sai spies them from his perch on his ink bird and if he’s surprised by Sakura’s presence, he doesn’t show it. They fly away, watching as a crater of rubble forms where Konoha once stood.

Sakura weeps as Kakashi holds her to his chest.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

There are a lot of questions. He answers them as honestly and as vaguely as he can, leaving Sakura out of the story altogether. Some people are scared. Some are angry. Most are just thankful for their tents, their food, and their lives. This isn’t the first time they’ve had to rebuild.

After the village settles down for the night, Kakashi patrols the perimeter of the wreckage. The only thing left intact is the memorial stone. He stands there for a long time reading the names carved on its surface. The moon rises and the first chill of autumn settles in his bones.

Someone takes his hand… Sakura.

“Do you regret it?” she asks.

“No,” he answers. She shivers, so he pulls her into his arms. “Do you?”

"Yes."

The word leaves her on an exhale, as quiet and forceful as the wind. A tear escapes her, splatters against the chilled skin of his forearm.

"It's gut-wrenching, knowing what my freedom cost. I think a part of me will always feel that way." She runs her fingers over their teammates' names, slow and reverent. "But one day, maybe..."

"Then I'll hold onto it for you."

She glances at him over her shoulder, confused. "Hold onto what?"

He breathes in deep, squeezing her tight. With a kiss to her temple, he answers, "The hope for that one day."

[3centsofbutter]

Memoirs of a medic - BNHA part 3

Part 1 (Start from the beginning)

Chisaki Kai / Eri 

Part 3 - Final 

“The heroes are outside the base, we have to go.”

It was a regular Thursday morning. It was well in the middle of spring and the sun hung high in the sky warming the earth underneath it. You had attended to the garden earlier that morning to bask in the sunlight and returned back inside to get on with some paperwork. Eri sat opposite you, studying basic kanji from one of the books you used to use when you were first brought into the Hassaikai. 

Irinaka burst into the room at 8:29 in a clear state of distress. They were here. 

Kai had told you that a few days ago, Eri had escaped and stumbled upon some UA students and had made a scene since then, the compound had been on high alert. A small part of you desperately wished they could have taken her there and then which could have spared the absolute chaos that was about to ensue. Eri mentioned the UA students offhandedly and from the way she spoke of them in such high regard, you couldn’t help yourself but feel a pang of sadness. As much as you knew that a life outside of the clutches of Kai was what she deserved, but your creeping selfishness wanted to stay by her side and watch her grow. Your loyalty laid with Kai, but you secretly wished the heroes could win just this once. 

“Eri let’s go, the time has come.”

You scooped up Eri in your arms and fast-walked behind Irinaka to Kai’s office. His desk was clear of everything save for the tiny potted plant on the corner of the table. Hari stood beside Kai with your backpack at his feet and nodded in acknowledgement to your entrance. The main few of the eight bullets had been instructed to pack their bags beforehand in the likelihood of this specific event. Your backpack wasn’t filled with much, you never found yourself indulging in materialistic goods or finding sentiment in any of them. You packed only a few things that couldn’t be replaced, the framed photo from your dresser, a leather-bound journal, a stack of white envelopes, and Eri’s doll. 

BOOM 

An explosion shook the whole room heralding the beginning of the raid, it was time to leave. The plan was to use half of the eight bullets to hold off the heroes and police while you made your escape through a hidden exit on the other side of the base. It was best to prevent conflict especially while being in possession of Eri and potentially risking everything Kai had worked for. The walk passed in silence with only the thump of footsteps and occasional echoes of explosions and rumbles filling the background. They were walking at an awfully slow pace, seemingly unbothered by the commotion above them. 

At 8:42, things got interesting. 

“Excuse me.” 

Someone had gotten here quicker than anticipated. 

“Can I ask some questions?”

It was the boy, the one Eri had described. Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright red and yellow hero suit that stuck out as an eyesore against the dull concrete walls. He was young, around 18-ish you guessed, probably in his third year of high school you presumed. He was so young. You found it sick that society glorified hero work and enabled children such as him to risk his life like this for a fabled utopia. It was a pity he was going to meet his end here. 

Your eyes flitted to Kai to gauge his reaction. He seemed unbothered, face blank of emotion. 

“You shouldn’t have been able to get here this fast,” Kai drawled, his voice was flat and lazy, completely unresponsive to the situation. 

The boy was clearly dishevelled, he was panting and sweating profusely. He must’ve run all the way here. 

 “I took a shortcut, I’m here to rescue that girl.”

You almost felt sorry for him, he had let go of Eri back then oblivious to the situation she was in and gave her back to her captor. He must’ve felt the guilt weigh down on him once he found out, now hastily throwing himself at national criminals in an attempt to repent his guilty conscience. He should’ve just taken her then. 

“This girl doesn’t want you to rescue her, she doesn’t see you as a hero.”

You could feel Eri uncomfortably shuffle in your arms.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Kai sighed and turned to continue walking. “It’s not getting through to you, is it? I’ll make it simpler.”

“Die.” 

The boy charged at Kai falling to the ground instantly. Sasaki’s quirk sloshed was in effect, ruining his sense of balance and causing him to stumble around in a drunken state. 

Hari tugged at your sleeve, “Sasaki and Nemoto will keep him busy, keep moving.”

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the scene, falling into step behind Kai. You knew firsthand how unpleasant it was to be under the influence of Sasaki’s quirk. You never enjoyed drinking and he continuously cemented that concept whenever his presence was near. His control over his quirk was only decent when he was sober— which he never was. You flinched at the sounds of gunshots and tightened your grip on Eri. You prayed his death was short and painless. 

“CHISAKI!”

He appeared from under the ground and swung at Kai’s face, failing to land leaving only a slight graze. Before you could even process the situation, his foot connected with your face, sending you flying against the wall. 

“Yasuko! Hide, I will find you when this is all over.”

You scrambled to your feet assessing the situation. Eri was in the hero’s arms and Kai was preparing to attack. He flexed his fingers, a habit he had picked up, a small ritual before using his quirk. He hid his left hand behind his back, hiding it so that only you could see. He held up three fingers and pointed downwards.

‘I’m going to use my quirk, don’t get in the way.’

It was the code you both used when you were younger on the streets. You had to leave before you got caught in the crossfire. You picked up your backpack and hastily retreated down the corridor. You hid in one of the empty rooms and slumped against the wall heaving a sigh of relief. Kai was going to be fine, he always would be. It would only be a slight nuisance to patch him up afterwards. 

The ground rumbled underneath you, a sure sign that Kai was using his quirk, the whip-like cracks of gunshots could be heard periodically courtesy of Hari’s pistol. You checked the state of the contents in the bag, thankfully nothing was harmed in the process. You lightly touched your cheek noticing it was very much swollen. 

The boy had trained his quirk exceptionally well for someone his age, his finesse and determination was unlike anything you had seen before. He was someone to be admired, a striking resemblance to All Might: the retired symbol of hope. He was young and naive, sheltered from the crippling effects of corruption and desperation, as most heroes were. He would’ve made a great role model for Eri, saved her from Kai as fairy tales and stupid marketing would suggest, cape billowing in the wind as a copyrighted theme song played over replays of the final blow. Heroes were never there for you. You had found out the hard way when one of them showed up as your customer and ignored your silent pleas of help as they got drunk off of a temporary high. They were cowards who dressed up in tight suits to instill false hope and ignored those who really needed it. What says they would be there for Eri?

BOOM 

A loud crash shook the room. Knocking over the giant oak bookshelf on the opposite side of the wall. You could instantly tell it wasn’t Kai, his quirk was fairly quiet and didn’t cause large crashes like that, the reinforcements must’ve caught up.

You scrambled out of the room only to see that the entire floor had been turned into one giant arena with a jungle of concrete spikes — courtesy of Kai — towering above you. You could only vaguely make out a giant hole in the wall, presumably the source of the crash and the vague image of a body crumpled on the floor. 

It was Kai. 

His clothes were caked in dust, skin covered in scratches and pink welts. The boy and Eri were a few metres away being tended to by the pro-hero Nighteye. The boy had sustained quite a bit of damage being barely able to stand and very visibly exhausted. Eri was fine save for a few scratches here and there, at least the pro heroes wouldn’t hurt her which left your main priority to be Kai. Just as you were about to run towards him, the pro hero Eraserhead and his green haired companion lept in the air and prepared to attack. They were zeroing in on him at an alarming speed, about to serve the final blow. Before you could even react, Kai’s voice rumbled throughout the makeshift arena. 

“GET UP, CHRONO!”

A strand of silver hair sliced through the motionless bundle of white fabric, extending like tape, cutting Eraserhead on the arm. You thanked your lucky stars Hari was alive and most importantly Kai was too. The heroes fell to the ground giving Kai a brief moment to regain composure. His hand slammed on the ground forming another wave of giant spikes across the room separating him from the opposition.

“You did a good job didn’t you, Neomoto? We can’t lose the fight here, not like this…”

His hand reached out, grabbing Nemoto’s mask which disintegrated like wet sand under his touch. He kept going, merging into his face as if it were a hologram. His other hand covered his own face melting into his beaked mask. In a flash of light, an explosion happened. The gust of wind hit you like a whip, causing you to stumble backwards from the force. Your arms instinctively covered your face to protect from the dust and rubble being flicked in all directions, seemingly the only time the mask Kai forced you to wear came in handy. You could barely make out the silhouette of the two bodies as they were shrouded in a whirlwind of debris. It was almost a blessing in disguise as what you could see was something that was most definitely inhuman. 

Both bodies were ripped apart into ribbons of flesh swirled around each other, slowly merging together building a body layer by layer. The bones, the organs, the skin welded together like a cursed puzzle piece. Glaring red eyes glowed like torches through the smoke screen as a second pair of arms ripped through his back. The dust cleared revealing the abomination that was Kai. Black crack like lines painted his face and the skin on his arms were darkened and lined with spikes resembling sharp rocks. You didn’t even know if you could consider that thing to be Kai. This wasn’t the boy who saved you from your father, this wasn’t the boy who stole bread for you when you complained you were hungry. This wasn’t the Kai who shared the ratty blanket with you when you slept on the streets. This was a monster, and he had been that way much longer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

The green haired boy launched a broken-off spike at Kai’s body. The concrete shattered like glass upon impact, reforming back into spikes just as the boy launched a follow up attack almost piercing through the soles of his shoes. The boy was lucky that his flash hero suit was made with situations like this in mind otherwise his whole leg would have most definitely been smashed into pieces. Nighteye leaped in pushing the green haired boy to the side, narrowly missing the spike Kai had sent towards him. 

If nighteye was there, that meant the blonde boy was alone. 

You weaved your way through the rubble and saw the boy propped up against the wall a fair distance away from the fight. His hero suit was bloodied and torn and he looked as if he was barely able to move. Eri was further away from the boy, possibly left there in a hurry as Nighteye went to assist the green haired boy. You cautiously approached him being careful not to underestimate him even in his handicaped state. 

“You have fought well, young man. May I know your name?”

He stared at the mask on your face, a clear sign of your affiliation with Kai. “I am lemillion to the likes of you scum. I don’t take compliments from villains like you.”

Your face soured at the label, “I don’t go by that term, I prefer yakuza.” Your hand hovered over the knife strapped to your thigh. “Tell me your real name, or this is the last face you’re going to see.” 

“Mirio Togata.”

His face showed no sign of lying, a good egg he was. A fault of heroes had to be their strong sense of morals eventually resulting in the downfall of many of them. 

“Mirio, I have a knife strapped to my leg, I can end your life faster than you can think. Give me a reason why I should let you live.”

His guard was still heightened and his distress was visibly showing on his face. The fear of death was synonymous with all humans it seemed. He didn’t speak for a moment, hesitant to come up with an answer. You almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all until he finally spoke. 

“Someone like you may not understand, but I want to live to see the relief on people's faces after I save them. I want to be able to save at least a million people and be the hero people can look up to and feel safe in my presence.”

He was so hopeful that it hurt. 

“You could have ignored her, saved a million people instead of dying for one. Why does she matter so much to you?” 

His face hardened with determination. 

“What type of hero am I if I can’t save one helpless girl? I’d die for her no questions asked if that ensured her safety.”

“Chisaki, join us in the Shie Hassaikai. Your future is one with potential.”

Slate grey clouds darkened the afternoon sky. A heavy downpour of rain had soaked both you and Kai’s clothes and chosen to seek refuge outside a brothel. The man had approached Kai after watching him materialize an umbrella from scraps you had scavenged from the dumpster. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Unlike the usual suit and tie businessmen and raggedy drug addicts that frequented the brothel, he donned a black kimono, a rarity in general even out of the red light district. His silver hair was slicked back neatly and a large carved, jade ring wrapped around his finger. He looked like royalty. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna sell me into human trafficking or something, old shit?”

“Boy, look over there.” He pointed to the flashing neon lights of the brothel, “I own that brothel. I own almost 30% of the businesses in the red light district. This could all be yours one day.”

Kai’s eyes immediately glistened with interest. He wouldn’t have to sleep on concrete anymore, he wouldn’t have to worry about his next meal, and he wouldn’t have to worry about braving the winter. He would have somewhere to call home. But the thoughts dissipated as quickly as they came. 

“What about Yasu? Can’t leave her out here on her own. I told her I’d protect her forever y’know.”

The man shook his head. “We never brought up women in our clan, its tradition.”

You tugged at Kai’s sleeve. He deserved a life in comfort whether it was with you or not. He had done so much for you already. “You can go, I’ll be fine. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Kai, very much irked by his response, held up both middle fingers to flip off the man. “Then change tradition. I ain’t going nowhere without her ya heard! Take your gedo sandals and shove them up your ass.”

“Why does she matter so much to you?”

“She’s all I got, I’d die a hundred times over if it means she is out of harm's way. Ya can’t take me without her. We’re a package deal ya got it?”

The man sighed and looked at the boy. He stood defensively in front of the girl. She didn’t look like much but appearances were deceiving. He was loyal, an honorable trait. With a little bit of guidance, he could be a great leader. 

“Fine, let us go.”

This boy looked so different but he had those same eyes Kai once had. Hopeful and kind, shining with compassion and determination. He was uncorrupted, a pure soul, the family Eri deserved to have. You had done so much wrong in your life, allowing Kai to succumb to his pride, staying silent while he committed heinous crimes, letting him hurt the innocent, there were too many sins to count. But it was time to do something right for once. 

You took the rucksack off of your back. 

“Take it.”

He was taken aback. “What?”

“Please, when Eri is old enough give her the contents of this bag. You can look through it if you are suspicious.”

“You mean— “

“Yes. I can’t guarantee that Kai will lose this fight but I entrust Eri with you. Please take care of her, be the hero she needs.” 

The bag contained a leather bound journal, your personal diary that you started when you finally learnt how to properly read and write as encouraged by your father. It documented every single tear, laugh, and worry since you were 12; a stack of white letters, For each birthday of Eri’s since you met her, outlining everything that you wished for and regretted, how much you had wanted a better life for her, everything you ever wanted to tell her if you had gotten the chance; the photo from your dresser as something she could remember you by; and the handsewn doll Eri loved that you had made for her because she cried every time Kai’s goons would buy her something new. 

You looked over your shoulder to the main fight. Kai was growing weary, his transformation wasn’t enough to fend off the pro heroes. It was drawing to a close. You looked back at Mirio. 

“Please tell her I loved her… love her for me.”

“I will.”

Nighteye broke off one of the giant concrete spikes and hurled it towards Kai’s weakened body like a javelin. He sat kneeled on the ground desperately panting for breath. The bottom half of his mask was broken off and his jacket torn in pieces, the shreds decorating the ground around him. His body was drenched in blood, some his own, some others. Hari had disappeared earlier to deal with Eraserhead and all of the Eight bullets were either dead or in the hands of the police. No one was there to save him anymore. 

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

Your body moved faster than your brain could react. The effects of the ability enhancing drugs were kicking in right on time. Time was moving in slow motion, you leapt into the battle scene, your hair extending outwards towards Kai’s body pushing him out of the way. The spike skewered your body impaling you square in the chest. 

An unknown woman had thrown herself at sure death to save a criminal. 

“MOM!”

Eri screams bounced off the walls of the building bringing the entire room to a standstill. She ran from her hiding spot stumbling over loose rubble collapsing beside you, sobbing into the crook of your arm.

Kai’s transformed state instantly melted away into goop around him. He was dumbfounded. Just seconds ago he had prepared himself to face death but was given torture way worse. He gently picked up your figure and held you in his arms. 

“No, Yasuko, what have you done.”

“Kai, I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and slurred. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“Yasu, I can fix you, y-you can’t go like this, I need you.”

“You know, I always wanted to be called ‘mom’.”

He caressed your cheek. 

“Y-you can be if you stick it out. It’ll be like old times, just you and me.”

You chuckled, the laugh reduced to only short, laboured breaths of air. “Stop this nonsense, Kai. Let me rest. Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.”

You never doubted you were a bad person, the bad things you had done heavily outweighed the good. You had never believed in a life after death or reincarnation, always in fear that what awaited after you closed your eyes was eternal punishment. But if there were, you prayed the shinigami would be kind and grant you an eternity to watch over Eri, and see her grow into someone you never got the chance to. 

“I love you, Cyclamen. I always have and I always will.”

“I love you too, Kai.”

Your eyelids grow heavy savouring the last moment you could feel. The heaviness of Eri on your chest, shirt wet with her tears; Kai’s calloused hands cupping your cheek, feeling the warmth of his body from being held so tightly. The pain in your chest seemed to melt away in their presence. An unfortunate death yet envied by many, surrounded by the people you loved. 

The cyclamen, a flower symbolic of sincere and everlasting love, finally gave in to the weather after drowning in the heavy rain for many years, weathering out the storm until it couldn’t any longer, leaving behind only broken petals in its place. It’s ethereal beauty preserved in what it had been despite the circumstances, its body now nourishing for the garden that is to bloom the coming spring. 

In the chaos, there was peace for a brief moment.

Masterlist of all my stuff

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to write. Got caught up with online school and all that. Excuses excuses I know. It was really hard to write so please forgive me. I hoped you enjoyed reading all of my nonsense, a slight break from all the romance oriented stuff lol (nothing wrong with that, love me some Bakugou). But yeah, thanks for sticking through, it really means a lot.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Starcrossed Losers XX (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: There’s something so pleasing about finishing this on chapter #20 // Also, thank you all for reading up to this point! I just hope it reaches your expectations, or at least, doesn’t suck as much. Remember to leave a comment! It’s the last part, after all. Love you, and see you this summer! <3

Words: 8,274

Warnings: Some killings, some blood, some injures, Oh! And major character death, but is it really major? lmao

Previous chapter

“I’m gonna let this world die,” I hear my friend gasp, “I yearn for the sweet release of death” 

“You can die once we reach the school,” I grunt, skating faster.

Alex and I used to be very active people, but with the nuke our physical condition has self-induced into a coma.

It all right though! I’m running on spite and love, it’ll keep me active enough to reach the Highschool on time.

Unfortunately, Alex is only running out of patience.

“You know,” He wheezes, “if it wasn’t for you, starcrossed losers, I would be in the mattress store having my healthy eight hours of sleep!”

“It’d be like that sometimes,” I reply, “stop talking before you pass out.”

You wanna know how I feel? 

You guessed it! I’m McFreaking out.

But Alex’s comment reminds me of something, and it’s that I haven’t added songs to the soundtrack of my life! What a terrible narrator I am.

Allow me to introduce you not only to the next song of our list, but also the one that gave this story its iconic title.

You’re welcome.

Things have changed since the first time we met back in that alley, huh?

I was a loner, you were... uh, living your life, I guess. Being a good member of society.

“It started out as nothing in the strangest sense He was never in his right mind, no defense She prayed for his attention, often on repeat Every time she heard his name and his heartbeat”

Josh was alone and hurting, not knowing how to express his feelings and just hiding all inside. 

Never do that kids look how it ends, with you painting an apology all over the neighborhood. And I mean all of it. The phrase is not the same as the one outside my house, these ones say ‘I’m with you’, ‘Where are you?’ and ‘I’m sorry’ not the same but it gives out the same vibes. 

It seems that ever since I cured Josh’s hand, all we’ve done is to play this game of jumping back and forth in our boundaries, throwing our bones at the wrong times. 

“He was in denial in his own backyard Pleading for the rain just to come down hard She bought him a bracelet and put it on his wrist Like every time before she got close but missed”

“By the time we reach the school it’ll be too late, you know that, right?”

“The School,” I reply, breathing heavily, “has to be saved. We can’t let it rot in hands of someone like Triumph, he’s gross!”

“We’re gross,” Alex grimaces, “I stink, and now we’re sweating like pigs. Imma smell like a Ghoulie.”

“Pigs don’t sweat,” I say simply.

It takes us another half an hour to arrive, we’re on time. I’m just thankful that Alex could hold on for so long, he’s almost fainting.

“Okay, we can take a break,” I say as I watch him lose all color from his face, “you want water...?”

“I need to sit down...”

I hear noises in the distance and I see Triumph arriving at school. 

Only this time he’s with someone. I’m glad to see them, it means we can still help.

It’s my favorite knock-off Triumph and stupid Josh.

“Alex, do you mind if I leave you for a second? Josh and Eli are over there-”

“Go, I hate you I can’t even see you right now,” He groans, poor dude.

They don’t notice me as I get closer, I watch them silently as Josh gets inside the cage and Eli closes the little door, that’s when I decide to walk up to them.

“So by ‘have it under control’ you meant giving yourself to Triumph as a peace offering?” I ask.

Eli and Josh curse and look at me with wide eyes.

“I told you not to follow us!”

“Yes, I wonder why you thought I would actually listen,” I cross my arms, “Sacrificing yourself is not a fair move, I can’t stay mad at you like this, you look ridiculous”

“That’s the plan,” Eli smirks, “We’re gonna pretend I’m Triumph so the kids won’t attack us, and once we’re inside we’ll save those kids and we’re out”

“Uh-huh,” I tilt my head, “How do you know Triumph isn’t inside the school right now? Like, what if the kids just saw him go to the bathroom when a second Triumph walks in through the main entrance?”

“We... improvise?” Josh offers.

“No. Never improvise, that’s awful,” I shake my head, “don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“You walked out unharmed and with half their spare weapons,” Eli says. 

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example-”

“Look, Y/N it’s alright,” Josh shifts on the cage, “we got this okay? Go to the mall, we’ll do fine”

“No, you’re not,” I insist, “you’re not going back to the mall, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll survive,” He shrugs, “you read the note...”

“Romeo, Romeo I'm your Juliet I'm the pot of gold that you haven't found yet I'm here, right here”

Someone runs to us and tackles Eli to the ground, screaming like a maniac.

“Hi, Baron Triumph! Die!” 

Oh my god, Jayden Hoyles it’s still alive?

“Get off of him!” I circle the byke and grab Hoyles’ arm trying to separate him from Eli, but he’s way stronger than me.

“Hoyles, you twat that’s not Burr, that’s Eli Cardashyan!” Josh yells from his cage.

Hoyles stops his movements instantly, sitting back and observing as Eli takes off his mask.

“’Sup turd?” He smirks.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He stands up and looks around in confusion.

“Hey let me outta here!” Josh demands, pushing the cage’s door.

Hoyles starts running away.

“Yeah, you better fucking run!” Eli sits on the ground as I walk over to the cage and unlock it.

“Hoyles you asshole! Hey!” Josh stands up in the cage, still screaming, “Hoyles!”

Then another miracle happens: Hoyles is tackled by a mutant pug.

“Oh, fuck” I cover my mouth in disgust. 

“Holy shit,” I hear Josh whisper, “mutant pug mating season”

I wish I didn’t have that image pierced in my mind forever.

Josh crouches next to Eli and checks on him.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

“I’m the lord of illusion!” Eli chuckles, “I even fooled Hoyles!”

“Hoyles is not exactly a smartass,” I retort, “but yeah, good for you I guess. C’mon”

I try to help him get to his feet but Eli whimpers, falling back.

“What? What?!” I step back, thinking that maybe he’s got a broken rib.

Eli touches his stomach and his hand gets smudged with blood.

“Oh shit,” I mumble, kneeling beside him.

“N-Nah man, it’s fine,” Josh stutters, “we got you, Y/N will heal you, right Y/N?”

“I need to see how deep it went,” My hands are starting to sweat and I feel something cold run down my back, “Eli, I need to take your clothes off”

But Eli is not listening, he’s got a panicky look on his face as he puts pressure on his injury.

“No, Eli!” Josh tries to carry him but Eli whimpers again.

“Alex!” I yell, “Alex, come quick! Eli is hurt!”

“Oh fuck,” Josh is holding onto Eli like his life depends on it, “what do we do?”

“Eli, don’t move,” Stab wounds are off-limits, you’d think I’d read a fic that had stabbing on it, but it turns out the world is lacking some good old-fashioned stabs, “Uh... keep applying pressure to it, we need to stop the bleeding and-and we need bandages... oh god, but I don’t know how deep it went, Josh! if his organs aren’t intact...” 

I look at Eli, who’s now coughing blood. I don’t dare to finish my sentence.

“What?” Josh asks anxiously, “if his organs aren’t intact what?”

“He’s...” This can’t be happening, not after all we’ve done, “we can’t help him, Josh”

“This blood is gonna get the Ghoulies fucking fast,” Eli speaks up, finally gaining a little bit of control.

“No man, don’t die,” Josh pleads, “Eli, don’t fucking die!”

“Josh,” I try to get his attention.

“What the fuck happened?” Alex is paler than before, “Y/N?”

“Hoyles stabbed him,” Only then I realize that I’ve started crying, “I-I don’t know what to do, Alex I can’t see his injury!”

“We’ll drive you back to the mall, okay?” Josh continues, “We’ll get Mavis. We’ll help you”

“Dude,” Eli speaks again, this time weaker than before, “Mavis is a mannequin. I don’t have the luck you got with Y/N, I don’t have anybody”

“Stop fucking around!” Josh exclaims.

“Just... when you get to the Highschool...” He mumbles.

“What? What man?” Josh gets closer, “Anything”

“You touch my ‘Magic: The Gathering’ cards, and I will hunt your ass,” He gives him a pointed look, “You don’t wanna fuck with paranormal Eli. I’m terrifying as shit”

“Jesus Eli,” I sob, “are you being serious right now?”

“More than ever, princess,” His breathing’s uneven now, and I know he’s about to go, “you do me a favor too, don’t go into sick dictator mode? Stay cool”

“Eli-” I cut my sentence as I notice he’s lost conscience, “No!”

“No, wake up, wake back up!” Josh shakes his body, “Get up, man! Get up! GET UP!”

“He’s gone,” Alex kneels beside me and touches my shoulder, “he’s gone...”

“Wake up,” Josh whispers, giving our friend’s body a final push.

Eli’s inert on the ground, he’s not breathing, and blood is still pouring from one of his sides. I feel the same numbness as with Katie. 

“Fuck,” I sit back, whipping the tears from my face and accidentally smudging blood on my cheek, “I fucking hate this town”

“Josh?” Alex asks beside me, “Josh, we need to leave before the Ghoulies...”

I raise my eyes and see Josh still holding Eli’s body, he’s looking at some point in the distance, crying but not making any noise.

“Wheeler,” I move over to his side and I kneel in front of him, cupping his face between my hands, “now is not time to lose it, alright? Deep breaths...”

Josh is facing me but it’s like he’s looking through me, then he closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, three times. He nods slowly and looks at me, now I see he’s back on this plane of existence.

“Let’s fucking end this shit”

We’re arriving at school when Josh starts acting weird again, he stops walking from time to time and I hear him breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the ground.

At some point, he turns around and sits on the ground next to a car.

Alex and I share a look and I step closer.

“What’s wrong?”

He vaguely shakes his head.

“Okay,” I reply softly, “you need help..?”

“I need closure,” He rasps, “I’m... I’m trying to...” He looks at me with pleading eyes, “Please don’t think I’m crazy”

“I won’t”

“I’m trying to imagine a conversation with my father,” He says to me very slowly, “you know, if I only had answered my phone on time... I need... I need that conversation now more than ever”

I feel a lump in my throat when I hear him, so I just nod.

“Course,” I mumble, “take your time”

I go back with Alex and tell him Josh needs a moment to calm down, so we sit at the main entrance of the school.

“It’s too empty,” Alex tells me, “the school, it’s too quiet.”

“Yeah,” I shrug, “maybe they’re gone, but we should make sure no one got left behind.”

“What is Josh doing, exactly?”

“He’s talking with his dad”

Alex gives me a weird look.

“Not he’s real dad, obviously. Like, the version inside his head,” I shake my head, “Look I know it sounds crazy but I get what he’s doing, don’t worry, he’ll be fine after this. He needs to talk it out.”

A memory flashes before my eyes: 

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

I’m thirteen and my cat just died, he was pretty old and fat, but I thought he would live forever. When I found out that wasn’t the case I sat next to his grave in the backyard and cried for a whole day until Katie came back from school.

She sat next to me in silence for a while, not even having physical contact.

“You know, dad says it’s better this way,” She says after an hour passes, “he died in his sleep, he wasn’t in pain.”

“But I am,” I cried, “he wasn’t supposed to leave me so soon!”

“You don’t know that,” Katie grabs my shoulder softly, “maybe he left so you could get another cat, maybe that cat is an orphan right now, and it’s waiting for you to save him”

“I wanted Lou, not an orphan cat,” I sniff loudly, “he was my best friend”

“It’s okay,” Katie slides closer and hugs me, “He’s still watching over you, I bet he’ll stay with you forever. That’s what happens when you die, you get to take care of the things you love in subtle ways.”

“You think?”

“Definitely,” She smiles, “if you ever feel scared during the night time he’ll warm your bed, or if you’re ever hungry and forgot your money for lunch, a friend will offer you cookies. Those kinds of things are stuff they sent to us, subtle reminders of their love”

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

God, I miss my sister so much. 

I hadn’t thought of that conversation in a long time. She was clever, always knew what to say. 

She was also right, about the subtle ways someone can send you their love.

I feel my sister on every kid that thank me when I heal them, my mom and dad are there every time Wesley and Angelica give me a speech/lecture about how I’m doing a good job and shouldn’t give up.

And Josh is... 

Josh is every little thing I used to love about my home: the laughter, the secrets told at midnight, the goodnight kisses, the vibrant colors... 

I look at my skates with a warm feeling on my chest, all of them, every person that I can’t see, they’re still with me. Looking after me, sending their love in subtle ways.

Josh walks up to us, looking determined.

“It’s done?” I stand up.

Josh hugs me without saying a thing.

“Oof!” I grunt, taken by surprise, “okay?”

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore,” He says, voice muffled by my hair.

“That’s good,” I pat his back.

“I will keep my promises this time,” He assures me, but I think he’s still talking to himself, “I won’t push you away”

“I believe you,” I respond, stepping back and looking into his eyes, “but Josh, keep in mind that you aren’t perfect, so please don’t push yourself too hard or you’ll break again”

He nods, smiling lightly.

“Ready to finish this?”

Instead of replying I turn around and extend my hand to Alex to help him get up.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” I apologize wholeheartedly, “you could be traveling around the country if it wasn’t for me”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Y/N” He smiles.

I look back at Josh, his usual energetic attitude is slowly coming back.

“We’re ready.”

“You’re something else, Y/N,” Josh replies, eyes beaming.

“Well it started out as nothing in the strangest place Beating like a drum in a hard work space He swore that he could feel something tugging on his sleeve He had the strangest sense that he was Adam, she was Eve”

The school is completely abandoned, no one is on the halls, they’re clean like someone made sure to leave everything in their place before escaping.

“We should look in every room, just in case,” I say, Alex and Josh agree silently.

We search in the principal’s office and the classrooms.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Alex whispers.

“Wait,” Josh stops, “you heard that?”

“What?”

We don’t move for a second. Then, a clanging sound echoes through the hall, we share a look of excitement before sprinting forward.

“Over here!” Alex opens the door of the chemistry classroom.

We step inside as the noise gets stronger, Josh moves quietly and points to the closet in one of the corners.

We join him to see Sam Dean, desperately trying to open a heavy metal door with chains around its handle. We get closer and she doesn’t seem to hear us, too focused on breaking the chains.

“She was in chains by her own good hand Keeping all the angels under her command He saw every detail burning like sun Couldn't get it straight that his race was run”

“Sam?” Josh asks loudly.

The girl screams and raises the crowbar, almost hitting Josh on the head.

The three of us step back and shout that we come in peace, raising our hands so she sees we have no weapons.

Well, I do have Katie on my back, but like, I’m injured so I can’t grab it fast enough.

Her eyes widened and urge us with an alarmed voice.

“QUICK! BURR’S GONNA-”

An explosion sends us all against the opposite wall, I hit the side of my face with a chair and when I open my eyes I’m on the ground. Blood is coming from my mouth and I feel my lip has a cut. I’m too disoriented to get up, so I stay still on the floor.

A shadow stands above me and I look up, is that... Sam Dean?

She helps me to get on my feet and it’s then when I realize my ears aren’t working as they should.

“I...” But I can’t hear my own voice, so I assume they can’t hear it either.

Well, fuck.

I search through my bag ignoring the pain in my shoulder and pull out my notebook (the one I always carry around, not the one Josh gave me, I left that one behind, remember?) and a pen, quickly scribbling away.

‘Triumph?’

I show the page to Sam and she nods, she grabs my notebook and writes back.

‘My fault. Need to stop him.’

Josh and Alex walk up to us, Josh is looking good overall, but I can see Alex will have a pretty nasty bruise on his eye in a couple of hours. Josh rushes over to my side and examines my face with a worried expression, I brush him off and grab my notebook from Sam’s hands, pointing to what’s written in it.

Josh reads it and shakes his head, taking the pen and writing messily.

‘We have no weapons’

I snatch the notebook from his hands and write in all caps:

‘MALL’

I show the notebook to Sam and she nods excitedly. Then she mouths ‘LET’S GO’ and guides us outside.

She leaves the classroom with Alex following close behind, Josh and I are left alone.

I scribble quickly.

‘Ur <3 is with me?’

Josh reads and nods, not understanding what I’m trying to say.

‘R U going to tell her?’

He gulps and looks over to where Sam was moments ago, then takes the notebook from my hands and writes five words.

‘Kill Triumph 1st. Talk later’

Right. Priorities.

We get out of the classroom and soon are on our way to the mall, my lip has stopped bleeding but it’s swelling and it hurts. I landed on my shoulder and that’s also hurting, you can add this to the list of injuries that I’ll have to deal with later.

It’s around five o’clock when we arrived, we are battered but we need to gather our stuff and think of what we’ll do next.

The kids spot Sam and most of them run to welcome her and give her a hug, but she tries desperately to let them know what’s going on, I don’t know if they’re able to hear or not, so I hit Josh’s shoulder and give him a sharpie I had in my bag, pointing to the column in front of us.

He grabs it and writes on it ‘TRIUMPH IS GONNA NUKE GLENDALE’.

KJ snatches the sharpie and writes ‘We have to GO!’

Sam glares at her and takes the sharpie back, writing ‘We have to stop him!!’

I drop the notebook and grab the sharpie, quickly adding ‘We need the spare weapons! We need to kill Triumph!’

Sam and KJ keep pointing to their signs and then KJ does it harder, giving Sam a pointed look and walking away.

I walk over to KJ and grab her arm, frowning at her, trying to communicate my thoughts: ‘What THE FUCK are you doing?’

She points with her thumb over her shoulder and then to the things on the ground, like saying ‘I’m done with this shit’

Well, smartass so am I.

Most of the kids start to join KJ, they don’t want to fight or kill, they want safety.

I should know that, I heard them before.

I walk back to where Sam is and I see slight relief in her eyes, she knows she’s not alone.

Josh starts to walk over to KJ’s side and both of us look at him with wide eyes.

I pull the pen out of my pocket and throw it at his head.

He turns around, holding the place where I hit him and asks silently ‘What?’

Sam’s mouths ‘What the fuck?’

Josh shrugs and points to the kids, ‘Let’s go?’

KJ crosses her arms and raises a brow, expectant.

For fucks sake, I like her but sometimes I want to kick her ass.

Sam shakes her head and picks up the notebook and the pen from the ground, she opens it on the page where we were writing before and just when she’s about to start writing, her eyes find my conversation with josh.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Please kill me now, oh fuck, I fucked up. I’m the worst.

Her eyes widened, throwing the notebook she looks up at Josh and then at me. 

I step away from her.

It’s embarrassing really, how long it takes Josh to realize Sam found out about us... ugh, that sounds disgusting, it sounds like we cheated or something.

She gesticulates dramatically and Josh only seems to get even more confused as she keeps going until finally she stops moving and asks, very loudly:

“You FUCKED Her?”

Oh, I can hear now.

Oh no, I can hear now.

“I’m going to get those weapons,” I say, face completely red and unable to look at either of them in the eyes.

Fuck is a stretch, to be honest. We barely kiss like two times, this is not middle school.

“Alex can you..?” He tilts his head and frowns.

Am I... am I the only one who’s able to hear right now?

“You can’t hear me?”

Alright then, they can’t. I lower my head and walk straight towards the pharmacy, thinking what will I do to live with the humiliation of being ‘the other girl’.

________________________________

Well, Josh had a blast being insulted nonstop by a bunch of colorful post-it notes.

Sam was pissed. She had the right to be, Josh had been unfair and had offended her for no reason, so he just let her write everything she wanted, he wasn’t going to defend himself.

When the girl stick the last note on his forehead ‘U R a coward’ Josh pulled the old, raggedy yellow note that said ‘Where are you?’ and handed it to her.

Then he grabbed the post-its and wrote:

‘Fixing my mistakes.’

Sam read it and spoke up.

“Am I a mistake?” She raised a brow.

“What I did to you was,” He replied, “I know saying I’m sorry sounds like I’m not actually sorry. I am, though. I’ve been working on fixing the way I cope with things and it’s taking me a while to get used to it.”

“Good for you,” Sam replied harshly, “that doesn’t mean everything will go back to normal and you know it, right?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” He admits, and when he said it, the pain in his chest was minimal, “you deserve better Sam, I really liked our time together but I know that what I said to you was just plain awful”

The girl tilted her head.

“I’m right,” She squinted, “You and Y/N are a thing?”

“No,” Josh saw her skeptical expression and sighed, “for a moment we kinda were, but... Let’s say I’m a pro at making girls hate me”

Sam nodded.

“It looks like karma got to you, I have nothing to add,” Sam started to walk away, but stopped to look over her shoulder, “the things you wrote on the notebook... is it true? You love her?”

“I don’t know,” Josh felt his heart flutter at the thought, “it does feel like it sometimes”

“Like it felt with me?” Sam asked ironically.

Josh groaned, passing a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry I was so pushy”

“Josh,” Sam insisted, “you can’t be falling around for every girl that treats you nicely”

“Y/N doesn’t ‘treat me nicely’,” He replied, “when I cut my finger she almost tied me to a bed and forced me to recover. She insults me a lot, recently threatened to kill me”

“And you like her?” Sam frowned, “Are you sure you’re working on your issues?”

“She’s done all those stuff but she also cured my hand, and she’s cured every kid on this mall, she got us weapons and she watches our back. When I talk to her I just feel that she gets me, you know? She’s... I feel I finally found my place,” He looked over to the pharmacy, where Y/N was hurriedly putting weapon after weapon inside a plastic box, “I feel happy when I’m with Y/N”

Sam gets closer, also watching the girl in the pharmacy.

“Y/N L/N a.k.a Vinchi-”

“She doesn’t like that nickname anymore,” Josh is quick to correct.

“Alright,” Sam gives him a funny look, “just Y/N, then. Artistic type of person, creative, funny, a talent for kind words. Yes, I can see you falling for someone like that. Actually, I don’t understand how it didn’t happen sooner,” Sam eyes him up, “didn’t you do a project together?”

“Yeah,” He smiles, “I did have a thing for her, but you know, I was with you...”

“How considerate,” Sam shakes her head, “time’s up, we need to go and stop Triumph.”

_______________________________

I hand the box to Alex and dry the sweat of my forehead.

“That was the last crossbow,” I sigh, “well, we need to go again”

“Not gonna lie, being a hero is way harder than expected,” Alex grunts.

I put an anti-inflammatory cream on his eye, the bruise is fully formed now and it gives him a shitty look, I wave of appreciation washes over me and I hug my friend by the shoulders.

“I love you, Alex. You’re the only family I have left”

“Hey, that’s not true,” He looks down at me, “things are not over yet, we still can get Wesley and Angelica back, and... I mean, Josh is still pretty much into you, right?”

“Right,” A voice replies behind me, “but she’s not ready to forgive me, so I decided to do the next logical thing and fight against the cannibal to win her back”

I turn around and I see Josh standing at the entrance, a tiny smile on his face.

“Ready to go?”

“Where are we going first?” Alex asks.

“We need people, we should go for Angelica and Wesley,” Josh looks at me, “I shouldn’t have kicked them out in the first place, I know.”

“Wait,” Alex interrupts, “we can’t leave the weapons here alone and we can’t take them with us, it’s a lot to carry. Someone needs to stay and wait”

“I’ll stay,” I reply instantly.

“Are you sure?” Josh asks me.

“Yes, I’ve always been the one to look after the mall, right?”

I’m trying to make it look like I’m being heroic, but actually, I’m just finding an excuse to not confront Sam just yet.

“Okay,” Alex pats my back, “I’ll stay too then”

“No, you have to help them, you don’t know what could happen while you’re out,” I push his hand away, “Go, I’ll be fine”

Josh holds my hand.

“I’ll fix things, I’ll get everyone back... I hope you can give me another chance once this whole thing ends”

Little does he know, I would give him the second chance right now if he’d ask.

If only he had asked.

“Romeo, Romeo tell me where you've been I would be complete if you'd only let me in I'm here, right here He said Juliet I told you I was only passing through If I had a moment I would spend it just with you I'm here, right here”

So I sit on the mattress store with the box of spare weapons next to me for what it feels like hours, but it’s really just like one. Finally Josh, Sam, and Alex arrive with Wesley... and Turbo.

“Well hello,” I raise my eyebrows, “it’s always a pleasure to see the guy that tried to kill us a few nights ago”

“He’ll help,” Josh tells me, “he’s with us now”

“I assumed he was, otherwise he wouldn’t be so chill, right, big guy?”

Turbo smiles awkwardly at me.

“Y/N,” Wesley smiles at me, “can I have a hug?”

“You can have all you want!” I quirk up, hugging him tightly I take the opportunity to whisper, “I missed you, man. You were great on Harvard’s podcast”

“You listen to them?” He steps back, shaking his head, “nevermind, of course you do”

“What’s that supposed to-”

“Hey,” Sam walks up to me, “can we talk?”

If I could pronounce the way I write a key smash, I would. I do not want to talk to Sam Dean.

“Sure!” I say, maybe too excitedly.

She takes me outside the store and sighs, just letting things out.

“I know about you and Josh, I just want you to know that I’m fine with it, you can stop looking at me like I’m about to jump on your throat”

“What?” I laugh nervously, “I’m not- Okay, fine, holy shit I’m so sorry, I’m under a lot of pressure”

“I understand,” She pats my shoulder, “it’s okay, Y/N. We’re good.”

“Thank you,” I let out a heavy sigh, “you’re great”

“I’m just not a bitch,” Sam smirks, “besides, he really cares about you”

“Okay,” Josh speaks up from the store, “Burr has Angelica, an army of jocks, and a big nuke.”

We go back in the moment he turns to look at Turbo.

“What’s your plan?”

Turbo stands up and grunts, pacing up and down. He’s upset.

“Kids need the strongest leader,” Sam mentions, “Turbo isn’t that anymore”

Turbo grunts louder and I reach for his arm to gain his attention.

“If you keep grunting like that your throat will never heal,” I warn him, “and you probably need a humidifier... or something, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor”

Turbo stares at me for a few seconds and then back at Josh. He points to him and then to me. Wesley eyes me up with a sly smile and then at Josh.

I’m: confused.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Josh stands up, “I can’t make a plan, I’m not a leader, I’m just... I’m just Josh!”

“Alone, yes,” Wesley retorts, “with Y/N? That’s a different story.”

“Uhm, what?” I frown.

“He’s right,” Alex says, “Josh is an expert at survival, but you know how to find shortcuts to solutions. Creativity and knowledge, that’s enough to succeed.”

“No one will follow us,” I reply, “Josh and I are nobodies, we have no friends!”

‘I’ll be your friend!’ A voice that triggers my panic speaks up from the hall.

“SHIT!” 

We jump to hide and Sam looks around.

“Aw! What’s your name? Guys look!”

“It’s not exploding?” I peek over the couch, “What a nice way to find out I have PTSD”

“Sorry!” KJ appears at the corner, “Sorry! Thought it was cute... My bad, too soon. I want to apologize for running away. We came back to help you fight. And... we’re not the only ones”

I’m shocked to see that the Cheeramazons are here. I’m even more surprised when I see that Josh knows sign language.

“Besides,” KJ smiles at me apologetically, “must of us feel like we own you big time, Y/N. You’re like a mom”

“I’m not a mom!” I scoff, “But... thank you, I guess.”

“Do you have a plan?” Sam looks at us.

Josh hesitates, looking around like he’s lost.

“Josh?” I hold his hand, “I’m right here with you.”

He looks down at our hands and a smile appears on his face, he drops my hand, but only for just a second so he can sign what he says:

“Let’s save the world.”

“And they all fall down And they all fall down”

“You don’t actually have a plan, don’t you?” I ask.

“I don’t have a plan,” Josh looks at me with pure fear, “I was expecting you would give me one?”

“Hmm,” I nod, “well, you can’t expect me to solve every problem, you know?”

“But you’re great at solving things!”

“Yes, but this is a difficult one!” I reply, “we are so few, and they are so many... shit, we could barely form a...”

My voice dies at the end, an idea making its way to me.

“I know that look,” Josh says, a smile growing slowly on his face, “tell me what you think”

“We need to form a marching band.”

Josh frowns, having no idea of what I’m saying.

“Just- Come...” I grab his hand and rush to the main entrance of the mall.

I know I’m making a lot of time-skips. But those parts are boring and let’s be honest, you’re not here to listen to our crazy plans, you’re here to read some classic romance.

Maybe I should skip to the end of this? Would you like me to?

Sike! you’re gonna sit and wait for me to end narrating cause I want to talk about my goddamn day.

Where was I? Oh right, so we take the truck to the mall and Josh parks right outside, lowering the ramp so everyone can climb up the back.

“Alright!” Josh tells aloud as I circle the truck “Let’s hop in!”

I stand next to the ramp and watch as kids hesitantly climb.

Sam grabs my arm and pulls me towards Josh, whispering:

“Hi, what the shit?”

“I’m relatively confident this is gonna end well,” Josh points at me, “it’s one of Y/N’s plan, those never fail”

He gives me a bright smile but I almost wish he didn’t cause I am not even close to confident.

“Fighting Baron Triumph, with the surviving members of the JV marching band?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of music,” I state.

“Besides,” Josh continues, “they don’t have to be any good, just loud!”

A Cheeramazon stands in our way and mouth ‘it’s going to be loud’ she winks, high-fiving Josh. He chuckles (his cute, childish laugh) and guides us to the front seats of the truck.

“Yes, that makes total sense, thank you,” Sam mumbles.

“If it doesn’t work, I guess we can just follow plan b,” I shrug.

“What’s plan b?” She asks.

Josh and I share a goofy look and respond in unison:

“Improvise!”

The kids start playing the instruments as loud as they can and it happens: a Ghoulie walks out of his cave, mindlessly following the noises.

“Fuck, Josh!” Sam gets all defensive, but Josh and I only get excited.

“Keep playing! Keep playing!” Josh runs over to the driver’s seat and I grab the hammer that’s hanging on my back.

“Y/N?” Sam looks back at me, “you’re not coming?”

“Oh, yes” I smile, “just not inside the car.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“I mean I could, but where’s the poetry in that?” I respond.

I can see that she doesn’t get what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay, no one could. Only you guys, you’re the one seeing the whole scene unfold.

So picture this:

The former loner who knows every corner of Glendale like the back of her hand, now skating along with her best friend from childhood ahead of a huge truck that carries her old Highschool classmates playing loudly (and badly) the marching band’s instruments so they can get as many Ghoulies as possible to make the dirty work for them. 

We make our way through the dirt that’s lifting from the ground, the Daybreakers make their dramatic appearance in front of Triumph’s army.

Yeah, you like that name for our tribe? I wish I could say it was my idea, but it seems that my imagination is better at stupid plans rather than naming important things. 

I don’t mind, really, as I smugly arrive at the scene, backed up by a gigantic bee face, I feel more powerful than ever. 

Josh and Sam get out of the driver’s seat and stand on each side of us, I bet we must look pretty badass. Or at least I hope our vibe feels like we know what we’re doing.

“Hey Josh!” Burr yells.

Then his army starts walking towards us, and I keep my grip firm on Katie.

“Is this your plan?” Sam asks loudly.

“We need an army to fight the jocks,” Josh retorts, “so we got an army”

Now, I did feel a bit bad watching as the Ghoulies feasted on those poor athletic souls, but hey, they had it coming! How can they support someone like Burr?

Turbo’s bus stops next to us and we climb up on it, I have a hard time climbing without using my injured hand that much. Jesus, at this point I don’t think my hand will ever properly heal.

He drops us where Angelica is and she receives us with a hug -first time she hugs me, I feel validated- and tells us the wonderful news about how the nuke is ready to blow up in our faces.

KJ and she try to deactivate it but the instructions are in a different language and it’s hard to read, Angelica has a little breakdown and Josh tries to calm her down.

“Hey! Okay then, we’ll just unfuck it,” He says calmly, “Angelica, you’re a Mensa-level genius with flexible morality... and I need you.”

Alright but you agree with me when I say that this is not fair, right? 

That was so sweet! Why is he so sweet when I try to keep my distance? 

WHY?

“I need help,” Angelica replies, “there’s a biological weapon on this nuke, I don’t know what it is, Ms. Crumble does. I need her”

“We’ll get her,” I say.

“Well, where is she?” Sam inquires.

Angelica points to a building behind us.

“In there, with the other kids”

When we walk inside we see a bunch of kids trapped inside two school busses.

“I’m gonna get them out,” Sam says.

But before she can, Triumph attacks Josh and pushes him over the ramp, he falls from a reasonably high distance and Sam ends up fighting Burr, so it’s up to Alex and me now.

“Go get Ms. Crumble!” Sam demands as she runs, “Angelica needs her!”

Josh runs away and Alex and I go towards the busses.

“Get away from the door!” I warn the kids on my bus as Alex does the same with his.

I hit the small window on it and I break the glass, I hear the sound of a gun being fired and some glass falling to the ground, so I assume Alex shot the door to death.

“Get out! Come on!” I urge the kids to run away as they desperately climb out of the bus.

I hear Sam grunting and screaming and I look up to see her on the ground. I don’t get to worry much cause soon enough Josh appears behind Triumph and stabs him in the back, Ms. Crumble is next to him, along with Mona.

I have to make a quick choice, and I decide that the four of them can easily kick Burr’s ass, so I make my way outside to cut some Ghoulie heads.

Or more specifically, smash them.

But when Alex and I get out we see Wesley and Turbo being cornered by some jocks and we stand beside them, Alex points his gun to someone but I see he really doesn’t want to use it against a live person.

“Well, look what the plague brought,” Maya comes out to the front, “Vinchi.”

“Bite me, Maya”

“I rather leave it to the Ghoulies,” She smiles, “go ahead, boys”

The jocks move but Sam appears behind us, trying to calm everyone down.

“Woah, Woah! Hey, guys” She peeks over Wesley’s shoulder.

“Hi Sam!” a boy at the back waves at her, “Nice jacket!”

“Thank you Michael!” She exclaims, “Okay, so if we could all just... relax. Principal Burr is dead, but we need to get Ms. Crumble here, up there to disarm that nuke and save everyone. Good?”

“You got it, Sam!” Michael replies.

“Thank you, cooperative”

We go back to Angelica and Crumble tells us that the bomb made her, I don’t really understand what she means, but right after she says it Angelica tells us she can’t deactivate now.

But, she can fire the missile to a different location. Up to god, apparently.

Unfortunately, it can only be done from here, and being this close to the missile when it shoots up equals dying a really shitty death.

“I’ll do it!” Crumble offers.

Angelica refuses the idea, but deep down... it’s our only way out if we want to stay here. 

It’s hard, I see myself reflected in the way she holds onto Crumble’s waist. She doesn’t want to let go of the only family she has. However, it’s imperative we do this soon, so we have to take her away.

She fights, kicks and yells as hard as she can, but eventually, we drag her out.

“Get to the trucks!” Josh yells and we all obey.

Crumble makes sure we are all safe before she presses the button. 

The explosion is massive, impressive. Angelica turns her back to it and hugs Josh and I close, Wesley joins in.

“We’re here, An” I tell her as I pass a hand through her hair, “we’re with you”

“I never thought I would see anything like this,” Alex mumbles behind us.

“I never thought I would be this close to die so many times in just one year,” I scoff, “apocalypse, am I right?”

The missile explodes but is too far out of our reach to even feel scared. It’s like four of July, and we’re just watching fireworks.

“We did it?” I ask.

“It’s done,” Sam says.

“Holy shit,” Alex pulls me away from my other friends and hugs me tightly, “We did it! We saved the world!”

I hug him back and laugh loudly.

“Fuck yes!” I step away and hug Wesley, then Turbo, then Sam... and Josh and I are standing face to face without knowing what to do.

“Uh, good job,” Josh smiles.

We hear Angelica sob and the bliss disappears.

Josh puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry”

“We have so much to thank her,” I hug her again, “it’s okay...”

Wesley joins in, the three of us looking at the flames surrounding the place where the nuke used to be.

“What are we looking at?”

“SHIT!” I jump away from Crumble, “How are you so quiet- No, how the fuck are you here?”

Angelica gasps and hugs Crumble.

“I told you!” Crumble laughs.

“What are you?” An asks her.

Yes, that would be the right question.

“I don’t know,” She shakes her head, “but aren’t we gonna have fun figuring it out together?”

“Yeah!”

I don’t know why, but a need to run away invades me. I feel like this is all too good to be true and something will explode in our face.

Now, that could be my PTSD talking, but either way, I quietly start to skate away from the people, trying to find a place that is lonesome enough to control my nerves.

“Y/N!” I keep skating, not noticing someone’s calling my name, “Y/N! Wait!”

Josh grabs my arm and stands in front of me.

“Where are you going?” He frowns.

“Oh, hah, I’m just-I’m just trying to... I...” I swallow the lump in my throat, “I’m scared, Josh”

“I know,” He nods, letting go of my arm, “but I thought we had agreed that you didn’t have to go to feel better, right?”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I blurt out, “Cause if you’re not, I just can’t do it, Josh. I can’t be wondering every day if you’re into me or if it’s just you pretending, I need... I need to know that you know”

“I know,” He repeats, “I want to be with you, Y/N. You and your silly socks and these horribly blinding lime-green skates. If that’s what makes you happy then I’ll get you all the lime-green things in the world. I’m okay with whatever you want as long as I can keep listening to your voice calling me stupid Josh and urging me to brush my teeth, I... I like you”

I’m not going to cry over this cliche speech. I refuse.

Fuck, I’m crying.

“Shut up,” I half-laugh, half-cry, “I think... I like you too, stupid Josh”

“Can I have a second chance?”

“You just saved the world, you can have anything you want”

“You saved the world too”

“All I want is you”

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him down to kiss him.

“Ouch! Bad idea, bad idea,” I step back, holding my swollen lip, “I was trying to be romantic”

“Are you okay?” Josh laughs, cupping my face, “Wait, hold on let me see, did I make it bleed again?”

“I don’t know,” I raise my head so he can examine it, “I’m sorry, I ruined the moment”

“You didn’t,” He shakes his head, still chuckling, “let me just...”

He leans slowly, giving me a moment to step back if that’s what I want. 

That’s obviously not what I want.

He kisses me again, softer this time.

Oh, how little matters the end of the world on moments like this.

Suddenly it’s like we’re back at the beginning, the school is celebrating their homecoming and I’m kissing my boyfriend after a long day of cheering for our football team. Alex must be waiting for us to get to the mall so we can watch a movie with him and Stuart. There’s not a ‘What if’ on sight to wonder about, I’m living in it.

“She said Romeo, Romeo I'm your Juliet I'm the pot of gold that you haven't found yet I'm here, right here He said Juliet I believe every word you say Time is running backwards every single day...”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Sam calls out.

We break apart to look at her and Josh smiles.

“Hey! Listen, I think we’ll be a bit uncomfortable at first cause we are too many, but we can make it work, so if you just gather everyone...”

“What are you talking about?” Sam tilts her head.

“Uh, about the jocks joining our tribe?” Josh shrugs, “Now that Turbo is no longer their leader, you’ll need a place to stay. I know I’m not the best leader, but perhaps we can take care of you just fine”

“Says who?”

“Sam, you have no leader, you need protection,” He replies, “that’s why we rescued you”

“Rescued me?” She rolls her eyes, “I’ll always be thankful to you, Josh. And you Y/N, of course,” She walks up to the ramp, “when you posted that video you showed me who I could be. I don’t need to be saved! I just need a little guidance, something Y/N could be very helpful at?”

“You want me to join your tribe?” I frown.

“What? What are you talking about?” Josh asks, “Sam, what are you saying, who are you?”

She walks up to the center and turns around, looking down at us.

“I’m Sam Dean,” Sam replies like it’s obvious, she looks at Mona and nods.

Mona hops into the truck, ready to follow.

“What do you say, Y/N?” She asks me, “We might need your brain to rebuild our home”

“I-I don’t...” I stutter, not knowing what’s going on.

“She won’t leave her little boyfriend behind, she’s too needy,” A voice says.

The Jocks step aside and Maya reveals herself.

“I’ll be more than happy to help, though.”

“No!” I say in outrage, “Don’t listen to her, she’s not-”

I can’t find the words and it’s making me frustrated.

“Sam, you’re not like this,” Josh helps me out, “you don’t want Maya, she doesn’t play nice”

“Things change, Josh” Sam extends her arms, “this is my life now, these are my people and they need a leader. Y/N can understand that, don’t you? You wouldn’t just leave your mall kids abandoned, right?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I reply dryly.

“No, you would do anything to keep them safe. Well, the jocks... they need me, and I know Maya can be quite resourceful, she spent some time with the Cheeramazons after all, I might need her talent for strategy, you know, just in case,” She smirks, “who cares about stupid morals nowadays?”

Maya walks up to her and stands on her left side, giving me a satisfied look.

“The apocalypse wasn’t the best thing to happen to you, Josh. It was the best thing to happen to me,” She looks at the rest of us and adds, “follow me.”

The jocks kneel and Sam sits on her throne... a queen bee finding its hive.

“Y/N?” 

“What, Josh?”

“Remind me to never doubt you ever again,” He looks at me with a worried expression, “I should’ve listened to you and just leave her alone...”

“you did that because you’re a good person,” I reply, “but I think it’s time we face it, ‘good’ won’t assure our safety, we’ll have to be smarter than that.”

“Now what?” Alex asks next to me.

“We stay together,” Angelica replies, “we won’t get intimidated that easily. We’re a tribe now! We have to make them respect us”

“I’m in,” Wesley says, then looks at Turbo next to him, who nods, “Turbo’s too”

“Me too,” Alex agrees.

“We’ll find our way out, right?” I ask Josh, reaching for his hand.

“Together, or not at all,” He nods intertwining our fingers.

“I'm here, right here...”

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic @slythermyg @loving-u-3000​

[bittermarrow]

Hullo! I'm looking for some angsty hcs or blurbs where Jason's mute! S/o gets caught in one of his traps.

A/n: I ended up turning this into a little fic, I was enjoying this idea so much that I just kept on writing until boom! I had just written a little story, haha…

(I also realized that I haven’t written a proper fic dedicated to Jason! like what?? Oh hell nah, he needs lovin’ now)

Warnings: Blood/Gore-ish, Angst.

Words: 1700+

.   .   .

Silent Trap

You wandered more or less aimlessly through the forest behind your cabin, it was dark, and even with a flashlight, it was hard to navigate the wooded area you’d slowly been introducing and familiarizing yourself with. Jason hadn’t come home yet, you heard distant screams that spooked a few of the night birds with every shrill cry. You knew he was going about his business with some group of idiot stoner teenagers, and therefore wouldn’t come home until he has finished off every last one.

That didn’t stop you from worrying yourself sick and eventually heading out to look for him. You knew he was supposedly unkillable, and could very well hold his own, but you also knew that Jason could still feel pain. He may have acquired a strong tolerance to the human weakness, but it still hurt you to see him in pain. You just needed to make sure he was okay.

You know you shouldn’t be out here, Jason would throw a fit once you found each other. He was incredibly protective of you, and would never let you go outside at night without him escorting you and without it being for a reasonable cause.

But you couldn’t help it. You were stubborn, always had been. And that was just not going to change, you wanted to make sure your lover was still in one piece and then you’d willingly go back to your cabin when he freaked out. It was a simple concept, but… whenever you expect simplicity you tend to get the opposite. And you didn’t realize just how complex your nightly lesson was about to become, so, in your blissful ignorance, you strode past trees and vegetation of every sort. You could hear the tiny twigs snapping and the occasional pinecone crunching under your flip-flops.

You froze to listen when you heard some faraway sounding voices echo throughout the forest. Your eyes widened when you noticed that the panicked voices were getting closer, thinking quickly you covered your flashlight with your palm to dim the intensity of the light and stepped over a broken branch to lean against the bark of a tree. Two female voices and one older, and much deeper one came quite close to your location, they were chattering amongst themselves, probably trying to come up with a plan to escape while running. You smiled half-heartedly at their determination, they actually thought they’d be able to get away from Jason. You knew better.

All of a sudden their brainstorming switched to horrified screams, you heard their heavy footsteps take off in the opposite direction of your hiding spot. You cringed slightly at the wet sound of a blade meeting flesh and the distant cry of agony from what you thought was one of the girls. You waited until you couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary before stepping back out into the open, you removed your sweaty palm from your flashlight and continued to walk. At least you knew the general direction to go to find him.

Your thought was abruptly cut short when you felt your foot fall onto a metal piece, and couldn’t even process what had happened before you heard a loud ‘snap!’ and felt the shocking pain of a bear trap closing around your shin, just barely missing your ankle. You yelped at the excruciating pain that shot up your entire leg, you quickly cut off the rest of your noise though in an involuntary impulse to keep quiet. You fell forward into the hard dirt, white-hot shocks of almost unbearable stabbing pain overwhelming you in an instant, you made small, sharp intakes of breath as your eyes watered and then began to drip hot tears down each side of your face.

You tried to breathe, tried to take your mind off of the trap around your burning leg. If you panicked and tried to squirm or pull out of it it would only cause more damage. You breathed rapidly through your nose, making tiny whimpering noises into the back of your forearm, each sound muffled by your flesh. In the back of your mind you worried about what would happen if Jason found you out here stuck in his trap, he was going to be so upset!

And then you are overcome with a much bigger concern. What if Jason didn’t find you? No, he’d find you, but how soon? You whined into your arm and silently begged for those teenagers to give up, it was an awful thought and it would have normally eaten away at your conscience had you not been in so much pain.

You had no way of telling how much time it would take for your lover to find you, he would go home first, and then realize you weren’t there. You could only pray to whatever deity you found sensical that he would come before you passed out. And it’s not like you can scream for him. You slammed your fist down into the ground in frustration, a pained grunt tumbling out of your throat. You felt dumb for coming out here, in the dark, after Jason who could take care of himself. You never considered yourself necessarily prideful, part of the reason you were mute, but this was hard to swallow.

About fifteen to twenty minutes passed by like hours, you wanted to say the pain has dulled or even started to numb, but it still hurt so much that it was hard to tell. You laid there for awhile fiddling with your flashlight in an attempt to distract yourself, you had stopped crying a while ago, and your face was a bit gross-feeling with streaks of dried tears. It was getting to the point where you were losing hope of ever being found, and you were getting tired too.

And just when you were about to just accept your fate, accept that you’ll likely be out here all night, you hear those heavy footsteps that are unmistakably Jason’s. They were quick, and you heard the rustle of bushes and the crunch of leaves being stepped on almost aggressively. He was panicking.

You almost cry again as a wave of relief washes over you, you prop yourself up onto your arms with effort whimpering when you accidentally moved your shin and caused a sharp shudder of pain to shoot back up your leg. The footsteps came to an abrupt stop, Jason must’ve heard your tiny noise because a moment later he steps— no, runs into the small clearing where you are laying. You look up at him with glossy eyes and can’t help but smile weakly despite your agony, you were just so happy to see him.

Jason is at your side in seconds, kneeling down and grabbing your face in his hands, he’s breathing hard and he makes a worried whimper in the back of his throat. You place one of your hands over his larger ones and you share a brief conversation with your eyes, Jason releases your face and immediately works on reversing the trap to release your leg from it. Once the jaws of the heavy bear trap pull out of your bleeding flesh you crawl forward and remove your leg from it. You maneuver yourself into to sitting position that doesn’t agitate your wound as much and inspect the damage, Jason ignores re-setting the trap in favor of helping you and kneels at your side.

You let him bend your knee and look it over himself, you can tell he is beating himself up over this already. You could see it in the way he was looking at your wound like he had been the cause of it. You reach forward and place a hand over his shoulder, your expression one of sympathy and also reassurance. You stretch your arms up obediently as he stands up, ignoring your attempt at comforting him. He lifts you up and off the ground and gathers you in his arms with one hand under your knees and the other supporting your back as you link your arms around his thick neck.

Jason carries you back to the cabin with haste, he would have broken down the door if you hadn’t reached down to open it yourself. He places you on the countertop of your small kitchen, tapping your knee and pointing one finger to you and to the floor, telling you to ‘stay put’, and this time, you listened.

You helped Jason treat your wound, disinfecting it with an antiseptic you kept handy in the medicine cabinet and wrapped thick layers of gauze around the entire expanse of your shin and ankle.  Stopping the blood flow was a challenge, but with a few hiccups, you managed.

Not wanting you to walk even a little bit after all of that, Jason lifted you from the counter and carried you to your shared bedroom, placing you on the bed and helping you change into your night clothes when you needed it. Once you were finally snuggled up together on the mattress, you sighed, nuzzling your face into Jason’s chest. The large man in your bed kept your injured leg propped up over his stomach to keep you from moving it in any way that would cause you pain. Jason wouldn’t be getting any of his version of ‘sleep’ tonight, and this became very clear when he kept brushing his fingers over your knee, he was too anxious.

You propped your chin onto your palm, using your elbow to support your upper body to look at him. You cupped his masked cheek to draw his guilty eyes to yours, you could see the faint sign of wetness under his lower lids that told you that he was crying. You didn’t want him to cry for you, this was your fault. And you did your best to convey that to him through your eyes and slight movements of your hands, pointing at yourself. You even mouthed ‘my fault’.

Jason shook his head stubbornly, using his own hands to gesture towards himself. But you stopped him, you placed your hand over your own heart and then over his. That was how you said ‘I love you’ to each other.

Jason sighed and mimicked your gesture, pressing the fiberglass mask to your forehead. You smiled and slid the shield from his face to look at your teddy bear, your hero.

.   .   .

[nightofnyx8]

Robstar Week Day 4: Fever

I tried my best to put a little twist on the theme, even if the story kind of ends the same. But I hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

______________________________________________

The sun was breaking quickly through the horizon, its steaming rays slipping into the small room where Dick slept. He could hear the robins chirping away happily, the smell of bacon wafting in from under the kitchen door of the trailer. Usually this kind of morning got him up and running, but he today he ducked his head under the covers.

He felt like he had been hit by a sledgehammer, feeling cold and hot all at the same time. His body burned under the thin quilt, yet his teeth chattered spontaneously. Maybe if he could just slip back into sleep he would feel better.

A sharp rapping at his door interrupted the quiet morning.

"Come on, Dick." The muffled voice called from behind. "Come eat your breakfast so we can get to practice."

Dick got up painfully and rubbed his eyes. Thoughts of the show that night ran dully through his head—there was no getting out of this one. He slowly dragged himself out of bed and shivered as he changed into his costume. Apparently he took too long because the rapping started again.

"Dick, sweetheart let's go!"

He suppressed a smile. He normally didn't listen to anyone giving him orders, but when his mother was involved, it was an entirely different story.

The Graysons ate a hurried breakfast and quickly headed over the main circus tent. The familiar musty scent filled the air, a mix of animals and old canvas rolled into one. Dick was greeted by Zitka, who immediately searched him for food with her trunk the moment she saw him.

"Not now, girl. I gotta go practice." He slipped her small handful of peanuts and trotted over to where his parents were waiting.

A few minutes later, he stood on top of the wooden platform, the ground looming far below him. Usually this sight didn't bother him, but today it made him feel woozy.

"You alright, sweetheart?" His mother reached over to him, but he shooed her away, knowing she would only worry.

"Yeah Mom, I'm fine." He took hold of the trapeze and swung himself forward, feeling the sensation of flight filling his whole body. The wind whistled though his ears and blew through his hair, and couldn't help wishing that he could never again be a victim to gravity.

He finally reached the opposite platform where his father was waiting and surged forward to stick a perfect landing, but his vision doubled before him. He landed quite clumsily, taking two wobbly steps before falling flat on his face.

"Dick!" He heard his father shout after him, running across the platform.

He could soon feel his mother holding him, his father's hand checking his temperature.

"He's got a fever, Mary." His father stated worriedly. "A high one."

"We've got to get him home as quickly as possible." She agreed, rising with Dick in her arms. "He's not performing tonight."

Dick woke up later, back in his bed and a stack of damp towels on top of his forehead. His mother fawned over him and wiped the sweat off his neck.

"Mom?"

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

"Like I just got run over by Zitka."

His mother laughed. "You'll be alright after some rest, my little robin."

"Mom, don't call me that." He complained. "I already get laughed at for the costume."

She smiled, but turned serious as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.

"Dick, why didn't you tell us you were sick? You could have stayed in bed this morning."

He looked into his mother's eyes—a clear, sharp blue that pierced his conscience. He knew how hard she worked every day to run a circus, train as a professional acrobat, and raise a family all at the same time.

"I just didn't want to worry you. The show tonight was going to be really big, and you and Dad were always training and working to make sure the routine was perfect and—"

"Oh Dick." She kissed his clammy forehead. "That doesn't matter to me. You are much more important."

His face turned red as she hugged him, to which he responded, "Mom, you're smothering me again."

His mother laughed. "Alright, alright. Now get back to sleep before you get any worse." She pinched his cheek playfully and turned off the light.

"Sweet dreams, my little robin."

_____________________________________________________

Mom.

_____________________________________________________

He shot forward, his vision blurring before his eyes. He thought he heard a small "eep!" somewhere off to the side.

His surroundings came into focus after a few seconds. He was in his room, in the tower.

Oh yes, that's right.

She wasn't here anymore.

He looked over to see a figure sitting next to him, her green eyes unmistakably bright.

"Starfire?"

She looked quite startled, as she must have been close to him when he suddenly jerked awake. The damp towel she was using now lay discarded on the floor.

"Robin, are you alright?" she asked tentatively.

He blinked hard a couple times, trying to register the fact that his alien girlfriend was actually next to him. In his room.

"Yeah, I think so." He responded. "What, what happened? All I remember are the sirens going off."

Starfire bit her lip. "We were fighting Plasmus. But you became quite unstable and fell unconscious. We brought you here to your room to rest, and Cyborg commanded me to be here to assure that you 'stayed there' as he put it."

"Oh." He squinted in the fading light outside his window, realizing it was much brighter than usual. He reached up instinctively to his face, feeling for the mask. There was nothing there.

"I am sorry." Starfire pulled out his mask and placed it in his hands. "You looked to be in great pain, so I removed it."

Robin looked down at the mask in his hands. For years it had been somewhat of his first line of defense. A protection against vulnerability. Even though he and Starfire were dating, and the mask had come off for the first time a couple weeks back, he still felt unnatural without it.

But he placed it on the bedside table, not wanting to make Starfire feel bad. He turned and found her staring intently at him, her eyes conveying a thousand different emotions.

"Robin, you are certain you are alright? I believe there is something else that troubles you." She felt his forehead, and then slowly, hesitantly, reached for his face. He took her hand in caught it against his jaw, her touch unusually cool against his feverish skin.

"I'm alright, Star." He said quietly. "I promise."

She didn't look convinced, but resumed to cooling his neck with the towel. "Why did you not inform us that you were unwell this morning? Fighting Plasmus has only worsened your condition."

"Evil can't be ignored because I decide to get sick, Starfire. My health takes second to that."

Starfire frowned. "That is not true. Evil is not worth hurting yourself over. I was…truly worried for you"

Robin kicked back the covers and started to get out of bed. "I have to get back to work. Plasmus is still out there."

"Robin please, you must rest!" She insisted "For now, Plasmus does not matter. You are much more important."

He froze.

"What did you say?"

She blushed slightly. "Please just rest, Robin. You do not need to push yourself so hard."

He stood still, his mind trying to replay the events that had just unfolded. It had been a while since he had dreamed of his parents. In all the chaos of the Brotherhood of Evil and traveling to Tokyo, his nightmares had plenty more to focus on. Until now.

He didn't like people worrying about him. He wasn't worth all that fuss and effort. And he knew better than anyone that he wasn't exactly the easiest patient to care for, physically or emotionally. Plus, no one needed to waste their efforts on the poor little boy wonder with no parents.

But now she was right in front of him, her hand hovering above his chest to prevent him from going back to work. Her eyebrows creased with worry, her eyes begging him to rest. And then it clicked for Robin. She was there for him through the thick or thin, whether he liked it or not. He didn't need to close himself off from her.

Robin looked at her, as though seeing her for the first time. He took her face in his hands, trying to memorize every detail of her expression.

And then he was kissing her, feeling his heartbeat throb against his chest. He seemed to forget that he was running a high fever and the heat that rose to his cheeks was not helping one bit.

It was only until the fact registered in his mind that he was probably giving his own fever to his girlfriend that he broke the kiss. She looked up at him with a smile, but her eyes still screamed a thousand questions.

"I'm sorry." He said, relaxing back on the bed. "I just, well…"

She said nothing, only listening, as if trying to physically hold every word he said.

He smiled, pulling out a small family album from a compartment above his bed.

"Alright, I'm not getting up." He assured her, slipping the small album into her hands. "But I owe you an explanation. But first, there are a few people that I would like you to meet."

[izzy-b-hands]

Fictober 2019, Oct. 31st, “Scared, Me?”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Queen (band) 

Pairings: None

Rating: T or maybe M due to the threat of violence and general frightening nature of the situation in this fic??

Warnings: mentions of violent death, and general danger from an intruder. Some swearing, um.... think that’s the worst of it tbh. This one ended up a lot tamer than it could have been re: spooky scary stuff.

1,623 words

I’ve really wanted to write a fic about Duckingham Palace, but I wanted this one to be scary, since it is being posted on Halloween. This fic let me get both of those things in.

“Scared, me? Not at all!” his voice echoed through the dark and silent house.

“I think we should be, maybe,” Roger whispered from the nearby closet, where he was huddled with Brian and John. 

“All this supposed intruder has done so far is turned out the lights. We’ve navigated this house drunker than a skunk with the lights out. This isn’t an obstacle,” Freddie replied, picking up his coffee cup from the end table near the couch he was sat on. 

“Freddie, I’ve tried calling the security desk, and they aren’t answering. Please, get in here until I can get them to respond,” Brian added, the poof of his curls the only thing visible from where he was crouched at the back of the closet. 

“This is all very silly; we’re going to be fine. Come out of there!” Freddie scolded playfully. “Besides, you know what all of us in there at once means?” 

“That this closet is too small for all of us?” John asked, peeking out around Roger.

“That this supposed scary killer or whoever you’re all so terribly afraid of can easily kill all of us at once,” Freddie continued. “Apart, one of us might just survive to write an album about the experience.” 

“That isn’t funny,” Brian replied. “Get in here; I can hear footsteps!” 

“Poor thing, look what years of rock music have done to your ears. Hearing things now!” Freddie sighed.

Roger pushed the other two back further into the closet as he dove back in, while a dark figure crept into the room.

Freddie turned his head, eyes straining to see in the dark. “Oh, what is this shit?” 

The figure stopped creeping and stood up straight, turning it’s mask-covered face to look at Freddie. “Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me. With a black robe and the stalking about. What the fuck is that?” 

“I-I’m the terror...” 

“You’re shit,” Freddie scoffed. “Come on out and see what you’re all so afraid of! Say hello!” 

“No! Stay put! Fear me!” the figure commanded.

“...no, I don’t think we will,” Roger said, leading the way out of the closet. 

“Yeah. Nice try, but...well, seeing you in person...no,” John said, shaking his head as he joined Freddie on the couch. 

“I could kill you all!” the figure shouted as it pulled out a knife from some pocket of its robe. 

Freddie set down his cup, sighed, and walked up to the figure. “With just the one knife?” 

The figure looked down at the knife. “Y...yeah?”

Freddie smirked. “You’re killing Queen, or trying to, right? I should hope you’d know that we go out in style, not all with the same filthy knife.” 

The rest of the guys giggled as they settled into their chosen seats, any panic evaporated. Freddie was in full performance mode now, and the intruder hardly stood a chance if just this bit was shaking him.

“You...you can’t make demands when you’re about to be murdered!” the intruder stamped his foot. 

“Fuck off,” Freddie laughed and went back to the couch, dropping back beside John as if it were any other night in Duckingham Palace. 

The intruder stood, staring as they all got properly comfortable, as if nothing had happened, the lights were still on, and all was normal. 

“You may as well sit down and take off that mask. Make it easier for the guards when they get here,” Freddie said. “Brian, have they answered?” 

Brian was back at the nearest telephone, and dialed the number yet again, but shook his head after a moment. “Still not picking up.” 

“The line isn’t dead, they are,” the intruder spat. “How else do you think I got this far, this close to you? Don’t you get it yet, you spoiled fucking rock-”

The punch Freddie threw, up from the couch and in front of the intruder in the blink of an eye, in a boxing stance like it was second nature, laid the intruder out flat on the carpet. 

“Haven’t done that in awhile,” Freddie mused as he dropped back to the couch. “Brian, call the police, will you?” 

“Already done,” Brian replied, looking slightly pale at the sight of the splayed out intruder. “Should we check on him? Roger, you go do it.” 

“Why me? I’m not any better equipped to do that than you, you go do it!” Roger protested. 

“Well...you were going to be a dentist!” Brian protested right back. “That’s the closest to a doctor we’ve got right now!” 

“Ah yes, and we all recall the many dentists that populate and care for emergent patients in every emergency room around the world. No actual doctors, because ‘a dentist is close enough’!” 

“Stop arguing, and just look! I mean, I don’t exactly want him up and raring to kill us, but if he’s hurt-” Brian insisted.

“I’m just gonna go see about getting the lights back on,” John interjected quickly, moving from the couch and around the body in search of the circuit breaker panel.

“You are technically Dr. Brian May, or will be once you’ve got your studies done! You look at him!” Roger shouted. 

“I will be a doctor of space-related things, like space dust and cosmic bodies, not the human body!” Brian shouted right back. 

“You really ought to just get up,” Freddie said to the body, which had been occasionally twitching with the apparent effort of trying to pretend to be knocked out.

The intruder stayed silent, and kicked a leg out at him. 

“That’s just childish,” Freddie chided.

“This was my claim-” the intruder started.

“Claim to what?” Freddie interrupted. “Claim to sick and twisted fame? All you’ve done is hurt people, good people. How will the families of those guards feel, what horrible pain. All because of you.” 

“I-”

“How dare you even deign to try and be proud of or defend what you did and tried to do here. You deserve whatever pain comes your way as a result of your actions here,” Freddie said coldly. “And the universe will see to it, I’m sure. You disgust me.” 

Brian and Roger had stopped arguing, listening and watching as Freddie glared down at the intruder. 

“I...I’m so-” the intruder was difficult to hear, so quiet and broken his voice was now. 

“Don’t even dare. An apology does nothing, means nothing. Not to me, and not to our dead security guards and their families,” Freddie interrupted brusquely. “Better you had found that conscience and caring long before you killed anyone, but fat lot of good it does for anyone now.”

The intruder sat up and stared at the floor, his knife forgotten where it had fallen. “That punch hurt really badly, you know.” 

Brian and Roger shared a glance. Of all the stupid shit to say...

“I’m not a man for violence, but you say one more fucking word and I won’t hesitate to lay you out again. You think that first punch hurt? I wasn’t even putting any effort into it,” Freddie said, terrifyingly calm as he sipped at his cold coffee, staring the intruder down as if he might just use his gaze to destroy the man. 

The lights blinked back on, and John returned just as sirens started to near. 

It was all waiting and watching then as police and procedure took over. The intruder was silent the entire time, even as they gave their statements, only nodding or shaking his head in response to any questions from the officers. Finally, he was taken out of the house and away to a waiting police car. 

The officers assured them the house was clear and safe, and that a few officers would remain on watch on the property so they could go to sleep without worry. 

But none of them moved from the living room. 

“Thank god the family and friends hadn’t joined us out here yet,” John finally said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them once the police had all gone. 

Brian nodded. “Never been so glad the family is back at home.” 

“Still can’t believe you wanted me to check him over,” Roger scoffed softly, no venom or ill-intent in his voice. 

“You know I would have helped you,” Brian replied. “And we only would have had to check him if he wasn’t getting up, and in the moment it seemed Freddie had really done him in...” 

“I know,” Roger said, and the silence fell over them again.

“It’s funny, in a terrible way,” Freddie broke the silence softly. “Whole thing has me too damn nervous to sleep now.” 

The resulting gentle laughter was a relief to them all, as much as the pack of cigarettes that was opened and passed around with shaking hands from all.

“Only nervous now that the killer’s gone?” Roger smiled weakly. “Bloody hell, Freddie.” 

“That was a hell of a hit you gave him,” Brian laughed. “Dropped like a stone, my god.” 

“Stop,” Freddie shushed them with a wave of his hand. 

“No, it was amazing! I mean, you said you weren’t really thinking about it, weren’t putting effort into it, but he went down! I can’t imagine if you’d been really trying to put him down,” Brian said. “And even after, keeping him down with words!” 

Roger nodded. “Artfully done.” 

John sighed. “Suppose we may as well stay up a bit longer, out here together. I mean, if we can’t sleep, maybe we can work.”

No more was said of sleep after that, the adrenaline of the night’s events still lingering. It didn’t matter if any of the resulting songs from the late-night session would be good, or right for the album. It was simply enough to be awake and in the safety of one another’s company.  

[iwritethat]

UnreQUITed - Part 3

Request: UnreQUITed 3?

A/n: Sorry for the wait! Please say if you want a Part 4 or if you don’t.

Warning: Strong language.

>>>>——————————>

~ Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~

Word had spread, as had Deathstrokes' influence. He was already a feared assassin with his own men if need be but there were very few he actually trusted - you were not one of them but automatically gained a high position despite your unwilling dedication. All of the attention from Gotham's underworld was bound to draw the Bats to you eventually but for now your priority was protecting the ones you cared about.

"So, how does it feel (Y/n)? Being back where you belong little Renegade."

You were leaning against his desk, neck deep in your flooding thoughts when Slade disrupted you, the mocking nickname the very definition of traitor. He meant it as an insult or wind up, you weren't quite sure but you knew you disliked it.

"Don't call me that, and I'm fine. Not that you give a shit anyway." Your words spit like venom, and you hoped it poisoned him like he had you many moons ago.

"You know (Y/n), when you disappeared he got reckless. He seemed angry, lost even. It was amusing, I've never seen your bird so off his game than without his love by his side or at the very least in his life."

"That's bullshit, he didn't love me. You know full well he had a thing for Batgirl." You hissed, glaring daggers at the bemused but skeptical Deathstroke.

"You didn't see how he always watched out for you in a battle? He was the first to defend you and looked at you like the light of his life - and you thought he was into Batgirl - he was but that was after you. Do you really think he'd infiltrate my organisation, alone, to fight only one member in particular. Damn that man tried so hard to win you over but I never thought you'd fall for it."

"C'mon, that's just who he is."

"Alright deny it. Tell me, what's this thing with his 'brother' then?"

"Stay outta my life, we are not friends and I don't look up to you anymore Slade."

Despite storming out of his office with a foul attitude, Deathstroke's words struck a cord in your train of thought. Why would he bring Jason up? You were friends and it had no connection to romantic involvement. The big bad vigilante wound you up something dreadful, it was like he enjoyed pissing you off but in contrast he was there whenever you needed it and when you didn't - like his mind went blank and Jason would nearly always help you after making a mini protest. Almost like you were with... Oh.

Of course, you could be overthinking, Jason would do anything for his friends and you were lucky enough to be classed as one.

————————

It wasn't long until the organisation was infiltrated, you strolled into the main area swinging your sword to rhythm of the blaring alarm siren but fell into a paralytic trance once locking gazed with a witty Nightwing. Internally, you were forever thankful for the armour and mask, it acted as a facade to be someone else - someone who hadn't been in love with him. Slade was the one to pull you back to reality, your head tilted slightly, twin swords drawn at the ready.

"Well? What are you waiting for little Renegade?!" At his unorthodox command, a frustrated groan was sent to Deathstroke before you tackled the interference.

.

Escrimina sticks consistently clashed with your blades and you found yourselves moving the battle to the rooftops in order to rid Slade of distractions.

"Are you Ravager Junior? Because you didn't seem to like that name he called you earlier."

"Sorry pretty bird, that's none of your business." You responded, knocking him off of his feet again.

"It means traitor right? Did you do something to piss him off because if that's the case I'm surprised you're still alive." Nightwing was forever chatty, you were glad that hadn't changed.

"Oh y'know, I did it for a boy." You laughed bitterly, almost as if it was a joke.

.

It was a combination of your voice and the way you moved that prompted his memories of your past rival fights to resurface, how you didn't aim for any lethal blows - if anything you were herding him away with no intention of hurting him which was abnormal for a criminal.

As of that point, you noted a change in the way he fought also, his sole focus was on removing your mask and you didn't notice until it was too late. A well placed kick to his chest sent him skidding away from you but when the soft chill breeze brushed your cheeks and strands of (h/c) flew into your face you knew your secret had been ripped from you.

.

"(Y-y/n)... I knew it, how are you - where were you - shit, I can't believe it’s you. I don't know what to say, I just really freaking missed you!" The moment you dreaded had finally arrived, his voice radiated relief and happiness at the mere sight of you even if you were glaring at him.

Nightwing didn't care, you were back and that's all that mattered to him and it caused your hard expression to falter. However, you remembered who you were and it wasn't his so when he moved to hug you instantly refused - the first time you had ever done so with the tip of your katana resting millimetres from his heart which forced him to stay back.

.

The action received a quizzical expression, a contrast to the broken one that soon followed but what you were about to say was probably so much worse. A split second lie that you’d hoped would make him leave.

Your eyes were darkening, brow raised in skepticism. "Do I know you?"

You could practically hear the crack of his heart, feel the utter wave of loss that pulsated from his body as every vein filled itself with regret. Did you really mean that much to him? You'd thought it would be better this way, that he believed you couldn't remember even though you did. Maybe he’d hate you? Start fighting you again? It’d be a welcome alternative than acknowledging your own longing waging a war in your system.

"Wha-what? No. No this can't be happening - (Y/n) it's me, Nightwing, Dick Grayson, your best friend... anything? Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, I can't, so do whatever you need to." The ravenette ran a hand through his windswept locks, tone holding a mixture of pain and melancholy, and in the end he just shrugged, offering you one of your katanas that'd been disarmed previously and dropped his escrima sticks to the ground in defeat.

.

He had to do this, no doubt he was blaming himself for your apparent betrayal and brainwashing but you couldn't kill him despite how easily he’d allow such a thing. Instead, you ended up pinning him to the windy rooftop with a blade to his throat and he didn't even attempt to fight back. It was both pitiful and honourable.

"What was it you wanted me to remember? You love me, I wish you would've told me (Y/n) - heck I wish I would've told you in the first place..." His words made you feel sick, anger burned deep in your heart and you wanted to rip him to shreds after he’d said it. Where was this attitude 6 months ago? Where was it when you needed to hear it?

"Ohhhh no. You don't get to do this to me, not now Dick!" You viciously muttered, looking away from him with furrowed brows haphazardly removing the blade. Your plan miserably backfired.

"Ah so you do remember! You need to stop this (Y/n), come back to me please." The pure sincerity in his voice had your knees trembling, to the point where the weight of your body and your guilty conscience was too heavy to hold and soon you collapsed.

The cold night winds whipped through your hair as you hid your face from view, thanks to your muscles weakness you were straddling your friend and on the verge of tears.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips, a feeling of comforting and gentle warmth spread through your body, originating from the toned arms encircling your waist. One reached up to gentle tug your wrist to be met with soft vibrant blues and a charming smile.

"Hey (Y/n)."

In that brief moment of happiness you returned the gesture, wrapping your arms around him to narrow as much distance as possible, your fingers entangling themselves in his mess of strands just as he did to you. The closeness allowed access to his familiar scent of cologne, his calming breathes all the more apparent once Nightwing nuzzled into the nape of your neck with a deep chuckle. All of the confusion and anger dispersed, despite everything your friendship remained and you belonged on his side.

"I'm glad you're back..." Your past best friend told you meanwhile carefully wiping the tears from your face.

"How can you say that?! Dick, have you seen who I'm working with - you're supposed to hate me!" Emphasis was forced on your words, it’s what was expected of him.

"I could never hate you, you are and always will be my best friend. Besides, I won you over once and I know you've got your reasons, I trust you (Y/n)." Intimacy seemed to rise, the way his nose gently brushed yours in a soft manner, the way his words flowed so effortlessly with truth and emotion. It was no surprise when you felt his lips lightly press against yours as if asking permission.

The smallest of touches from him could send your heart racing but this had you on edge, had the butterflies in your stomach dancing with the stars and you wanted more. But you knew better than that, friendship came before self indulgence.

"Mm-no - Barbara. You have Barbara, you can't." Your voice was a soft pained whisper, gazing to down to prevent his lips from meeting your own once again. His breath hitched at your accusation, pulling away and fingertips brushing your cheekbones in hopes of regaining your full attention.

"I can, me and Barbara... we're not, I mean we're um..." He took a deep sigh, contemplating how to deliver the information.

"After you left - things between us changed and it was harder to keep a relationship going because I realised that I relied on you, relied on being with you more than I ever wanted to admit. I spent most of my time looking for you, to bring you back so I could talk to you - I mean you can't just disappear with only a note (Y/n). I missed you and Babs noticed, I think she knew deep down it was more than that but chose not to say anything. We drifted apart, then decided it was best we remain friends so we aren't dating anymore." By the time he’d finished his much needed explanation he could barely look you in the eye, most likely due to regret and the following developments only worsened it for him.

"How long have you two...?"

"3 weeks after you left, so it must've been a few months. We laugh about it now actually."

.

It was silent for a moment, a period to process the information you'd been given that provided a fill in for what you'd missed whilst you were absent.

"I never meant to hurt you, I'm so sorry Dick." You got to your feet and offered him your hand as you spoke, no longer avoiding eye contact.

"So am I (Y/n)."

You both released short sheepish but content breathy laughs, as if getting to grips with each other again as you stood opposite. His fingers brushed through your stands again almost tenderly, he was nervous with the way he closed the distance between you two. His shaky breath hit your skin and you suddenly became hyper aware of his every movement, practically anticipating what was to come. You smiled slightly, kissing his bottom lip teasingly but you barely had the time to pull away before he connected them again, all hint of nervousness evaporated with your touch. Dick didn't have to hold back anymore, there was no fear of rejection, no Barbara, he wouldn't lose you - all of this was demonstrated and the passion alone soon had you backed up against the wall with your hands lost in his raven hair. He'd jokingly scold you for ruining it, you knew that but with him smiling against your skin and whispering sweet nothings it seemed worth it. It was the only way you could think of to express how you’d truly felt about seeing one another again, being on the same side once again - a kiss seemed more fitting than words could ever describe. The both you were able to enjoy the others presence after sharing the intimate moment, basking in the closeness of one another’s energies and simply being able to communicate without the shadow of awkwardness lingering.

.

However revitalising as being lost in everything Dick Grayson was, you were blinded by a vibrant flash of ruby skimming your vision.

Aiming.

You didn’t have the time, neither of you did before you heard it.

Bang.

<——————————<<<<

Tagging: @palmtopliion

[catch22inareddress]

Bodyguard

CHAPTER ONE: BROKEN

You lived the chaotic life of a celebrity with red carpet affairs, charity events, and notable friends. However, your life is turned upside down when a stalker sends threatening letters and starts breaking into your home. Your friend, Tom Hardy, enlists a buddy from the London's Metropolitan Police department and gets you your own protection detail. What will happen when you fall for the man that is normally reserved to keep politicians safe? He has a troubled past that haunts him deeply and you are currently struggling with the trauma of a stalker and living in constant terror. Can you save each other before your stalker catches up with you and his past pulls him into the deep?

Word Count 1774

As you sat in your hotel room surveying the surroundings you realized that had been whittled down into nothing. While you were once a confident woman that others looked to as a beacon of light in every room, these past few months of terror had taken everything from you. You no longer felt secure in your own flat and now found yourself living in a hotel room.

You avoided your friends and the charity events that you adored between your acting roles. Every one of your loved ones was concerned for your well being and urged you to get a bodyguard, which you had laughed it off at first. However, now that you were getting the blood-stained letters, the last of which that you found in your home, in your clothes drawers. Your mind changed considerably. Your close friend called a few favors and was able to pull a few strings with London's Metropolitan Police Services and that was where you found yourself currently.

You were awaiting your newly assigned Protection Command and hoped that he could relieve some of the panic that had turned your blood cold. As if on cue you heard a knock on the door and you jumped at the sound of it. You sat there for a few moments trying to calm your breathing as you felt another anxiety attack coming on. Your skin was littered with hives from the last one from earlier today when you had received an anonymous text. A picture of your hotel from the outside and a message that read.

- YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, LOVE

The knock echoed through your room again, and you got up walking over and looked through the eye hole of the door. Your past coworker and friend, Tom Hardy, and some man standing with him in a snug tailored black and white suit.

You took a deep breath and opened the door to which Tom immediately took your frame in and hugged you to his massive body. You had worked with him on the Venom movie as his love interest, and he and his wife had taken an instant liking to you. You had vacationed with them and watched his kids a few times and his daughter really took to you. They were the ones that convinced you to get protection, and he was able to pull some strings and get you detail that was usually reserved for those in the house of parliament. You were sure this was a step down for the man that was patiently waiting for Tom to introduce you two, but still, you were thankful.

The man cleared his throat and Tom led you to the couch, and he made the introductions. The man was named "Sargeant David Budd" and he shook your hand, gently but firmly then stood back with his hands behind his back. You determined promptly that he was ex-military and sat in silence while Tom continued.

"Dave here and I go way back, love. He and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and you're in good hands. Charlotte is actually good friends with him too and will kick his ass if he gets out of line." Tom laughed to try to lighten the mood and you smiled before he continued. "He was in Afganistan and he's more than capable and well trained ....and he's a good guy." Silence fell in the room as you only nodded and Tom took your hand. "Hey. It's ok, darling. Have I ever led you astray?" You laughed.

"No, but to be fair, I haven't known you as long as I have most of my friends." He gave you that damn pitied look that you were sick of seeing and you just wanted to be done with this and get back to your life. You were tired of being afraid. "Hey, I'm fine. Please go home to your family. I'll text you and Charlotte tomorrow." He reluctantly smiled and then whispered something to David. You thought it was, please take care of her to which he replied "Always."

Tom left you, and you watched as David did a comprehensive sweep of the room and then sat across from you.

"Y/N, I can promise you two things." You looked up at him at his firm yet calm Scottish voice. "I will protect you and keep you safe. We will catch whoever this is, and your life will go back to normal." You nodded slowly; he seemed so convinced that it was almost too easy to believe without question.

"How? The police haven't been able to catch him, and they've been given everything." He smirked a bit, but then you saw his jaw tick and wondered what his tell actually told. "I'm more qualified to catch him than most. So please trust me. If I tell you to do something you have to do it without hesitation. I will only have your best interest at heart, understand?" His face was lowered, and his brows were arched in earnest, begging you to believe his every word, to throw all of your trust into a man that you just met when you were so delicate that he was hesitant even to touch you.

You slowly agreed, and he let out a small breath he didn't know he was holding. "Perfect, ma'am. Now, I need to know everything. When did this start and what has he done to you?" His eyes flicked to your abused skin that was a telltale sign of your anxiety attacks, and you flinched under his stare and pulled down your oversized sweater, and he bit his lip and sat back to give you space.

"Everything? Well, it all started when I went on a date with Scott Eastwood to a charity event." He nodded, and you realized he was intently taking in every single word that you said. You had never had someone so focused on every word you said. His blue eyes so trained on you and it made you self-conscience. You found yourself fidgeting under the scrutiny of his gaze, long forgotten was the woman with confidence.

"Tom said that you are an advocate for many charities? That's very admirable." You shrugged. "If I have the money I want to be able to help, nothing special. Anyways, we went on a date. Nothing special. " His brow arched in an unasked question. "There was...mutual attraction but it wouldn't work out. Everything was amicable. He's from back home in the states, and I have made London my home. I don't want to do a long distance relationship and there just weren't.... sparks."

"Go on." You pulled your knees up and continued. "The next morning I got flowers and there was a note that said 'You looked beautiful last night.' and I thought it was odd but sent him a thank you, and he didn't send it. I kept getting flowers and ominous notes like that over the next few weeks. Then I began getting love letters, and later they became a bit more vulgar, that's when I decided to go to the police. He then got insulted, and the flowers became dead flowers, and the letters started having blood stains on them and suddenly started having threats."

You started shaking, and he sat forward. "What kind of threats?" You looked up at him, and he looked apologetic for a moment then his face returned to the mask of business. "I have to know." You shook your head. "I can tell you a bit. I have copies at my house in a box; the police have originals if you need them." He nodded, content with your answer. " He threatened...to touch me. To assault me and to make it so no....no other men would ever want me." You held back a sob and he reached out a hand to calm you which you didn't flinch from. If Tom and Charlotte trusted him, you could also. This was his job, hell he was trained for higher profile things than this and this was really a slap in his face; yet he was still here to help with no issue it would seem.

"Tomorrow I'm going to take you home, and I will stay with you there. You have a guest room, yea?" You paused momentarily, stunned that he was going to drop his life for you and you wouldn't dare ask that of him. A job was a job but this was too much. "I-I. I'm sure you have a life that you .. I mean a wife or a girlfriend. I don't want to---."

He shook his head as he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. "No. Plus you aren't my normal job, and you're already in too deep. I'm not just going to leave you. I'll sleep out here and tomorrow we'll get your life back on track." You were about to protest and he slipped his hands in his pockets and sighed. "You know Tom right? You know what he will do to me if you're harmed?" He said it with his firm voice but when you looked at his voice you saw a smirk and the crinkled laugh lines near his eyes and it lightened up the mood. You got up and slowly walked to your room and looked back, there was no way you would win against him or the Hardy's. "Thank you, Sargeant Budd. I know this is probably a shit detail for you, and I --well thank you." He looked down and smirked before looking up with a straight face.

"I'd choose this detail over a twat politician any day. Call me Dave or David. Whichever you like. Rest...now." You smiled for the first time in months and closed the door to the bedroom. Before you went to lay down, you realized that he didn't have a decent pillow or blanket, suite or not. You took an additional pillow and cover and opened the door.

He stood there sans dress shirt and had just taken off his bulletproof vest, and pants. He was lean and muscular and fucking perfect in only his boxers and you were bewildered into tongue-tied silence like an fool. He stood there just staring at you while you ogled him and only when he stifled a smile did your senses return.

"S-S-sorry. I just had some cushions and such for you." You nearly threw it at his head and rushed out of the room as you just heard him mutter thank you as you shut the door.

You were in trouble.... on all accounts.

OK, lovelies, this is out of my MARVEL realm but I adore Richard Madden. If you want to be untagged from this series just let me know, it’s cool. If you want to be tagged here's the link: LINK

Or send me an ask if you want a tag.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT ON THIS AND SEND ME SOME LOVE. IM SUCH A WHORE FOR THAT SHIT. I EAT IT UP LIKE CANDY. 

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[kiruuuuu]

Oh anon, this happens to be one of the ships I like a lot myself but somehow never ended up writing, so thank you for giving me an excuse! I even get the chance to depict why Diana is Bandit’s eternal nemesis. Hope you like it ❤ (Rating T, humour/fluff, ~1.7k words)

.

Bandit almost swerves into a ditch as soon as he catches sight of who accompanied Smoke to their meeting point. He didn’t tell him outright to come alone but thought it obvious since they were planning to test some of their self-made fireworks out here in the fields which is probably all sorts of illegal but fun. Smoke claimed he improved the launch mechanism, meaning they won’t risk stragglers shooting up into their trouser legs anymore (and yes, Bandit still has the scar), and supposedly even managed to branch out with the colours. So hopefully they’re not going to look like they randomly caught fire anymore.

Their visitor, however, is going to nullify their entire project – because there is absolutely no way.

He stops his motorcycle a few feet away from where Smoke is perched on the fence and beaming at him in anticipation, the small furry killjoy lying down in the grass just behind him. “The fuck?”, Bandit yells at him and angrily tosses his helmet onto the ground while approaching the two. “What’d you bring her for? She’s gonna go ballistic, you numbskull!”

“What are you -” Smoke’s confused expression clears up after he’s followed Bandit’s gaze. “Oh shit. The fuck are you doing here, dog? You’re meant to be at Mark’s, how did you even…” Diana has perked up by now, regarding the two of them unapologetically with raised ears. “I swear I didn’t bring her on purpose, mate, I have no idea where she came from. It is Diana, right?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I’d be able to recognise her in a tornado of corgis.” He’s absolutely sure he could actually correctly identify her no matter what – she’s haunted him in his dreams, always popping up at the most inopportune moments to endanger his life.

“Tornado of corgis? Is that like murder of crows?”, Smoke muses, quite obviously not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why aren’t you freaking out, Seamus will have both our heads if he finds out!”

Smoke draws his brows together. “Why ours? It’s Mark’s fault, she must’ve jumped out when he dropped me off here and neither of us noticed. You don’t have anything to do with it, mate.”

“Look. This fucking gremlin stole some chocolate out of my hand by basically climbing my leg and it was somehow my fault. She very nearly electrocuted herself in the workshop by running in like a dog with a death wish – I almost concussed myself saving her, and it was still my fault. Remember how she got stuck in the fence on base? My fault. And you know why? Because I was the only one who rushed in to free her since I didn’t want to be accused wrongly once again, which resulted in me being wrongly accused once again. I’m fucking sick of this fucking mutt and her fucking owner always blaming me. I swear, at this point he’s this close to actually beating my face in. I’m not risking it. We’re taking her back.”

“Fuze let her into the workshop that one time, actually. And I was the one who pointed out the chocolate to her”, Smoke admits and laughs good-naturedly at Bandit’s murderous expression. “Water under the bridge, mate, but alright, if you don’t wanna see the fireworks, I guess we can take her back first.”

Bandit is very much in favour of that decision. “Dogs hate fireworks anyway and I don’t wanna frighten her”, he mumbles and climbs over the fence to pick Diana up. She jumps up at the first step he makes towards her and Bandit’s stomach plummets. “Oh no. No, no, no, baby girl, don’t do this to me. Just stay where you are, alright? We’re going to take you back to your scary ass owner and you’re going to behave.” Another step. She lowers herself a little on her front legs. Bandit knows this stance.

“Not looking good”, Smoke states, merely watching in amusement.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t jinx it. Do you have any food on you?”

“Only something which could pass as a sausage but I’m not going to offer it to her, no thank you.”

That’s fair. Bandit looks around for a stick or something similar but comes up empty. There’s nothing but fences, stone walls, fields and sheep. Oh shit. He’s fairly sure corgis do have a herding instinct, he can’t let her get anywhere near them. She’s wearing her usual tartan bandanna and looking laughably innocent where he knows her to be the devil’s spawn – it might give him something to hold on to though. “I’m going to jump at you now, and you’re going to react too slowly to run away. That’s what’s going to happen, alright, sweetheart? Just stay. Stay. Diana, stay.”

The last thing he sees before he hits the ground, hard, is a light brown lightning strike zipping off into the distance while barking excitedly.

“Nice”, says Smoke.

“I’m going to fucking strangle you”, Bandit grits out and gets back up. Diana is standing a fair distance away now, fully alert and convinced they’re going to play.

“Chasing her is not going to work, mate”, Smoke states matter-of-factly.

“Yeah well.” Bandit wipes some of the grass off his thighs. “That’s what I told you about Mark, but you did it anyway and look where you are now. I’m going to catch that fucking dog and if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Don’t worry, even if you fail, it’ll be the last thing you do – if Seamus really has your head because of it.”

“Your vote of confidence is noted.” And with that, he starts running.

.

Bandit can’t even guess what he looks like when Sledge opens the door. Judging by his extremely unimpressed gaze, he must seem at the very best homeless and at worst like someone who just survived a year alone in the jungle. “Here”, Bandit announces and thrusts the hand forward with which he’s holding the makeshift leash, improvised with the help of some twine originally belonging to one of the fences into which he crashed, “is your fucking dog.”

Sledge blinks at him. Bandit is a sight to behold and so he needs a few seconds to take him all in before the Scotsman glances down at an extremely chipper, remarkably clean and unscathed Diana. Hesitantly, he accepts the proffered leash tied around the bandanna and takes it off, allowing the corgi to zoom past his legs into her home. “What happened to her?”, Sledge asks quietly and with a dangerous tone to his voice which implies that he’ll only accept a certain answer.

“Nothing”, Bandit spits out that exact answer with a clean conscience, “fucking look at her, she’s never been better, she had the bloody time of her life this afternoon, don’t bother walking her today because she’ll probably be too exhausted from playing. Why is always ‘is Diana alright’ and not ‘what in the world happened to you, Dom, can I offer you something to drink or a full body massage as thanks for fucking saving my precious baby’?!”

By now, the reproachful expression on Sledge’s face has mellowed into a soft smile. “With how you smell, I’m hesitant to invite you inside”, he states gently, his strict demeanour replaced with sympathy obvious despite his words.

“That’s fucking fair”, Bandit admits and grimaces. He probably should’ve rolled around in some rose bushes to mask the stench at least partly.

“What happened to you, Dom?”

Most of his anger vanishes at the friendly question because he realises Sledge is at least taking him seriously. “Mark was supposed to watch her but when he drove James to our meeting point, she must’ve escaped somehow, so I, being the upstanding citizen that I am, immediately decided to return her first. The fucking bitch disagreed, though, and so I spent two hours chasing her through the arse-end of the world. I got stuck in five barbed wire fences, landed in two puddles of mud and fell into sheep shit once, not to mention all the times I stepped in it. I’m battered, bruised and fucking tired of saving your idiot of a dog, Seamus, and if you also try to pin this on me, I’ll let her run to her demise next time.”

Sledge’s lips are twitching. At least someone is getting some sort of enjoyment out of this. “What do you mean, pin this on you as well?”

“None, and I repeat, none of the previous instances were my fault. Fuze shooed her into the workshop, James showed her the chocolate, Mike threw the ball into the river and I’m fairly sure Elias was the one who gave her expired food on accident that one time.” It feels good to finally be able to justify himself, even if he stinks like the worst part of a zoo and must look as if he just lost in mud wrestling.

“Oh.” Sledge examines him with newfound interest which also feels fucking good because Bandit always knew the quickest way to get Sledge to like him would’ve been by playing nice with Diana, but since she insists on being a disastrous brat, there was nothing he could do. He’d accepted defeat. But maybe… “I’m sorry, then. You must really like her if you keep making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“It’s not her, it’s -” Aaaand this is the point where he should really stop talking, snaps his mouth shut with too much force and tries not to wince.

Sledge raises an intrigued eyebrow.

“Look”, Bandit says and has no idea how to even finish that sentence.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

The offer sounds neutral yet he’s pretty sure Sledge knows exactly what kind of implications it has. For the moment, it’s nothing more, he’s taking it at face value, but the fact that he got invited nonetheless speaks volumes. “Yeah”, he replies, relieved, “that’d be great.” And still, his large mouth gets the better of him. “…any chance you wanna join me after I’ve rinsed off all this fucking manure?”

“Don’t get cocky now”, Sledge reprimands him. Still, his grin widens.