#ive kept a promise for a person i had a falling out with for ten years now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theshippirate22 · 1 year

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so i started a fic for this a while ago and it got lost in my wips but then @henderdads posted this and i got right back on my bullshit to finish it! also on ao3 tw: panic attack

November 1985-

Steve had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel of the Beemer while he stared out at the theater ahead of him.

Just looking at it, just thinking about what he was about to do, made his skin crawl. He felt guilty and dirty and miserable, but he didn’t really have any other choice.

Okay, that was a lie. There were definitely a million other things he could be doing. He really needed to clean his room, he was falling desperately behind on movies Robin said he needed to see, and he was supposed to be writing an essay to help him get into Ohio State. There were tapes to be listened to, people to check on, God, his car needed an oil change.

But here he was, anyway, neglecting all of it.

The dashboard clock switched to 11:35 and his stomach burned. He’d gotten himself so freaked out, he was going to throw up in the gutter and drive home before anything even happened. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of what waited for him. The dark, cold, empty house, his relentless nightmares, and his sleepless night.

11:40. His hands were getting cold against the wheel, but he still didn’t will himself into the warm oasis that was the theater. Not yet. He still had time.

He felt like an addict, lying to his friends and family before relapsing back into heroin. He knew it wasn’t like that, that if they knew, all he’d get was funny looks and maybe a snarky comment directed at his intelligence (or lack thereof), but that didn’t make it any better. He still hated himself.

He’d promised to give this up a long time ago, to abandon the lifestyle entirely. Actually, he had turned into something of a doormat at this point- always driving the kids places and covering any of Robin’s shifts when she bailed and offering his house and money up to whoever took advantage of it- because anything he did that didn’t help somebody else felt selfish. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish anymore. He had to repent for when he was selfish.

11:45. Steve groaned softly and got out of the car, attacked by the cold air as it seemed to soak through his sweatshirt.

Way to put the guilt into guilty pleasure, moron, he thought to himself, pushing through the doors to the theater. His inner monologue was starting to sound more and more condescending.

The teenager at the counter glared up at him through her eyelashes, popping a bubble with her gum decisively, clearly annoyed to be running midnight showings at a shitty theater. He slid a five-dollar bill across the counter to her and took a deep breath before forcing out the words.

“Rocky IV, please.”

She looked at him like he was stupid, and he was about ready to run back to his car and pretend none of this had ever happened. This was just another stupid nightmare to haunt him while he tried to sleep.

She handed him a ticket, the bright red DRAGO VS. BALBOA staring up at him-mocking him really- and passed over his change without saying anything at all.

Okay, that was the hard part. That was the part that made him interact with someone, a live actual person, made him admit his sin out loud, make it real and out there.

As soon as the ticket was in his hand and he was walking to the specified theater, he could breathe again. The guilt still writhed heavily in his stomach, but he could fight down the nausea enough to function. Half his brain, the half that had been in control for a good while now, was screaming at him that this was wrong, he was sick and twisted for wanting this, while the other half kept reminding him softly that it was just a movie. No one had to know about it. It would help him tonight- maybe he could get some sleep when he got home- and then it could disappear forever, and he would never think of it again.

It’s just a movie.

Steve was ten when the original came out. His dad had paid for him and Tommy H. to go one Saturday and God, they loved it. They’d gotten in a playfight in the parking lot waiting for Tommy’s mom to pick them up, mimicking the final match between Rocky and Apollo (Steve was Apollo every time they played; Tommy refused to be anything less than the hero, even if technically he was the loser) and Tommy had accidentally knocked him in the face and made his nose bleed. That might’ve been one of the best days of Steve’s childhood if he thought about it.

Three years later, he and Tommy went back and saw Rocky II the first night it was out, and watching Rocky win lit something in Steve on fire, and he convinced himself he could do anything, like how Rocky could still get up even when Apollo had beat him to shit.

Steve got into his first fistfight that summer. He lost, because he had never actually fought before, and his punches were loose and messy, but he didn’t even care, staring up at Jack Donahue through a black eye, because Rocky lost his first fight against Apollo, but he won the second, so next time Steve would win.

He went to Rocky III on a date in 1982 (still waiting to win that second fight, although now it was really Fight 8 or 9 because he’d gotten his ass kicked a good number of times since Jack Donahue). The girl he was with got bored halfway through the movie, climbed into his lap and convinced him to make out instead, but he kept getting distracted by Clubber Lang, and Apollo’s training advice, and Rocky and Andrian’s big house and their happy family, glancing over her shoulder absently as she trailed her mouth up his neck. There wasn’t a second date with her. He didn’t even remember her name.

He remembered what color dress Adrian wore to the final fight, though.

He hadn’t watched any of them since September of ‘84 when he’d rented all of them and binge-watched them one night, mostly to remind himself that Billy Hargrove was just a watered-down Clubber Lang who came to steal his title and insult his (nonexistent) wife and mess up his life. Rocky beat Clubber Lang. Steve would beat Billy.

Within the next few weeks, however, Billy ended up on the ever-growing list of people who had whipped Steve, his Heavyweight-Champion-Of-the-World belt that manifested itself as King Steve of Hawkins High was stripped from him, and he’d started his proverbial pilgrimage to salvation.

He didn’t get to like Rocky anymore. King Steve liked Rocky. Just Steve didn’t have any reason for that luxury. Rocky was athletic, and mindless, and masculine, everything that everyone hated about King Steve, so Just Steve didn’t get it anymore.

It’s just a fucking movie. He reminded himself. No one has to know.

They had unfinished business anyway, Rocky and him. Maybe it was fate, or some shit that IV should come out like five months after Steve did get his first win against the Russian soldier.

Hey, old friend. I did it. I won. I got back up. I won.

We won, Rocky.

Steve hid in the back of the theater, in the dark, where no one would recognize him. There were only maybe a dozen other people in there anyway, but in the dark, he could relax.

He almost felt safe, even, when the opening montage started. There was something so familiar about it, like returning to the house you lived in as a child, but the same sort of estrangement from time. Watching Rocky best Clubber again, knowing Rocky would win, was such a comfortable thing. God, these movies were so good.

He almost didn’t feel like such an asshole anymore.

Rocky was a dad now, you know. Had been since the second one technically, but only now was the kid old enough to have a personality. Watching him with his son was maybe when the six-nugget thing really solidified for Steve. He wanted that, he wanted the house and the kid and sparring with Apollo-the friend who knew- and Adrian.

God, he wanted someone to love him the way Adrian loved.

She was always just there, in the very best sort of way. As if at any moment, Rocky could look over and she would be there, grinning at him, helping him back up, fixing things. And she would shake her head and laugh at her moronic boxer husband and still sing with him when he started up out of tune and flush when he flirted with her.

The reminder of the slump in Steve’s love life manifested itself as a sort of sad aching in his stomach. He redirected his attention out of his thoughts and back to the movie.

The plot was a little mindless; he’d admit it. It was basically the same premise as the last one: Some Big-Bad-Boxer popping up out of nowhere to whip Rocky’s ass just enough in the first half to build a vague sense of suspense as to whether he was going to win the final fight or not, but the only difference now was that he was sparring against Communism or something as a metaphor for the mini-Red Scare happening.

Steve didn’t mind. He knew enough Russians to be pretty psyched about Stallone wailing on them for a few hours.

It’s Apollo Creed, however, who first takes his place across the ring from Ivan Drago. Steve was fine. He was well aware of the fact that whatever happened during this fight would mean absolutely nothing in comparison to whatever happens at the end, except maybe deciding the intensity of the training montage (That was the other thing; Survivor was doing a bunch of the music, how could Steve miss out on that?)

Apollo put on a show, with dancers and lights and that stupid flag robe he’d had in the first one, so this would be good. Mediocre writing, good entertainment.

“You will lose,” Drago growled.

They danced around each other in the ring. Apollo threw a good number of jabs in the beginning. It felt good. Steve almost smiled.

But something happened when Drago started fighting back. Apollo stumbled against the ropes, dripping sweat; Rocky yelled something. Steve missed it- he could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, suddenly a little too aware of his clothes and where they clung to him.

Drago kept fighting. He punched and punched, each one landing hard and solid against Apollo, against flesh, in a rapid thunk, thunk, thunk.

Steve’s hands started to shake.

Apollo leaned back against the corner post as the bell rings-end of the first round- looking dazed and far away.

Rocky begged. “I gotta stop you. This fight’s finished.”

Apollo’s answer thudded through Steve’s head. “Promise you won’t stop this fight. You don’t stop this fight.”

Bell. Second round. Apollo looked stoned, tripping over his own feet as he tried to dance. Steve knew the feeling. Then Drago had him in a corner and it won’t stop, fists pounding against him again and again. Sweat flew off Apollo’s head and fell against the mat like rain. He doesn’t go down.

There was so much blood. Steve couldn’t breathe. He felt the adrenaline in his sweaty, trembling hands, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t movie excitement, it felt real.

Apollo fell back against the ropes, their support being his only saving grace. His wife screamed from the audience “Stop the fight!” but they won’t, the Russian won’t stop, the fight is still going.

Steve must have started hallucinating. For a moment, all he could hear was his own breath, exhausted and wheezy with pain.

“Scoops... I... I work... Scoops...”

Robin is screaming, sobbing, wailing, voice pounding through his aching head. “Stop it! Stop hurting him!”

A final blow to the jaw. Apollo swung backwards toward the horrified faces of the audience, then lunged forward in depletion. There was blood in his teeth and on his face and staining the white rags and his eye was swollen shut. And the Russian’s wife smiled.

The doctor grinned, white teeth glimmering against the dark beard. He demands something in Russian, and Steve doesn’t understand, but he wants to, he wants to make it go away.

The soldier leans in a final time, delivering a solid blow to his temple.

Steve’s sight fizzles in and out like a kaleidoscope as he falls.

His head hits the concrete floor, and he feels it, the burning pain at the back of his head, seeping up through his brain until his sight goes black.

Apollo was on the floor. His body seized with fatigue and Rocky grabbed him, cradling him in his lap, and he was screaming, crying out for something, and the Russian was still talking but all that gets through to Steve is the grating accent and the fear.

“What did you do to him?!” Robin screams, pulling his weak body towards her with bound hands. “Steve, wake up! Steve, oh my God, wake up, Steve!”

It felt like someone had shoved cotton in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything but his own pulse and his own breath, but somehow, Drago’s last couple words made it through.

“If he dies, he dies.”

Steve got to his feet before he realized he was doing it. His legs were moving, and he wasn’t telling them where to go, but they knew somehow. All he was aware of was the nausea sweeping through him like a tidal wave and the trembling, paranoid fear taking over his entire body.

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops Ahoy. The ice cream place.”

Thud. His face burned.

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops!”

His head flew to the side, pulling something in his neck and shooting white-hot pain down his spine.

“Hit him again.”

Steve collapsed against the bathroom floor. He didn’t even have it in him to make it to a stall and lock himself in; he just melted there against the wall.

Sweat dripped down his forehead and his back, drenching him. He couldn’t breathe; his sweatshirt was too tight around his throat and his jeans were touching too much of his thighs and he couldn’t get his chest to move.

Every muscle in his body was too tight to move. Maybe he was having a seizure or a heart attack, but it didn’t even matter, because his head ached around a phantom black eye and a scar on his temple that had taken much too long to heal. His eyes felt massive and dry, like if he didn’t get air soon, they were going to pop out of his head.

He knew he needed to breathe, get the air in and out in a timely manner, but every time he tried to open his mouth, he would just wheeze out “Scoops,” or “Robin!”

The Russians killed Apollo. He was laying on the floor next to him and Robin, in those stupid Americano shorts that were the same color as Steve’s uniform, and Steve knows they’re coming for him next. He played Apollo with Tommy; he is Apollo and he’s about to receive the same fate.

He watched the door to the bathroom in terror like Dolph Lundgren was going to storm through at any moment to try and fight him next. Steve couldn’t win. He wouldn’t win. Not against a Russian, not against Drago.

They were going to kill him. Drago was coming, and as soon as he found him, he was going to beat him to death just like Apollo.

Maybe Steve was sobbing. That would explain the burning in his throat and the noise making his head throb. He couldn’t stop it though; he couldn’t seem to control anything except to pull his knees to his chest and curl in on himself to try and protect his head and his ribs.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, suffocating, shaking, anxious hands tearing through the hair at the back of his head, partially to cover his neck, partially to pull at the roots of his hair until he felt something other than fear. Eventually, he stopped crying, the tears were gone, but he still couldn’t breathe, and his whole face felt clogged up with whatever was left of his sobs.

That only made him panic more, realizing he wasn’t getting any air, and his hands moved down his neck to claw away at his throat and open something up. His nails were dull and harsh, tearing up the skin as he pawed at his Adam’s apple, hyperventilating so loudly, it filled up all his senses so that was all he could hear for a good long while.

“Hey... You alright?”

The voice felt far away and soft like it was spoken by someone who had never experienced the harshness of sensation. God? Steve thought stupidly, carefully acknowledging that to be the first thought he’d had in a long while that wasn’t about his own demise via Russian cruelty.

“Harrington. Can you hear me?”

Steve forced his head up, pupils blown wide with adrenaline, glancing skittishly from wall to wall, trying to remember where he was.

“Right here. You’re okay. Try and breathe for me, Harrington.”

Steve’s shallow breaths continued, hands trailing back up to pull his hair again. He didn’t get there, however, because warm hands clamped softly around his wrists and pulled them away. “Careful. Don’t hurt yourself, honey.”

Steve could see his hands, when he moved his fingers a little bit so he could comprehend that they were his, then followed up the foreign hands- now gripping higher up on his forearm to keep him from falling backward- along pale arms and black sleeves, then up along the corner of a tattoo peeking from underneath the collar of the shirt. Higher up, face-to-face with him, although he hadn’t actually seen it until now, was a tangle of messy curly hair and choppy bangs framing the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“Adrian?” He choked out. Relief surged through him at the recognition, despite the nagging at the back of his mind that that actually couldn’t be Adrian, because Adrian was here with him, and she was gonna take care of him and fix things like she did for Rocky. “Adrian...”

“Sure.” She mumbled. “Deep breaths, Harrington. Like you’re swimming.” She took a few exaggerated deep breaths for him to mirror, and he nodded weakly, trying to force his lungs to expand entirely.

For a few seconds-or minutes; time really had no meaning for Steve anymore- this went on, Adrian taking one breath and Steve copying until he could do it on his own. She loosened her grip on his arms, eventually dropping them completely. “There you go. Feeling okay?”

Steve hesitated while he assessed. His scalp burned from tugging on his hair, and he was sure he’d scratched his throat up pretty bad, but his hands weren’t shaking nearly as much as they had been a minute ago, and he could unclench his jaw finally- he hadn’t realized it had been so tight; the tension was probably the root cause of the headache- so yeah, he decided. “Better.”

“You ever had a panic attack before?”

He shook his head, choosing not to speak again because of the pathetic gravelly sound of his voice and blinking quickly to fight off the next wave of tears- exhausted ones this time.

“Pretty scary, huh? But it’s okay, it’s not forever. It always goes away. You’re safe, okay?”

He nodded weakly, gazing off over her shoulder to be sure the Russians weren’t coming. God, he was going to have to protect her if Drago came. He could fight, he could protect her...

“You aren’t quite back, are you, Harrington?”

Steve startled, darting his glance back toward her. “My...” He choked out, frustrated that his voice didn’t sound right yet; still too wet and broken to be his own. “My name is Steve.”

Adrian chuckled softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know who you are, Steve. I’m glad you know.” She brushed a stray piece of hair from his eyes. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“Bathroom,” Steve mumbled. “Starcourt.”

“Starcourt? Like the mall? No, it burned down months ago. Remember?”

Steve swallowed hard, staring at the tile. It wasn’t like Starcourt’s- instead of red, green, and orange, this was green, blue, and black. It wasn’t Starcourt. Starcourt was over. Gone. He took a deep breath. “ShowTimez. Theater.”

“Hey, there you go.” She shifted her knees out from under her- it was painful to kneel for so long- and settled cross-legged across from him. “Do you... do you know who I am?”

“Adrian,” Steve whispered quickly.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, almost disappearing under dark bangs. “Like from the movie? Gee, thanks, Harrington, you know how to woo a guy.” She tore her sight away, almost blushing, and continued self-consciously. “Not quite. You... you probably don’t know who I am. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve felt bad for getting it wrong. And if it wasn’t Adrian... who cared enough to be so gentle with him? Panic started to fill up inside him again. Who had caught him? Who knew he was here, worse, who had seen him crying? He looked back up, trying to reassess, figure out the right answer.

Upon better inspection, it very much wasn’t Adrian. Besides the hair and the eyes, they didn’t look at all similar. Actually, it was a man, which should’ve been his first assumption given that he was on the floor of the men’s bathroom, but he also forgot his own name for a second there, so he would let it go. He had thick, steel rings that Steve couldn’t coherently recognize into any shapes yet, and tattoos on his arms that Steve hadn’t noticed in his first sweep either. But the face was familiar. Tommy had hated him, loved to pick on him in high school. Maybe Steve had had gym with him junior year. But really, Steve knew him because he was always in the background of whatever place he was driving Dustin to. The party joined Hellfire in September; Steve had been seeing this guy vaguely for months. The name was slow coming to him- everything felt lagged- but eventually, he managed, “Munson. Eddie.”

He grinned. “Yeah! See, I knew I wasn’t that forgettable. Go ahead and call me Talia Shire though, that’s the best name I’ve been called in a while.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched. Maybe it wasn’t Adrian, who he knew he could trust- She's not real, moron, he reminded quickly- but Eddie was harmless. Dustin talked about the guy so much, it was like Steve already knew him anyway.

God, Dustin. What if Eddie told Hellfire and the kids found out he’d been here, and worse, that he’d freaked out? He didn’t know if he could handle it if the kids ever found out he wasn’t as strong as he pretended.

“You can’t tell Dustin.” Steve blurted out.

“What?”

“He can’t know I was here, that I was...” He struggled for the words.

Eddie nodded softly. “Yeah. Okay. I won’t tell him.” He lowered his voice as he said it like it was already a secret. “What the little shit doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Steve nodded haphazardly to communicate that he agreed, but he just felt like he looked stupid.

“Hey, uh, do me a favor, and don’t tell the kids you saw me here, either, actually.” Eddie continued. “It goes against my code and everything to watch...” He trailed off, suddenly aware of his audience and needing to watch himself.

“Sports movies.” Steve finished. Eddie grimaced, so he added, “Yeah, no, I get it.”

Eddie nodded, forcing a smile, but it was still tainted with guilt like he’d said something wrong.

Steve was quick to stifle the awkwardness. “How come Rocky makes the cut then?”

“Oh, I don’t really know.” His shoulders relaxed a little and he admitted, “I rented the first one on accident. I was looking for Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the tape said Rocky and I’m a fucking moron, and thought they were the same thing because whoever labeled the tape didn’t bother to write the whole thing, and then I’d already paid for it so I just... watched it and... kinda got sucked in. I love a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.”

Steve grinned. “Me too! I only cared about the boxing when I was younger, but now...”

Eddie tipped his head and stared at him bewilderedly.

“What?”

Eddie shook his head dismissively, tentative smile pulling at the side of his mouth, mumbling, “Never would’ve guessed.”

Steve felt horribly seen, like he’d said too much, flush creeping up his face, and he reached up to pull on the hair at the back of his neck again. But Eddie just laughed softly and pushed himself over next to Steve, leaning back against the wall and brushing his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

He nodded, starting to shift to his numb, tingly feet, stumbling and having to prop himself on the wall. “Yeah, I should probably go.”

“Hey.” Eddie grabbed his wrist, softly; he could pull away if he really wanted to. “Calm down, give it a minute. You just started breathing again, let’s make sure you’re good to go.”

So Steve didn’t pull away. He slumped back against the tile, legs sprawled forward to get the blood flowing again.

“Does your head hurt?”

Steve glanced over. “What?”

“Just... uh,” He shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to find a different way to address what he was thinking of. “You were pulling your hair. I wondered if maybe you... you know, what? It doesn’t matter.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little white bottle of Advil. “If you want some.”

“Why do you have that?” Steve chuckled softly, taking it from him thankfully. “I mean, I’ve heard your drug-dealer reputation; I just didn’t realize this is what they meant.”

“Har har.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “It’s for Sinclair actually. He’s been-”

“Bitching about his ankle? Yeah, I keep telling him I’ll wrap it for him but he’s-”

“Being a shithead about the whole thing. He’s gonna drive me to do something drastic.”

“Seriously!” Steve cried. “I’ll hold him down, you can punch.”

Eddie laughed, a real, actual laugh and Steve thought he was going to have no choice but to implode. He was so pretty; he understood the Adrian-mistaking suddenly.

Steve wanted to say something, wanted to make him laugh like that again, but before he could grasp anything, the door shoved open and shattered their perfect privacy.

It was the bubblegum girl from the front desk. She popped the wad of pink obnoxiously, huffing out “Dude, the movie’s been over for like twenty minutes. We’re closing.”

Steve and Eddie shared a conspiratorial Ah-shit-we’re-in-trouble look, before getting to their feet. Steve was still holding the Advil bottle, somewhat uselessly because he’d forgotten he had it. He popped it open and swallowed a few, handing it back to Eddie who banished it back to his pocket.

Bubblegum Girl stared them down the whole way out into the lobby, the pair of them giggling as they went, until eventually they stepped into the cold darkness outside the theater, and the spell was broken. Here they were again, in real life, where things were not so great as that bathroom floor or the world within Rocky.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked softly like he was afraid something had changed the second they’d passed through the doors.

Steve nodded vaguely. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

He shot him a peculiar look and turned off towards where he was inevitably parked, calling out, “Stay safe, Harrington.”

Steve laughed out loud.

March 1986-

Steve hovered over Eddie, who was sitting on Steve’s bathroom counter with his legs over the side, cleaning up the blood on his face with antiseptic wipes Nancy had pulled out of nowhere. His stitches were soft and pliable still, and Steve hated how bulky and thick his fingers were for a moment because if they were small and slim it would force him to be gentler.

Eddie cried out as he brushed over the top of the gash and Steve cringed, yanking his hands back softly to avoid hurting him anymore.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured.

He was afraid to reach back to finish the job- Eddie was in enough pain as it was- so he stood there, watching him for any more signs of discomfort.

Eddie lifted his head languidly, glancing at the slash of bright red on Steve’s forehead, the angry crimson chain around his neck. He tentatively traced his fingertips along his skin, not along the scab, but just below it, and Steve hummed out a low sound in relief.

“You alright there, Balboa?”

It came out a little more slurred than he would’ve liked, but he was on a good deal of narcotics for God’s sake, and it must’ve delivered itself well enough because Steve offered him a small smile.

“Feel like a large wound,” he offered in his best Stallone accent.

Eddie laughed, and it hurt like a mother on his broken ribs and the stitches in his side, so it quickly delved into a whine, and Steve instantly reached out even if there was nothing he could do.

He caught his hand, pulled it into his lap, just to hold it there. Steve didn’t say anything.

“Steve.”

“Hmm...”

Eddie let go. Took Steve’s face carefully in his hands, even though the stretch sent pain shooting through his torso. “I understand now. Everything. Robin told me about the Russians.”

Steve swallowed thickly, head dipping almost in shame, as if it was too much to meet Eddie’s eyes and risk finding his pity there.

Eddie just tipped his head back up gently. “If I had known... I... I wouldn’t have let you go home alone that night. That’s... that’s not what Adrian does.”

Steve tipped his head just a little like he didn’t quite understand the sentiment.

Eddie swallowed. “I’m gonna kiss you now. You ain’t gotta kiss me back.”

He properly grinned this time, leaning in to meet him halfway, hands placed carefully on Eddie’s knees as he pulled in his face.

And he did kiss back. What can he say? He loves a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: panic attack #steddie hurt/comfort #steddie fic #alternate meeting #rocky references #rocky iv spoilers #ficlet

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starglow-xx · 3 years

Text

retrouvaille

nakajima atsushi x f!reader

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: hurt comfort, fluff

warning! : mentions of abuse

type of work: one-shot

synopsis: he left the orphanage, and that meant he had to leave you too; fortunately, this time, it seems like the universe was on your side

a/n: this is kinda self indulgent bc ive been feeling kinda down lately...?? and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and i havent posted in a while so killing three birds w/ one stone ig

the word retrouvaille is a french noun...

The moment you stepped foot into the armed detective agency, heterochromia eyes met your (e/c) ones.

You notice several agents talking and walking over to assist you, but you drown them out only having focus on the gray haired male ten feet away from you.

Said male takes a small step forward with uncertainty and disbelief laced in his voice.

“(y-y/n)...?”

At the sound of your name, your eyes immediately begin to water and with pure relief in your voice, you softly sob his name; the name of the boy who comforted you when you were both still in that wretched place.

“Atsushi...”

With all hesitation gone, Atsushi runs over to you shoving through his surprised and confused coworkers and wraps his arms tightly around you.

The force of the hug causes the both of you to stumble and harshly crash to the ground beneath you.

But the two of you didn’t care.

In his arms was a person Atsushi thought he’d never be able to see again.

In his arms was the same girl who snuck him food from the kitchens, the girl who stole medical supplies from the infirmary to treat his wounds, to take care of him when he was sick, and the girl who received punishment after punishment for insisting on staying with him inside his damn cell.

You gave him happiness in place where he should’ve never been able to receive it.

As if he ever felt like he deserved it in the first place.

You’re too good for him, but yet you still chose him.

You, his sweet and kind, his so very kind, and so very beautiful girlfriend, chose him, the cursed, good for nothing orphan.

The orphanage staff treated you considerably better before the two of you were acquainted, so Atsushi knew he was the problem. That he was the reason why tears would fall onto your beautiful face, why bruises and scars would litter your arms and legs, and why the staff would call you awful, degrading nicknames about you and or your virtue.

He had always thought that he wasn’t good for you, that he didn’t deserve you, that you could do better, but you stayed by his side regardless of his fears and insecurities, and provided him the strength and comfort he had always been deprived of.

And to his very surprise, he found that you found your own strength and comfort in him.

So he knew that you must of cried for weeks after he was kicked out, that you must’ve been devastated to wake up one morning only to learn that he was gone without a trace.

There wasn’t a single day that he never thought of you.

Atsushi wanted to go back for you, he really did; he wanted to storm into the orphanage with members of the armed detective agency, his new family, right at his tail before eventually reuniting with you.

But he didn’t do that.

Ultimately, he chose to leave you out of the mess that came with his job knowing that you would be eventually targeted and used against him if anyone found out about what he had with you.

So he kept quiet.

No mafioso, government agent, foreign organization, nor agency member had a clue about your connection with him, much less your existence.

He told himself that when things have calmed down by a considerable amount, he would go back and get you, with or without the agency backing him up.

Unfortunately, he knew that time of peace was far from the present.

But to see you, in your beautiful glory, standing at the threshold of the agency?

His original plan to keep you away from Yokohoma flew out the damn window.

At the sight of you, his heart did backflips and his legs almost gave out.

Ignoring the jelly feeling in his legs and the loud pounding of his heart, he raced around the desks and his coworkers—nearly fully crashing into Dazai in the process—to once more engulf you into his arms.

As for you?

When you saw him, you felt like you were going to pass out.

Your legs grew weak, your entire body was shaking, and tears started to fall down your face.

He was here.

He was safe and he was alive.

You mourned his abrupt disappearance from the orphanage and spent most of your time worrying about his well being.

The staff thought you were pathetic, that you sulked and cried over someone who they thought should disappear off the face of the earth.

They could insult and beat you all you want, but you drew the line when it came to Atsushi.

Finally having enough of everything, you planned your escape.

You were patient; you never jumped the gun nor gave anything away. You planned everything to the very last, minute detail, and after a few more months of abuse and waiting, you put your plan into action and left in the dead of night.

Thankfully, a kind old couple took you after you had collapsed in the streets. You worked job after job after job to return everything they had spent on your behalf even after they had told you not to worry about it.

And after another few weeks, you finally caught wind of your lost boyfriend tracking him down to Yokohoma through an old newspaper article.

Knowing your boyfriend, and yourself, you knew that tears would easily escape both of your eyes due to the long duration of your separation, but you weren’t expecting to find yourself crashing onto the floors of the armed detective agency curtesy of Atsushi.

But, you wouldn’t have it any other way because in your arms was the boy who gave you comfort during the most darkest days in the orphanage, the boy who laid you in his lap or on his stomach stroking your hair so you would fall asleep, and the boy who often threw himself in front of you so you would remain unharmed.

You choked on your sobs as you tightened your own hold on him and they gradually grew louder as you buried your face into the shoulder of his white button up.

Through his own choked sobs and teary eyes, Atsushi gently maneuvered the two of you so that you would be lying on his stomach—a familiar position the two of you would lay in back in the orphanage.

He gently stroked his fingers through your hair and softly rubbed your back as he whispered the familiar sweet nothings into your ears.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay...”

“I’m here, just let it all out..”

Overwhelmed with your emotions, his sweet words only started to make you cry more.

You’ve missed him so much.

Your tears easily soaked his both his shirt and his neck, and you tried to speak only for you to choke up. Atsushi simply just started to shush you—as you would to a baby—and placed a kiss to your forehead as he continued to comfortingly stroke your hair and rub your back.

With the both of you off into your own little world, a world consisting only of the two of you, reactions and looks from the Armed Detective Agency went unnoticed.

It didn’t take long for them to realize the kind of relationship you and Atsushi had.

But what surprised them was Atsushi’s behavior.

The young adult they knew tended to be unsure of everything, including himself, and stammered whenever he was nervous.

But the young adult currently in front of them had this new aura of maturity; he didn’t hesitate to touch you or to comfort you, and for the first time they’ve seen in a while, he was sure of himself; he wasn’t nervous at all.

With the amount of comfortability Atsushi had around you, and the tender, loving care he showered you in, it was clear that you certainly were someone special to their tiger.

Your sobs slowly turned to small hiccups, and Atsushi’s face turned to one of pure tranquility and content, having his lover back in his arms.

Although having calmed down, what Atsushi said to you next made you want to start bawling all over again.

“I’m sorry I left you, and I promise I didn’t forget about you,” he whispered softly, “I thought of you every day. I still do. The thought of being able to see you again is what kept me going.”

You buried yourself further into his shoulder as you gripped his white button up in your hands.

“And thanks to the armed detective agency, I’m stronger now. I won’t let anybody hurt you, not anymore. That, I promise you.”

Actually taking a look up from you, Atsushi ended up locking eyes with Dazai, who had a gentle look on his face.

His senior only closed his eyes, tilted his head down softly, and lightly chuckled before opening his brown eyes once more, giving Atsushi a look of approval.

The gray haired teen’s eyes widened slightly as he looked around the room only to be met with similar looks of approval and gentleness from his seniors and coworkers.

He felt his eyes tear up again, but instead let out a relieved sigh as he tightened his hold on you slightly.

“Hey Atsushi...” you softly murmured.

Equally as soft, he answered, “Yes (y/n)?”

“...I love you...”

Your lover smiled before placing another kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you too (y/n)”

At last, the girl he loved was back in his arms, and the boy you loved was back within your reach.

And neither of you were ever going to let each other go again.

and it means, the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation, a rediscovery

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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trini-trin-trin · 3 years

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Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

#andre aciman #CMBYK Book #call me by your name #cmbyn #elio x oliver

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chocoholicannanymous · 3 years

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If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Pt XVII

This is the penultimate part. The last one is written and drafted - I did finish while on vacation. Expect it for next weekend.

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, pt VI, pt VII, pt VIII, pt IX, pt X, pt XI, pt XII, pt XIII, pt XIV, pt XV and pt XVI.

It's as everything happens in May. Kurt feels as if he should be used to it by now, but this year is worse than any before. It's understandable, he guesses, what with it being his senior year, but understanding doesn't help. Some of the squares on his wall calendar has so many things on them they're barely legible, and there are days when he wants to just quit it all.

He can always work in his dad's garage for the rest of his life. Surely that's not the worst thing ever?

The only reason he's not a complete wreck when Nationals comes is the Warblers meeting held right after Regionals where David had used logic (how dare he) and suggested their approach to Nationals.

Kurt's first, immediate reaction is “we're never going to win with that” which he also says out loud, only to be met by “so what”.

“I don't say this lightly. I've been a Warbler for four years. It's been amazing to be surrounded by all of these talented people, and make music just because we like it, and that's why I've kept it up even with all the hints I've gotten that my 'future career' would be better served by me spending that time on learning another language or studying harder. After all, what use is singing and dancing for a lawyer?”

There's a bitterness in David's voice, and it's echoed in a number of murmurs around the room.

“This is the one thing I do for fun, that I do just for me, and some days the only thing that makes slogging through my mountain of homework bearable is knowing that once I'm done I can go enjoy Warblers. This year's group hold more talent of all my years here, which is why it hurts to say that I don't think we can win, no matter what setlist we go on with. We're simply not the kind of group that wins a contest like this.”

Which, probably true. The Warblers are good, yes, but they're an all boys a capella group performing in uniforms. They don't have the productions that teams who wins Nationals do. Doesn't mean that it hurts just as much to hear as it hurts to say.

“The truth is – and I'm sorry, I know we don't talk about him, but I have to – the truth is that we didn't even compete before Blaine.”

Kurt expects it to sting to hear his name. It does, but not much. He's moving past that.

“Blaine walked in here and wanted to compete so badly. He spent his first semester here trying to talk us into trying, even with all the reasons we had for not going so, and he got his way. That doesn't change the fact that this is only our second year competing, and we've surpassed all expectations by making it to Nationals. To do so again and win, or even place in the top... I don't think we can do that, not even with all the talent in this room.”

No one likes hearing that, but no one's disagreeing either. They aren't going to win. That's just how it is.

“So why not do that we like? Why don't we pick songs we like and that showcases our strengths? Why don't we sing a song that will make you happy, Kurt? And if it knocks us down in the ranking to do so, who cares? I don't.”

To hear someone say that Kurt's happiness should matter more than placement – to hear David say it, after everything the year before – causes tears to well up in his eyes. To hear every single Warbler agree make those tears fall.

They'd walked out of that meeting stronger than they'd gone in, and Kurt lets himself gather strength from that memory for a few seconds before he steps forward and lets his voice soar.

“Something has changed within me, something is not the same / I'm through with playing by the rules, of someone else's game”

They finish eleventh. It's better than they'd dared to hope, with all the absolutely excellent teams competing. It the joy is tinged with a little bitterness? Who can blame them? Maybe, more than one of them wonders, a more conventional setlist could have placed them among the top ten. At the same time they're all aware that maybe it would have have placed them dead last. There's no way of telling, and no use speculating.

They did their best, enjoyed their performance and finished eleventh at Nationals. That's nothing to look down on. In fact...

“We did better than New Directions last year” Kurt says with a smirk.

They've beaten his old team, his so-called friends, in every way possible and he allows himself to see that as a win.

Finn posts video of all their songs on his Facebook and is proud (and smug) enough to also post the “Defying Gravity” performance in the Glee group with a comment about how Kurt obviously could hit that note, tagging both Rachel and Mr Schue. It's petty, and Kurt should be big enough of a person to ask Finn to remove it, but no. If his brother wants to stand up for him Kurt isn't just going to let him, he's going to be grateful.

Feeling loved and protected is not something he's ever going to scoff at.

Nationals is followed by finals, the less said about the better, and then prom. Or well, “the Dalton Academy and Crawford County Day Joint Spring Formal”. Same thing right?

Wrong.

The spring formal is every thing junior prom wasn't. It's not really the fact that Sebastian asks Kurt properly to be his date for the formal, and compliments his outfit. It's not that even without decorations Dalton's auditorium is more grand than McKinley's gym. It's not even the grand dinner with lit candles, waiters and three courses before the dance or that there's a band that plays waltzes and foxtrot for the first two hours before the DJ is allowed to take over.

It's that even before they've entered the transformed dining hall Kurt spots half a dozen same-sex couples, a number that keeps going up during the evening. It's the fact that he gets to dance the whole evening, not in a group or with a girl, but with Sebastian and the occasional Warbler. Mostly it's Sebastian's arms he's in, and it's amazing.

It's so far from his junior prom and Blaine that it almost hurts.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. Everything is... This year everything is perfect.”

Sebastian doesn't look entirely convinced, but decides to drop it and instead lean closer for a kiss.

The evening really is perfect.

The morning of his birthday Kurt walks into the dining hall alone only to be met with a table full of Warblers that stand up and sing for him as soon as he clears the door. There's one place left at the table, next to Sebastian, set with the kind of breakfast not even Dalton serves (fresh croissant, strawberries, a piece of brie and a one-person pot of tea) with a rainbow rose in a vase. Kurt sits down with a smile and leans over to kiss his boyfriend's cheek.

“So, rainbow roses are going to be our thing, is it? I love it.”

He spends the day with a smile on his lips, because his boyfriend took the time to do something special for him on his birthday and his friends have promised cake in the Warblers' room after dinner, and he feels loved.

“Cake” turns out to be cheesecake and presents, and more singing, and so much more smiling. Afterwards Sebastian walks him back to his room. There's no kissing though, which Kurt finds unacceptable.

“Isn't there some kind of rule that you get kisses on your birthday? I would have thought that was a part of the boyfriend experience, and to be honest I'm feeling very much unkissed.”

That nets him a crooked smile, but still no kisses. It's almost enough to worry him.

“You can have all the kisses you want, and not just on your birthday, you know that babe. However, there's something else I wanted you to have first.”

Sebastian pulls out a small package from him pocket and hands it over with a smile, which begins to fade when Kurt doesn't immediately take it. It's just, well.

“Another present? You shouldn't have.”

“Another? What do you mean?”

The truth is that Kurt fully expected breakfast and a rose to be the whole of Sebastian's congratulations, and he doesn't quite know how to take getting more than that. He doesn't really know how to explain it though, and definitely not in a way that won't start Sebastian on another rant about how Blaine was unworthy of Kurt's affection. Especially since it's not just about him.

Turns out he doesn't need to say anything – and apparently he's getting yet another present in the form of the absence of that rant.

“Breakfast was a treat. This is your actual present, which I hope you'll like at least as much as that.”

Sebastian looks a little worried as Kurt removes the paper and opens the small box inside (and if he's a little shaky to open a jewelry box from his boyfriend no one needs to know). It's a pair of gorgeous cufflinks with just the right balance between classy and unique and he absolutely loves them.

“These are amazing! They're too much, really, but they're so gorgeous that I'm going to pretend they're not. I love them!” I love you. But that's a bit too early to say, and so instead he leans forward and does his absolute best to communicate exactly that through kissing.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #kurtbastian #itshtf

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years

Text

i need a plot for this

yall so ive been trying really hard to get back into writing and i went to a writing camp this summer. im going to post a poem that i wrote there later bc im super proud of it but right now i have something else i need help with. SO basically there was a prompt about someone finding a letter or a note. that’s the prompt. so i wrote something, really liked it BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO TAKE IT FROM HERE. my basic ideas involve the two characters meeting each other again to do SOMETHING WHICH I DONT KNOW and slowly arcane (youll see when you read the story below) thaws and falls in love with kalon and kalon has always been in love with her and its like best friends to enemies to friends to lovers ya know? ANYWAY if you dont hate me for being inactive and needy, please read this and help me.

Dear Arcane,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 10 years. Wow. I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this, you could’ve moved. You could be dead. Oh god, that’s dark. You’re not dead, someone would’ve told me, I’m sure. So that must mean that there’s a good chance you have this, but I’m not even sure if you’ll read it.

He was right, as he most often was. Arcane had not planned to read the letter from the moment she read her name on the envelope, written in a neat sort of messy handwriting that could only come from one person. The letter had been sitting at her desk for a week before memories began to drown her and she knew she had to open it.

That’s not the point though, I’m sure you’ll read this. You’ve always been a sucker for the intimacy of written letters. Maybe that’s why I wrote to you instead of calling.

Arcane closed her eyes, the pounding of the memories at the door slowly consuming her. She took a deep breath and let them in. The whispers started to fill the room, every word echoing off the walls, like her past had become a living, breathing thing in her room. How could he write her now? After all these years. Anger reared it's small head in the back of her mind. How could he be so casual as if he wasn't the boy who ripped her heart out and tore it to pieces.

Maybe it’s because I did read all the letters you wrote to me. Even after the voicemails stopped filling my phone and the emails ran dry, your letters kept coming.

She remembers writing those letters, the pen shaking in her hand as it hit the paper. She remembers wondering what you said to someone like him, a friend who left you behind. The squeeze in her chest that tightened each time he didn’t reply. The break in her heart when the last letter she ever wrote was returned to her doorstep.

If you’ve read this far without tearing my letter to pieces, then I would say this is a good start to our reunion. I’ve missed you. Your stubborn ways, always trying to keep me safe. But you always came with me wherever I went anyway. I miss your secret smile, the one you saved just for me. The treehouse we built in your yard. Do you miss that? I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I can even ask that of you.

She did miss them. But, those things that she missed were long gone. The treehouse was overgrown with vines, Arcane was sure you couldn’t even get into it anymore. She went with him on his stupid adventures because what would she do if he left and met new people? He would leave her and she would be alone. So she desperately followed him blindly, hoping it would keep him close. Arcane missed her secret smile, the genuine one she had always saved for him. He missed it. How could he miss something that he destroyed. With his one and only letter to her, he demolished any leftover love for him that hid in her heart. He couldn’t ask if Arcane wondered about him. That wasn’t fair. That night, ten years ago, was still a raw wound in her soul that she was pretty sure would never heal.

The rain was relentless that night, banging against every edge of the house, but a little girl was waiting by the door, not even flinching as the lightning and thunder clapped furiously. Arcane peeked her head above the window frame to find the mailman running through the storm, his frantic steps pounding through the floor of the house. Her eyes lit up with a hope that was slowly fading with each mail drop. She opened the door and hid the small smile that started to spread up her face with a cough.

“Hi, Dan!” Arcane’s voice gave away the excitement that was flooding her system.

“Hey, Arcane.” Dan couldn’t help the pitiful grin that he gave her. She waited by the door for him every day and each day there was no letter for her. It must be soul-crushing, he thought, waiting for a letter that never comes.

“Is there…?” Arcane was practically on her tiptoes at this point. Dan rifled through the letters, dread settling as her name wasn’t there. Again. And then there was a squeal. “Oh, Dan! I found it! I knew- I knew it- I told them!” Her sentences didn’t even come out fully as she beamed, her smile brighter than any ray of the sun.

Arcane had run into the house, a breeze following in her wake. Plopping down into the soft plush couch, she ripped open the envelope, not caring about the paper that flew everywhere in the room. A paper fluttered out, floating toward the ground. Arcane grabbed it, hands shaking, she could practically feel the sweat dripping down her face. Words were the easiest way to break someone. The letter only contained eleven words, yet they would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Stop writing me. None of it was real. You were nothing.

Eleven words. And they shattered her. Crumbling, shattering, a million pieces breaking. Sobs racked through her whole body, her chest shaking and trembling with each broken breath. She caught her face in the mirror hanging off the pale wall and didn’t recognize the girl that stared back. You were nothing. A scream tore through her, the ache of her heart so raw that even the sun seemed to cry, rain dripping onto the panes of the windows. And slowly, so very slowly, Arcane buried the ache and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart and encased them in an impenetrable cage, never to opened again.

The ache was still present now, ten years after the letter had arrived. The dullness of her buried hurt made her clench her fists around the letter that sat in her hand now, the same lopsided handwriting adorning it.

But, that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this with an actual purpose, if you can imagine that. I didn't just write to rehash our friendship.

Arcane could feel her eyes narrowing, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the inanimate piece of paper. An actual purpose? To break her heart all over again? This time she did roll her eyes, even though no one was there to see it. But, it wasn’t the fact that he wrote her after all these years or that his tone was friendly throughout that made her body freeze. It was the last line that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

In all the years that Arcane had known him, he'd never been very dependent. He often just struggled in silence and figured them out on his own. Not once, not ever, had has asked for help. But, there the sentence was inked in his slanted, loopy writing.

I need your help.

Love,

Kalon

~~everything below here is stuff that doesnt have to be a part of the story but i still liked it and where it was going (idk please give me ideas)~~

The quiet, shock of the room seemed to weigh on Arcane. She flopped back onto her bed, the soft pillows cushioning her landing. I need your help. Those few, simple words, tugged at the strings that bound her heart. He needed her. The thought was fleeting as just as quickly as it came, it left. In its spot was anger. Now he needed her? After all those years when she needed him? What did he do then? Nothing. And that’s what she was going to do now. She huffed in satisfaction, tossing the envelope to the side. Her fingers reached into her hair, massaging her head. There were too many things to think about right now. Arcane squeezed her eyes shut as memories stung her eyes in the form of tears.

“Please, don’t leave me.” Arcane had whispered, her small breaths filling the one room of the treehouse.

“I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t want to go.” Kalon’s voice broke and he looked away so Arcane couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. It was silent.

“We’ll still be best friends right?”

“Yeah.” Kalon’s reply didn’t hold much conviction, causing Arcane to look over at him, confused, glossy eyes narrowing.

“To the moon and back, Kal, remember?” She said, her tone desperate. It was a promise they made one night as they were watching some cheesy movie on the old television set. The boy had told the girl that he loved her too ‘the moon and back’. Kalon had then explained that the two characters said that so that they would never be apart. They could meet at the same moon, always and then they could go back. And then, they would never be fully apart. Arcane had liked that. So naturally, she had grabbed Kal’s face and made him promise that they would go ‘to the moon and back’ if they were ever apart. It became a goodbye for them, a way of saying ‘I’ll see you soon’.

“Yeah,” Kal had replied, a smile barely curling through his lips, “I’ll race ya there.”

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, letting her memories flow down her cheeks and into the bedsheets, but eventually she had to get up. She pulled herself up and off the bed, limbs protesting at the use. She just needed a few days is all, then she wouldn’t even remember what she was crying for. Kalon didn’t mean anything to her anymore.

thank you for reading this far, i love all of you. just throw out ideas please. or give me some advice, i would love that. whether its about my writing or the plot i would love to have tips and constructive criticism on how to get better! tagging some moots who i hope dont hate me after this below the cut:

@natashxromanovf @pad-foots @griffxnnage @voidmalfoy @flxss-bxbblxs @alwaysreading @herondalesunsetcurve THANKS YALL I LOVE YOU MORE THEN I EXPRESS AND I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT DESERVE ALL OF YOU AND YOUR LOVE

#my writing #a book?#writing a book #plot ideas #please give me some ideas #writing #original characters #and an original storyline #found letter prompt

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heller-a-good-time · 4 years

Text

HERES THE MINI FIX-IT FIC IVE BEEN WRITING ALL WEEK! HAD TO GET IT OUT BEFORE THE FINALE TONIGHT SO ENJOY

This was the tenth night in a row that Dean wandered around the bunker completely wasted. He would stumble into bookshelves and chairs and inevitably, more booze, while his entire world seemed to spin and a goofy smile was plastered on his face. It was the only time he felt like he was able to smile.

Sam would always be asleep, or on a late night date with Eileen. Whenever he came back he’d find Dean in his drunken state and try to encourage him to stop drinking for the night. He would usually fail and then decide to leave him be.

Because he knows.

Dean never took all the times Cas was presumably dead very well. In fact, every time it had happened, it wasn’t pretty. But Dean had never been like this. Seemingly so broken that it was impossible to put the pieces back together again. It was different this time.

Dean couldn’t deal with the world sober anymore. He’d tried.

Everytime he did, he’d hear Cas’s speech ringing in his ears. When he closed his eyes he could still see his angel’s smiling face. After finally confessing his love.

And then the regret would shortly follow.

Because Dean couldn’t help himself but think that Cas was gone because of him. He wanted to go after Billie. He led them into that room with no escape plan. He was Cas’s true happiness.

And then after those thoughts would cement themselves into his brain for the evening, he would get rid of him in the most effective way he knew how. He would drink. He wouldn’t just drink until he was dizzy and euphoric, he would drink until everything went black and he couldn’t feel anything.

Because even through all the clumsiness and the giggling, he could still hear his voice.

I love you.

Just like all the other nights, Dean could still hear him. He reached for a new bottle of scotch off their shelf in the map room before falling into a chair with a glass already in hand.

He poured himself a refill, almost missing the glass completely. His limbs felt like Jello and the room wouldn’t stay still long enough for him to focus. But eventually he got enough whiskey into his glass.

As he took his first sip of his new drink, he made the mistake of letting his eyes wander down. He looked down at the table he was sitting at and he read the name Castiel over and over again.

Carving his name into the table with the rest of his family’s initials was the first thing he did when he returned to the bunker. He refused to let himself relax with a beer in his hand until he completed that task.

Because even while he was fighting Chuck—the person he’d been hellbent on killing for months, he couldn’t stop thinking about Cas.

But now when he looked down and saw his name everytime he sat at this table, it felt like it was mocking him. It just felt like a glaring reminder of who he couldn’t save.

Goodbye, Dean.

Dean took another sip of his whiskey. He could feel his burdening thoughts only getting louder. He hated himself for looking down at this damn table.

He pushed his glass to the side and closed his eyes. He laced his fingers together and propped them up on his elbows. A tear slipped down his face.

His voice was harsh and weak as he babbled into the void for no one to hear, “C-Cas.....Cas please.....I need you.....You’re my best friend......You’re family.” His lip quivered as he started to break down. He knew that wasn’t what he should say to him. But the one thing he wanted to say felt like it was trapped on his tongue. He’d suppressed himself from saying it all these years to the point where he felt like even when Cas wasn’t there and it was now known to Dean that his love was requited, he still couldn’t say it. He could only say everything else that he used as a replacement for that three letter sentence.

By now Dean was crying and covering his eyes with his hands. Little gasps escaped his lips in between his attempt to continue praying to the angel.

“Cas....Cas.....Please......Please come home.” He sobbed. He then got to overwhelmed to keep going.

He desperately reached for his glass and downed the rest of the whiskey. He knew now that he really needed to black out tonight. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop crying.

He let his head sink all the way down. His cheek laid against the wood and his arms were sprawled out on either side of him. His tears slowly rolled down his face and left wet spots on the table.

He didn’t even have the strength to get up to refill his glass. He didn’t even have the strength to calm himself down. He had given up on getting himself drunk enough to make him numb. Instead, he was feeling everything a little too intensely.

Probably because he just kept trying to push it down. And now it was starting to rise to the surface and he didn’t know how to cope with it.

He’d stayed in a state of shock for longer than he expected. The crippling sadness had started to settle in the first night while they were researching a plan on how to kill Chuck. But he’d grabbed the alcohol early enough that his emotions couldn’t overpower him in time.

But then it finally hit him the following night.

When him and Sam were supposed to be celebrating, Dean felt like he wanted to throw himself off the top floor of a building. He didn’t let Sam see him break down though. At least, not at first. But after ten straight days of his favorite coping mechanism failing him, Sam witnessed some tears here and there. He’d tried to comfort him. But he knew there was nothing he could really do to fix him.

Dean stayed motionless as he silently cried against the table for he doesn’t know how long. It felt like hours.

The only thing that snapped him out of it was the whooshing sound of wings behind him.

It made Dean let out a loud gasp but he knew he had to be drunk. The alcohol in his veins had to be making him image things.

He felt a hand placed on his left shoulder.

“Dean.”

No. It can’t be.

He lifted his head slowly before looking over his shoulder. When he saw a tan trench coat he immediately stumbled out of his chair before failing to stand on his own and falling to the floor, the chair he was sitting on tipped over in the process.

When Castiel bent down to help him up and his piercing blue eyes stared into his, Dean couldn’t breathe. His mouth just hung open as he looked back at him.

He was here. Standing in front of him. His angel. Without a scratch on him. He still looked as beautiful as he always did. And Dean wanted so hard to not trust it. But every fiber in his being wanted to believe he was really standing in front of him right now.

Cas tried propping Dean against the table but it was no use. Dean was already practically launching himself into him, hugging him. His tears had transitioned from sadness into pure joy. His crying got so intense that he was gasping for air and his vision was too blurry to see.

He hugged Cas as tightly as he possibly could. Almost as if he was terrified he’d disappear again if he didn’t.

At some point he felt Cas hug him back—more gentle considering Dean was practically struggling to breathe.

They stayed in the embrace for several minutes as Dean silently cried into Cas’s shoulder, staining the fabric of his trench coat. All Cas could do was hold him and smile. He’d missed him. They’d missed each other.

Dean turned his head to the side as he had just begun to compose himself, “Cas.....Cas is this really you?”

Now it was the angel starting to get emotional as he answered, “Yes. I promise you, It’s really me.” His voice cracked in a way that Dean had only heard once before as he was saying goodbye to him for what they had thought would be forever.

Dean’s mind was flooded with so many questions that he was too baffled to even speak coherently, “H-How did you.....Why is this...”

Cas finally pulled away from the hug because he wanted to look at him again. When he saw Dean’s tear stained face, his smile grew. He couldn’t believe he was home. He couldn’t believe he had Dean back. He then realized Dean was kept in suspense waiting for his explanation. He cleared his throat and tried to answer him as composed as he could, “The empty.....it’s loud now. All the angels awoke and rivaled against her and eventually got so desperate for sleep....she set us free. I-I woke up in a random field and had been trying to find my way back, and I....I heard your prayers.”

Dean watched a tear actually stream down Cas’s face. It immediately prompted him to pull him into another quick hug. He knew he had to cut it short otherwise Dean would probably never let go of him ever again.

At some point while they were both trying to contain their crying, the realization that Dean had heard the sound of wings, which had almost become unfamiliar to him at this point, made him gasp again like he did when he heard them ten minutes ago, “Wait a second, you have—“

“My wings. They’re back.” Cas continued to flash Dean the widest smile he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He knew how badly Cas had missed them. And hell, he’d earned them.

The two things Cas wanted had been returned to him.

Dean nodded and felt like he could talk to him now without bursting into tears, “That probably has something to do with Jack being the new boss.”

Cas got excited just by the mention of his name, “That was the first thing I heard over angel radio when I returned......You did it. You beat him.” His good mood seemed to be dampened a little as he looked down, “I should have been here to help.”

Dean almost scoffed at his self pity, “Cas....I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you.” He looked over at the table at his empty whiskey glass and suddenly noticed how sober he felt. Dean was just plastered and sobbing his eyes out on the table but when his angel returned to him all of his senses went on high alert. The room wasn’t even spinning anymore.

They both felt air settle in between them after the mentioning of Cas’s sacrifice. Dean couldn’t help but replay the moment in his head over and over like he’d been doing for the last ten days. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he should have told him. He wanted to tell him the three words he’d been dying to say for so long, but he knew if he said them in that moment, Cas only would’ve disappeared faster. So all he could do was stand there, frozen in shock as he realized he was losing the most important person in his life.

Cas sensed the tension that was building due to the silence, “We don’t have to talk about it.” He looked down again, seeming a little sadder than he was before. Clearly he’d never expected to face Dean again after his confession. And now he was terrified of rejection. So he figured it would be best if both of them forgot it happened.

But Dean couldn’t forget. He sighed and took a step closer to Cas, “No, I want to talk about it.” The way Cas looked at him in surprise made Dean’s stomach do flips. He reminded himself he needed to keep going. He kept eye contact with his angel as he spoke, “Cas there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for a very long time.”

Cas tried to silence him, “Dean it’s okay, you don’t have to say it.” He knew either way whatever he told him would be potentially bad. He feared rejection. But he feared the other possibility even more. He was terrified if he heard those words from the man he loved, he’d feel truly happy again. He was scared of going back. He couldn’t watch himself get dragged away from Dean for a second time.

But Dean didn’t listen, “Actually I do. Because I learned from losing you that I can’t be gutless and in denial anymore. Not with you, at least. Because I didn’t realize how little time left I had to say it. And I’ve blown all my other chances to say it.”

All these years Dean had wanted to. Sometimes he actually convinced himself to do it. But then as the words came out of his mouth, they weren’t what he had in mind. It was always, You’re family or You’re my best friend or I need you or I missed you, buddy. And he felt stupid every single time it happened.

He saw the worried look of Cas’s face and he suddenly realized why he didn’t want to hear it, Dean sighed and took another step closer to him, “Cas, I don’t know if this makes me selfish. But I’m willing to lose you again just so I can finally tell you.”

Cas grew teary eyed again. This was something he’d waited over a decade to hear, “Then say it.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment as he felt all the walls he’d built up over the years fall. He’d tried so hard to just look at Castiel, the angel, as his best friend. But he couldn’t. He was so much more than that. He always had been.

He opened his eyes again and noticed Cas had taken a step closer to him. They were a mere inch away from each other. He let the angel’s blue eyes pierce into his soul as he stared deep into them, “I love you too.”

The weight of the words immediately came crashing down on him. But he didn’t have enough time to emotionally deal with it because Cas was already kissing him. Desperate and passionate.

Butterflies exploded in Dean’s stomach. He could barely even catch his breath. This was happening. His angel was kissing him.

He wasted no time kissing Cas back, smiling against his lips as he did it. He’d waited so long.

Both of their eyes fell closed as they melted into the kiss. Dean placed his hands against Cas’s cheeks while Cas held onto Dean’s hips. They moved even closer until there was absolutely no space between them. Their lips moved in perfect harmony and it felt as though they were each other’s missing pieces.

Dean’s head was swimming in euphoria and his heart couldn’t stop racing. He’d kissed plenty of people in his life. More than plenty. But he’d never been kissed like this. So lovingly.

And now that he knew what it felt like, he never wanted anything but this ever again. Kissing the person he loved was way better than he ever would have imagined.

Cas completely caught him off guard when he pushed Dean down onto the table, finally causing them to break away from the kiss. He landed on his back as his eyes widened at the angel who was currently in the process of climbing on top of him. His knees were planted on either side of Dean’s hips and Dean laid in between them.

Dean assumed Cas would lean back into him and reconnect their lips, but instead he let his hands travel up Dean’s chest before finding his shoulders and grasping at the material of his flannel. For the next thirty seconds they worked together clumsily shrugging it off of him.

As Cas took the now discarded flannel from Dean’s hands to toss it aside, his eyes landed on something on the table.

And within a few seconds, Castiel was close to tears again.

This prompted Dean to sit up and look at Cas slightly confused but nonetheless concerned, “What’s wrong?”

Dean proceeded to follow his gaze when he didn’t respond. And he realized Cas was looking at his own name carved into the table.

Dean stared at the name for awhile before giving a sad smile and eventually saying something, “It just didn’t feel right not being there.” His voice came out soft.

Cas blinked away his tears and nodded. He then did lean into Dean that time and give him peck on the lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

(This will probably be up on AO3 too when I get a sec)

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yutahoes · 4 years

Text

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Sixteen)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Abuse, Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

16. Broken

“(Y/N)?” Jaehyun asked Yuta. “It’s been two days. She hasn’t called once.” He claimed, making the older guy shake his head. “You don’t know where she is?”

Taeyong just gave a worried look over at his friend. “Yuta, is something wrong? Why are you so protective of her?” he asked. “If she needed help, she should have called. She knew your number.”

But it only made the guy more worried. What if something bad happened to her? What if she’s hurt once again? Two days of not calling him are pretty normal but two days of not going to work are weird enough. Jungwoo said that maybe it was Johnny who gave her days off but the older claimed that he didn’t. But he’s also not that strict with their work attendance as long as they can finish the work assigned to them. The third day came and there’s still no news about her.

Once again, Yuta found himself in front of their house. That quiet house. An older woman went out and knocked on his car door, saying that the man of the house left early that morning with his luggage. Did he leave? Yuta thought. Then where is (Y/N)? When he asked the older woman, she said that (Y/N) never returned to the house and the place is pretty vacant now. But she told him that she’s coming home, Johnny said the same thing. So where exactly is she?

“Can I check the house?” he asked and the landlady agreed, handing him the keys to the house and letting him in. It was the same as when he went inside before but shards of glass filled the floor and if not careful, someone can easily get hurt. There really is no sign of anyone and a faint smell of blood is all he can smell.

He remembered her room so she tried to enter it for any signs of her but it is locked from the inside. Only one possibility, she’s still here. He kept on knocking, even calling her name, but there’s no response from the inside. He called Jungwoo asking if he can call (Y/N) and just minutes later, he heard a faint sound coming from the inside. She is indeed here.

Yuta tried locating the key for her door but even if he found the right key, it won’t open as if something is blocking it. “(Y/N), it’s Yuta. Open up. I know you’re inside.” He tried begging for her but there’s still no response. With no other choice, he used force to open the door which caused it to break the hinges. The room was so dark, the only light he can make up is the phone by her bed. “(Y/N)!” he called, looking around the room for any signs of her.

A faint sound can be heard next to a large cabinet and he tried to open it up, surprised to see her falling down the large furniture. She was cold as ice and her lips were chapped. “Yah, what happened?” Worry is evident in his voice as he carried her to his car. He needed to bring her to the hospital immediately. He covered his jacket on her to at least keep her warm. “(Y/N), hey, wake up. Can you hear me?”

“Yuta?” she called weakly. “Please don’t bring me to the hospital.” And Yuta stopped driving immediately. What? “They’ll ask what happen. Please, I don’t want him to end up in prison again.” She begged, desperately trying to open her eyes and stay awake. “Please Yuta. Save my dad.” She’s in this state yet she’s still thinking about the person who hurt her. Doesn’t her dad know how lucky he is to have (Y/N) as a daughter? Why did she have to suffer all of this?

Instead of the hospital, he brought her to his apartment. He called Jungwoo then his personal doctor to give her a thorough check-up. “You found her just in time. She could have been dead if it’s an hour later.” But he wished that he had found her sooner than that. Even stopping her from going back to that place. “But this is a crime, Yuta. You can report this…” He lightly glanced at her peaceful sleeping face. Slowly, color is appearing on her face. Yuta shook his head, she wouldn’t like that. She wouldn’t want to see her dad in jail.

Johnny, Jungwoo, and Ten all came to his apartment to check on her, even apologizing that they didn’t get too worried about her. He shared the findings of the doctor and Johnny shared that this isn’t the first time that this happened. “Yuta, please take care of her,” Johnny claimed. “She would often say that she’s the only one left for her dad but there’s no one on her side. So whatever happens, please stay by her side.” Yuta not only promises that. He knew that it is what he wanted to do all along.

The CEO was busy with his work that night when he heard muffled cries from inside his room. He stood up quickly and entered his room but (Y/N) is not in bed, even the IV is already removed. The sounds came from his walk-in closet. He wasn’t even surprised that she’s inside.

(Y/N)’s eyes were red and she looked like a small child, crying while hugging her knees. “(Y/N),” Yuta called softly, holding her arm but she jerked her arm away as if it’s on fire. “(Y/N)…”

“Please, don’t hurt me.” She begged that made him crack. She’s so vulnerable, so fragile. How can someone like her dad hurt her like this? “I’m sorry. I’m begging you…”

Yuta bit his lip to prevent himself from choking. How scared she might have been that she’s begging like this? “(Y/N)…” he said in the softest way possible. “It’s Yuta and I won’t hurt you.” She stopped then looked at her, gazing with those teary, misty eyes. It really hurts him seeing her like this. Gently, he held her shoulder then smiled when she didn’t move away from him. “Do you want anything? Bungeoppang?”

She shook her head, feeling Yuta’s warmth from his hold on her. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. The guy gave her a confused look. Sorry for what? “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, (Y/N),” Yuta claimed and she smiled. “Let’s get you to bed, hmm?”

He was so gentle to her, so soft. As if she’s glass that can break. She asked him to lay with her in bed since she liked his warmth, liked how he holds her. “I wanted to call you but I’m scared he might hurt you as well.” She confessed. Yuta held her hair, staring at her and listening, waiting for what she’s going to say next. “And I don’t want to bother you.”

“You know you’re never a bother to me, right? You should have called me. I should have saved you.” But she just closed her eyes, a tear escaping her eyes. Her arms were filled with bruises and cuts as if she had gone to have a fight somewhere. “Johnny said this is not the first time. How long had this been going on?” he asked while tracing the patches on her skin with his thumb.

The girl sighed. “When my mom left us.” She answered and Yuta just stared at her, listening intently. “I was in high school when she ran away from us because my dad can’t give her the dreams she wanted. He stopped his martial arts and he would drink every single day.” He hissed at the thought that a martial artist would do this to someone as small as (Y/N). “Whenever he comes home, he would hurt me. Telling me that I’m the reason why my mom left, why their dreams crushed.”

He held her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb. “I went to Paris to look for her. She said she wanted to go there. It was a suicide mission and until now, I regret going to Paris.” He felt his heart stop because of that. He already heard that before, how she regretted going to Paris. But now, he realized that it may really be a bad experience for her. Why did they have to meet there? She held his hand that was on her cheek, “You are the best thing that happened in Paris, Yuta.”

He felt his heart beating again, wildly this time. How can those simple words affect him like this? He’s like a lovesick girl. He shouldn’t be too happy. Yuta pulled her closer, hugging her in his arms. “From now on, stay here with me. We won’t put your dad in jail but let’s force him to go to rehab.” The girl stared at him in confusion. Rehab? “He’s your only family left, I don’t want you to lose him. So please, (Y/N) let me do this. Let me take care of you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He sighed. “There’s a Japanese art called ‘kintsukuroi’. It is repairing broken pottery by mending it using gold.” Yuta explained. “You are like broken pottery and the only way to show the world how beautiful you are is by mending you with gold.” (Y/N) breathed hard. It’s the first time that she heard of that.

Kintsukuroi? How can it sound so classy yet broken? Japanese people really have a wise philosophy. “You want me to be your repaired pottery?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I can’t do that. But I’ll give you gold to repair yourself.” The girl looked at him. “Just lean on me, hmm?”

“You can just get a new one, Yuta.” She said while sitting on the bed, moving far from her.

He laughed at that. “Koi no yokan.” Then he smiled at her confused look. “That was what I felt when I first saw you at the airport.” The curiosity grew. What does that even mean? But Yuta just chuckled at her. “Do you want to eat? I’ll call for delivery.” She nodded at that, realizing that she hasn’t had any food for the whole day. “What do you want to eat?”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 15 / Chapter 17

#yuta smut #yuta nakamoto smut #nct smut #yuta nakamoto #yutasmut #yutanakamotosmut #nctsmut

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fydream · 4 years

Text

✰ how to be a heartbreaker

↳ so what happens when park jisung, the school’s infamous fuckboy runs into the new girl at school? out of boredom he decides it’ll be fun to have someone new to play with, but little does he know, she’s learning how to be a heartbreaker.

a/n: hi! an authors note before this chapter begins! 1. yes i know the formatting is different but that’s only because this chapter is 5.9k words long!! (yes you heard me!! 5.9k!! that’s the most ive written for anything published on this blog!!) so there will be a cut bc i know it’s annoying to scroll past long posts haha. 2. i know i didn’t mention it in this chapter but i just wanted to say that if you did want to listen to music while reading this, during y/n and jisung’s scene you should definitely listen to euphoria by bts and that jeno and donghyuck’s song is i.l.y. by the rose. i hope u guys enjoy!

An hour or so later you're running out your front door to meet Jisung, who already regrets saying he'll wait.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" You apologize. "I didn't mean to take that long you must've been bored out of your mind!"

"It's okay." Jisung reassures. "We won't be there that long, we might be a little late to hoco if that's okay with you."

"That's fine!! Just let me text Donghyuck that I'm with you then."

"Okay."

The ride to where Jisung is taking you is quiet, nothing but his various hums to the music he plays as as he drives. It's nice, it reminds you of the first time he gave you a ride home. Quiet, but comfortable.

Instead of looking at your phone you look out the window, then take a second to look at Jisung before looking back out the window again.

You so weren't slick about it either because he notices how you quick you look away and how eager you are to sneak another glance.

"What?" He asks. "Why'd you look at me like that?"

"It's nothing.." You mumble, trying best to hide the smile that's slowly creeping up on your face.

"C'mon." He insists. "Tell me!!" He tries to make it sound like he doesn't care about the topic that much, but his vocal chords work against him as it comes out as a whine.

"Nothing.. It's just.. You look like that, and I look like this.."

"What, you mean beautiful like always?"

Jisung makes note of how quickly your cheeks turn pink at the comment he made.

"You can't just say that!" You argue.

"Yes I can, you're my date tonight after all. What kind of person would I be to not compliment their date?"

You open your mouth, about to speak before he cuts you off from your thought. "And don't worry y/n. I'll take that look as a compliment itself." He snickers.

"Hey!" You shout, earning another laugh from him.

"Hey Jisung?" You ask once the giggles die down.

"Hm?"

"Don't tell anyone I've said this but um.." You start, trailing off at the last part. "Donghyuck has uh, told me things.. about you." You notice how he looks at you, how the expression on his face quickly changes from happy and carefree, to concerned and worried. "I know you probably know what I'm talking about.. I uh- I can kinda.. tell.."

"Yeah." He whispers, trying to block out what you just told him.

"But y'know. I think he's got you all wrong."

"You do?" He asks, a bit too eagerly.

"I do." You say. "From the past how many weeks? Of knowing you, we've gotten close. And I don't think you're anything like that, at least, not anymore.. I've seen the difference between how you act in class and when you're with Jeno and Jaemin, than how you are when we're together and I'd like to hope it isn't just an act. I'm not stupid, y'know."

"I never said you were, I never thought you were either."

"I know. You're not too hard to read, y'know."

For once, Jisung is left speechless. This is the first time anyone has really brought this up on him and he has no idea how to respond. Questions begin to flood his thoughts as he begins to wonder what do you know. Do you know the real reason why he asked you out? How long have you known? What if you never want to talk to him again?

"I-" He tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

"It's okay. I don't know everything about you." You scoff, watching as the boy next to you lets out an exhale. "I don't know that much, but I know enough."

"Enough?" He asks.

"Enough to know that if you are going to break my heart, you should do it right now. Because this is the part where I'm about to tell you how much I like you, and I don't want you getting that satisfaction."

Once you're done talking, you give him a smile. It's a small, innocent, bittersweet smile. It's one of the smiles you would give out to other girls who were ever mean to you, it's subtle, but it gets the point across.

"So what'll be? Park Jisung." You ask, awaiting a response.

Jisung has many things to think about right now, the most important one being driving. He still has yet to process everything you just told him, let alone figure out what to say.

"I.. don't know what to tell you, y/n." He sighs. "I don't want to hurt you.. Can you give me a few minutes?"

"You can have all the time in the world, sweetheart."

When Jisung finally decides to talk to you once you've reached your destination. If you're going to be honest, it was the most awkward car ride you've been in.

"Okay." He starts, closing his car door. "I know that was way more than a few minutes but I just wanted to tell you this here."

The spot that he had taken you to was a little hill area, on the other side of town. From the top of it you could see the sun set as it's golden rays covered the place you called home. You weren't going to lie, it was beautiful indeed but you didn't care for it at the moment. What you wanted to know was what he was going to say.

"I was.. gonna tell you this here no matter what happened so uh.. Here goes nothing?" There's hesitation, and you can already tell that whatever he was going to tell you was something big. "I'm not here to break your heart, y/n. I know, that's what you thought and probably what everyone else thought too but.. you're different. I know this."

Your brain wants you to call bullshit on that statement but your heart prevents you from doing so. The logical part of you believes that it's probably all a lie, an act just to get you to fall for him. You know this. You know the stories, you've seen the receipts of what he's done to people before you, and you can only assume the things he'll do just to make you fall for him. But if you knew this, then why does it still work?

"Am I really different?" You ask, looking up at him with shaky eyes.

He chuckles.

"Well, yeah. For starters, you're the first girl to ever call me out on my bullshit like that so.." He jokes. "I know.. you're scared. But you shouldn't be." He whispers. "You really are different. I promise."

"Listen, Jisung." You start. "I really want to believe you. It's just hard, because you haven't really given me a reason on why I should."

"That's okay. I understand." He says softly. "I didn't expect you to."

For a second, your heart breaks. It would've continued if he didn't continue talking right then and there.

"But what if I told you all the reasons why you should?" He asks, giving you a shy smile.

"What are they?"

"Well first of all. You're smart. You're smarter than I'll ever be. You've figured me out in what? The span of three months? You don't give yourself enough credit than you deserve. Second of all, you're really passionate about a lot of things. Like that time we argued in the library over the best Stranger Things season? Even though you were wrong, you kept arguing against me."

"Hey!" You exclaim, while Jisung gives you a smile in response.

"Third of all, you're really cute. Don't think I don't notice how your nose scrunches whenever I make a comment you don't like, or how easily you get excited over the simplest things. Remember when we walked to the cafe across the street from school? You got excited because the place had good boba, out of all things. Do you know how ridiculous you sounded?"

"Well- yeah! That's because it was a cafe! And not a boba shop!" You defend.

"I'm kidding." He chuckles. "Also, did you know that whenever you get embarrassed over something not only your cheeks turn pink, but your nose does too."

"You can stop now.. y'know.." You mumble.

"These are just a few things that I like about you, y/n. Do I need to tell you all of them for you to believe me?" He asks, looking at you innocently, as if he didn't just give you the biggest ego boost of all time.

"I believe you." You giggle as he pulls you in for a tight hug.

"Thanks, love." He whispers, placing a light kiss on the top of your head. "Now it's your turn. What were you going to tell me in the car?"

The next hour or so is spent with you two talking about each other, both of you giving out compliments as if there were no tomorrow. If it weren't for the sun being completely gone then you two probably wouldn't have noticed how long you've been alone together.

"Oh my god." Jisung exclaims. "What time is it?"

"Uhm.. Seven fifteen?" You respond, quite confused on why he was suddenly freaking out.

"We have to go, now. They're going to close the doors in like ten minutes."

"Oh. Okay!" You smile, eagerly skipping back to Jisung's car with his hand intertwined with yours. "We better get going then, huh?"

"Y/n said that she might be late because she's with Jisung already." Donghyuck tells Renjun and Chenle once pull up in front of his house.

Renjun had driven both of them together due to them only being a block away from each other. Donghyuck on the other hand was going to drive you, but when you texted him that you were already with Jisung he decided to ask Renjun for a ride. "Sorry for the inconvenience.. by the way." He mumbles, buckling his seat belt.

"It's alright. Where do you think they went?" Renjun asks.

"Hell if I know. This is the most I've seen Jisung do for anyone." Donghyuck retorts, clearly bitter about being ditched by his best friend.

"Should we be worried?" Chenle asks.

"I don't think so." Donghyuck responds. "Y/n is her own person and she can handle herself, plus what the fuck is Jisung even gonna do? They probably went to take pictures or something."

Chenle shrugs. "I guess so. How are you doing then?"

"What do you mean?"

Chenle shrugs again. "You know what I mean. During the time you two fought you barely said anything to each other, it was just her hanging out with Jisung. Then, even after you made up she ditched us to hang out with him and even now they're probably on a date before the dance or something. How are you dealing with it?"

Once Chenle is done talking, Renjun shoots him a glare before hitting him lightly on the back of his head.

"Ouchie.. That hurt!" Chenle whines. "Aren't you supposed to be driving Junnie.~~" He teases.

"Yeah but I'm also trying to make sure no one fucking cries tonight." He hisses. "Why would you even ask that?"

"I dunno. Was curious I guess?"

"Haven't you heard the phrase curiosity killed the cat?"

"It's been alright." Donghyuck says to prevent Renjun from harming Chenle any more. "I haven't really thought about it I guess? I mean.. I was the one who assigned her to Jisung after all so.."

"Do you think she y'know? Likes him?" He asks.

"Chenle!"

"Whaaaat?? I'm just asking."

"Zhong Chenle you will drop this topic before I stop this car and make you walk to homecoming alone."

"You wouldn't do that. You love me too much."

"Don't try me." Renjun threatens, turning on his blinker.

"Okay okay.. god.."

"Are you two done arguing now?" Donghyuck asks, rolling his eyes. "And no, Chenle. I don't think she does. If she did she would've told me by now."

"Alright Hyuck.. Whatever you say."

Sooner than later the three arrive at school where Renjun drops off Chenle and Donghyuck to hop in the line already forming before leaving to park his car.

"Ask any more questions Lele, and you're walking home." Renjun threatens before Chenle slams the car door on him.

"I mean it this time!" Renjun yells as he watches the two boys walk away from him.

"So." Chenle starts as Renjun drives off. "What's your answer?"

Donghyuck gives him a confused look. "Answer?"

"To y'know.. the question."

"I already told you."

"No silly, I meant your real answer."

Donghyuck is silent for a second before he decides to answer.

"How did you know?" He asks, and Chenle giggles.

"You just told me." He laughs. "I didn't think you'd walk into that one, Hyuck."

"Oh shut up." Donghyuck teases. "It's not like it would matter or anything."

"I supposed you're right." Chenle hums. "But if it did.. Then what?"

"Then I'd tell her to get out of there." Donghyuck whispers to himself.

"Hm?"

"Oh- uh, nothing. I dunno." Donghyuck responds. He knows he has no chance in fooling Chenle but even after that response you'd know not to bother him about the topic anymore.

Once Renjun is done parking he meets up with the two boys and they discuss about how their night will go. While the line slowly moves Renjun argues with Chenle that they should take photos first. Chenle argues back saying that he wants snacks and that all the good ones will be gone if they wait too long. While this goes on Donghyuck has been sending you frequent texts.

[hyuck: hey! we're in line now! see you in a bit?]

[hyuck: are you on your way soon?]

[hyuck: pls hurry.. renle fighting.. dk what to do..]

Needless to say, you haven't responded to any one of them, leaving Donghyuck wonder what you were even doing.

After successfully waiting in line and making it through their schools quick security check, Chenle, Renjun, and Donghyuck had finally made it inside the gymnasium where the dance was being held.

Once inside they move to an quieter place, where they could talk without having to yell over the already loud music that's being played.

"What about you Hyuck?" Renjun asks. "What do you want to do first?"

"Hmm? What? Sorry." Donghyuck responds, checking his phone once more before pocketing it. "What's happening?"

Renjun frowns. "You weren't listening, huh?"

"No, sorry." He apologizes. "Y/n hasn't texted me back yet and I don't want to do anything until she gets here y'know?"

"Don't worry Hyuck, it's possible they're still outside or something. They just opened the doors y'know."

"Yeah I know.. I'm just.. yeah."

Ten minutes later, you still haven't responded and the music is loud, but it's not loud enough to drown out Donghyuck's heartbeat as he frantically awaits your arrival. As each second passes by he begins to regret letting you go with Jisung, because you're never late, but the second that he lets Jisung control how your night starts you're ten minutes late and they're be closing the doors to the dance soon.

Renjun begins to notice that you aren't here either and decides walk over to Donghyuck to ask if he knew where you were.

"Hyuck, is Y/n here yet?" He asks, tapping his shoulder lightly.

Donghyuck gives no verbal response, instead he shakes his head while he fiddles with his phone checking back if you happened to text him. "I don't know where she is Junnie.."

"Hey, it's okay." He reassures. "It's not like she's in danger or anything, I know you don't trust Jisung that much but I doubt he'd do anything to hurt her. She'll be here soon, okay? I promise."

"Junnie~~" Chenle whines, popping up from behind them. "I'm boredddd. Can't we just do something already?"

"Lele, not now." Renjun shoos. "We're talking here."

"It's okay." Donghyuck says. "You guys can go do something, it's fine. I don't want to keep you from having fun tonight."

"Are you sure?" Renjun asks, he knows not to believe Donghyuck but he's getting quite annoyed at the fact that Chenle keeps pulling at his arm.

"Yeah. It's fine, if anything happens I'll text one of you."

"You heard him!! Let's go!!" Chenle exclaims before grabbing Renjun by the arm to drag him to god knows where.

"Chenle!" Renjun yelps. "I-I'll text you Hyuck! We won't be gone for long. I swear!" He yells back at him.

And then the two were gone. Leaving Donghyuck alone, by himself.

One of the worst feelings in the world is feeling alone, in a place full of people.

He doesn't know why he let them go off without him, maybe it's because he wanted to be alone, or maybe it's because he didn't know any better. But standing alone on the sides of a school dance, with no one to talk to really shows how lonely you are. He knows none of you meant to do it to him on purpose, it's just him overthinking things after all. But if he was okay with them leaving, then why did it hurt?

Deciding it was awkward enough to just stand there and people watch, Donghyuck decides to go back on his phone. He checks your text messages only to see no response. "Great." He thinks to himself. "You said you would be here, but you're not. I guess you did spend a lot of time with them after all."

Donghyuck feels himself about to cry when someone taps his shoulder. He closes his eyes trying to fight back the few tears that threaten to spill before having to talk to whoever was with him. He didn't want to answer any questions on why he was crying, only knowing that if someone asked him if he was okay he wouldn't be able to control them.

When Donghyuck looks up from his phone, the last person he expected to see is standing in front of him.

"Hi." Jeno greets. It's short, and airy. But it's just enough to get his heart racing. Is it from fear? Worry? Or is it from the fact that his ex, just so happened to catch him at the wrong place and wrong time.

"Hi." Donghyuck responds. It doesn't mean much because he didn't put any emotion into it, instead he decides to focus his attention elsewhere. He looks past Jeno towards the entrance of the gymnasium in hopes of seeing you walk in, spoiler alert, you didn't. "Chenle and Renjun picked the worst time to leave.." He thinks to himself. "I can't blame them though, after all I did tell them it was okay."

"You um- You look beautiful." Jeno compliments, giving Donghyuck a half-hearted smile. "So I've been told.." Donghyuck murmurs before attempting to push past the boy standing in front of him. "Listen. I don't have any time for this right now. Y/n said she would be here and she's not so-"

"Hyuck- Donghyuck, wait." Jeno starts, grabbing Donghyuck's wrist to prevent him from going any further.

"What the fuck? Let go of me!" He yells. It's loud enough to get the attention of a few people around him, but the music the DJ is playing is way to loud for them to have heard what he said.

"Hyuckie, I- Will you please let me explain?" Jeno practically begs, this is the first time that he and Donghyuck have interacted in person since the break up and he can already tell that he's blowing it.

"Don't- Don't call me that." Donghyuck states, hesitant to answer. "You've already explained yourself enough."

"Hyuckie.. Please. We haven't talked in months, you haven't let me say anything."

Of course, Jeno had to find Donghyuck in one of these moments, where one of their songs was being played by the DJ. It was one of the songs that Jeno had showed him, meaning it left such a big impact on his heart. He doesn't know what to do, does he accept Jeno's offer and let him explain? Or does he continue the rest of his high school career pretending that Jeno doesn't exist, leaving many questions unanswered.

Panic starts to fill Donghyuck as he looks around to see if anyone had noticed him and Jeno together. It would cause a bunch of talk, considering that fact that they were both pretty popular and that teenagers loved to start rumors.

He notices Jaemin as he spots Jeno from across the room, by the way Jaemin is walking towards them he can tell that he was looking for Jeno himself, clearly unhappy and very confused where he found him. He glances back at the entrance for a split second before looking towards the direction that his two friends had gone off in, only to see them walking back towards him, just as confused as Jaemin is. He can see the concern rise in Renjun once he sees who Donghyuck is with, as he grabs Chenle's arm to drag him across the makeshift dance floor that their school has created, where Chenle had decided to stop to talk to a few friends.

He looks back towards the entrance and to his luck he sees you and Jisung walk in. Thankful, he lets out a sigh of relief because he sees that you're here and that you're safe. He notices the smile that you have on your face and though he was a bit far away he can tell it's a genuine smile, like one of the one's you would show him when it was just you two hanging out. "I guess I worried for nothing." He thinks to himself, as he watches you two skip in, hands intertwined.

And amongst all this commotion happening at once, his ex, out of all people had to come up to him and ask him a question he knew he wouldn't be able to answer. So what does he do? He panics, of course.

"Oh my fucking god.." Donghyuck mumbles to no one in particular. Jeno seems to hear it but he doesn't process it because he's too busy being dragged by Donghyuck who was attempting to blend in with the big group of people who happened to pass by.

When Renjun, Chenle, and Jaemin end up where Donghyuck and Jeno were previously standing they're left more confused on where the two went. Though it's loud, Donghyuck manages to pick out Renjun's voice yell "What the fuck?" over a crowd of teenagers.

Donghyuck smiles to himself, knowing that he successfully got away. He didn't think it'd work, he'd only seen it in movies before and you know what people say, it's just movie magic after all.

"Where are we going?" Jeno asks innocently.

"Outside." Donghyuck responds, leading their way towards the "exit" sign on the other side of the gymnasium.

"Why?" Jeno asks once more, and Donghyuck turns around just to shoot him a glare.

"So no one. fucking. sees us." He grits through his teeth.

Needless to say, Jeno doesn't ask any more questions after that.

"Where is everyone?" You ask Jisung through the fit of giggles you let out.

"I dunno. Jeno isn't answering his phone so I'll call Jaemin, yeah?" He responds, just as giddy as you are.

"Oh, I was talking about Renjun, Chenle, and Hyuck."

"You can hang with us for a bit!" Jisung insists.

"I know but I haven't seen them all day." You pout. "I'll hang out with you after!! Besides, they're my best friends after all. How would you feel if I took you away from Jeno and Jaemin?"

"My dear you're allowed to do that any day of the week. I like you better than them anyways." He teases.

"Oh shut up. You know what I meant." You snort. "Can we just go find them please?"

"Yeah, hold on- Hi Jaemin!" Jisung says through his phone. "What? Sorry.. I can't really hear you. Is that Renjun? Why is he yelling at you?"

Your ears perk up hearing the name of your friend leave Jisung's mouth. "Renjun?" You ask, looking at him curious. "Are they okay?"

Jisung nods at you while trying to hear what Jaemin has to say, it's hard considering the fact that there's not only loud music coming from his phone speakers but the voice of an angry boy as well, and to add onto that, the same music being played just a couple feet away from you.

Pouting, you look at him. Jisung can tell you're worried about your friends by the way that your pupils shake as he pulls you into another tight hug, hoping to ease a bit of the worry.

From then you can kind of make out the conversation on the phone, it's something about Jeno and Donghyuck being together then suddenly disappearing out of thin air, like a magic trick.

"Where are you?" Jisung asks.

"We're in one of the back corners." Jaemin yells through his phone. "The uhh.. One on the right, your left."

"Okay. We're on our way." Jisung says before hanging up.

"I guess our night of fun had to end somewhere." He tells you before you two head further into the gymnasium to meet up with your friends.

Once you meet up with the three boys you're greeted with a hug from Chenle while you watch as Renjun and Jaemin argue.

"So they were right here?" You ask tapping Renjun's shoulder.

"Yeah. And then all of a sudden they disappeared." He says, quite frantically.

"Y'know worrying isn't going to do anything." Jaemin taunts.

"Yeah! And you making snarky comments doesn't help either!" Renjun shoots back.

"Can you two stop bickering a second?" Chenle snaps, surprising all of you. "We have no idea where the fuck they went and for the past five minutes all you two have done is argue? Why haven't we checked anywhere yet?"

"Because, Lele. They could be anywhere. We're in a room full of teenagers." Renjun states.

"For once, I agree with this one." Jaemin adds on, earning a glare from Renjun and a facepalm from Jisung.

"Okay? And? Have you ever thought about the fact that they could y'know, be outside?" Chenle asks.

"Why would they be outside?" You ask.

"Because it's loud in here, and it looked like they wanted to talk."

"So.." Jeno says, swinging his legs back and forth. He was currently seated on top of one of the picnic tables your school had, while Donghyuck was standing across from him, leaning against the corner of a wall.

"You said you would explain, so explain." Donghyuck states.

Jeno takes a deep breath as he stops swinging his legs, he looks at the ground before looking up towards Donghyuck who was already looking at him, clearly annoyed at the fact that Jeno was stalling.

"It was a dare." He starts, before Donghyuck cuts him off.

"Yes I know. We all know." He spits.

"But theres more." Jeno says once again. "As you know, Jisung dared me to ask you out and me, being the asshole I was back then, I agreed and decided to do so.." He pauses for a second. Trying to think of what to say next.

"Listen are you gonna keep stopping or are you going to tell the story?" Donghyuck comments, it's only been two minutes and he's already fed up with Jeno's bullshit.

"I am. I'm just trying to think about the right words to say."

"Why? So that I can fall back in love with you?"

"No, Hyuckie-"

"I said, don't call me that."

"Why?"

"Because Jeno!" Donghyuck yells, voice cracking as he tries to control the same tears from earlier from falling. "I am still in love with you! Each time I hear you say that stupid nickname my heart does leaps and I can't fucking stop it!"

His voice is loud enough for you to figure out where he is, and while the other students outside look around trying to find out what's going on, both you and Renjun take off running towards the sound of Donghyuck's voice.

Arriving in time to hear Donghyuck finish the last words of his sentence he can't tell if he's hurt or if he's relieved to see you. A sense of relief washes over him once he spots you, Renjun, and Chenle running in his direction. But then he sees Jisung and Jaemin, not that far behind you three, and he feels hurt, betrayed to say the most.

"So this is why you asked me, huh?" He scoffs, looking at Jeno with glossy eyes. "So you and your friends can get a little more enjoyment of my misery."

"Hyuckie- I-" Jeno starts.

"Save it. I don't ever want to hear from you again, Jeno. I can't believe I even believed you would tell me the truth."

Nothing more is said as Donghyuck walks away from all of you, and Jaemin and Jisung run towards Jeno. It's quiet, despite there being the sounds of the muffled music that's only being played from a hallway away, it feels like a horror movie with the unsettling silence between all of you.

Renjun is the first one to talk. His voice not only startles you, but grabs the attention of Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin who happened to be a few feet in front of you.

"What the fuck happened?" He asks, looking at Jeno in the eye.

"I wanted to tell him that I'm sorry.. and that I missed things the way they were.." Jeno says, voice barely above a whisper.

Both you and Chenle can tell that Renjun is about to start yelling and if someone doesn't stop him now then fists will be thrown. Renjun is about to start talking again when Chenle interupts him.

"Junnie." He says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's not worth it. Let's just go find Hyuck, okay?" He eases.

Renjun takes a second to sigh and relaxes before deciding to head off with Chenle, he know's it'll only make things worse but he really wants to tell the three boys off and possibly throw a punch or two. "It's okay.." Chenle coos at him.

"Y/n, are you coming?" He asks, looking back at you.

"Uhh.. Yeah. Just give me a second. I'll meet up with you in a bit, okay? Just text me where you are." You say quickly before glancing over at Jeno and his crew.

Chenle looks at you, confused on why you were looking at Jeno. It only takes him a second to realize what you were doing before he walks off with a hesitant nod. "Um.. Okay.. Just uh, don't be long. I know Hyuck wanted to see you."

"Thanks Lele. You're the best." You say, before talking off towards Jeno.

"Lee Jeno." You state, standing where Donghyuck previously was. You earn a few glances from Jisung and Jaemin, ask if they were asking each other why you were here and how long you've been there. It's not because they were doing anything bad or wrong, it's because of the fact that they were caught being nice and genuine to one of their friends, something that barely anyone has seen before.

"Y/n." Jeno sniffs, trying his best to wipe away the tears that had managed to leak out. "What are- What are you doing here?"

"Save it." You say, walking towards him. You push Jaemin away as you take a seat on top of the table next to him. It earns you a glare from Jaemin, but you shrug it off and ignore him once he start's complaining that you stole his spot.

"Just- Just tell me everything." You sigh, awaiting a response from the boy next to you.

Jaemin shoots you another look before Jisung walks away with him, knowing this should be a private conversation. They don't go far though, just out of earshot.

"This is my fault." He starts. "If I just continued letting him hate me, then I wouldn't have hurt him like that.."

"It's not your fault, you just wanted to explain things. Do you want to tell me what you were going to tell him? Or is that too personal?" You ask.

Jeno is hesitant to answer. His first initial thought is no, but as the seconds go by his answer changes to yes.

"Start from the top. What happened?" You ask.

You're gentle, and being patient with him. It's something that he's thankful for. It's also something that reminds him of Donghyuck, because whenever the two of them had disagreements Donghyuck would always wait for Jeno to explain, this was the first time he hadn't.

"Okay well.." Jeno sniffs. "If you didn't already know.. Donghyuck and I used to date. Our relationship started off from a dare but as our months together passed by I began to enjoy his company a little bit more. I don't know what it was, and if you asked me I wouldn't be able to tell you but there was just something about him that I ended up liking. Maybe it's the way that his hair flopped on his face each time he ran up to me, or maybe it's because of how tightly he hugged me and how gentle his kisses were, but it was something." He pauses for a second, reliving through a few memories. "I ended up catching feelings.. and as soon as I figured out that I did, he found out how we got together."

"Oh." You sigh, not looking at him.

"I was going to tell him that I meant everything I told him.. All the 'I love you's' and the 'You look beautiful's' but he just wouldn't let me talk.. And then you guys came and that just- that only made things worse.. and now- god.. now he's gone. He said he never wants to see me again."

"I'm sorry, Jeno. It's my fault." You say softly, taking all the blame. "I'm the one who brought everyone here, if it weren't for me then you probably would be talking to him right now."

"It's okay." He reassures. "It's not your fault.. You just wanted to help your friend. I'm sure it would've gone poorly even if you weren't here."

"I doubt that's true."

"Are you kidding me y/n? He hates me! And he the worst part of it is that he has every right to do so.."

"I didn't know people who hated each other confess to each other about still liking one another." You joke, hoping to earn a laugh from Jeno. "Besides, it's not like you won't see each other again. You still have time to make things better, plus you have me on your side."

"My side?" Jeno asks.

"Well yeah. You still like him don't you?"

Jeno sighs, he's lucky you aren't paying that much attention to him because if you did you would've noticed the way he looked at Jisung and how it hurt him more to let you keep going on like this. Nonetheless he lets it happen and he wonders if he really does deserve your help.

"You're too good, y/n."

192 notes · View notes

perfeggso · 4 years

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 7k

“Okay,” said Yuta, “this is the last time I’ll ask – I promise. You’re sure I didn’t scare you last night?”

Taeyong sat in the passenger side of Yuta’s car, waiting in the pick-up area at Narita International Airport the morning after their first night together, listening to "4:00AM" by Taeko Onuki. He rolled his eyes.

“Yuta,” he began, “if I was going to be scared of you – which I am not, by the way – it wouldn’t be because you startled me when you yelled in the middle of the night, I can tell you that much.”

The night before, Taeyong had fallen asleep in Yuta’s arms; tired, sated, and oh so happy. His little bundle of positivity only unwound when he was shaken rudely awake in the early hours of the morning by Yuta screaming. It didn’t last for long, partially because Taeyong had used all the wits he could gather to coo over Yuta, calming him down and easing his tension, but it had been disturbing, nonetheless. When Taeyong felt like he’d waited a sufficiently long time for Yuta to regain his bearings, he’d ventured to ask what was the matter. All Yuta could put into words was that he’d had a bad dream, and that for as long as he could remember, his bad dreams could sometimes get horrifying or tangible enough to make him react quite violently in the real world, and he was sorry. Taeyong didn’t press him on what that particular dream was about, but it must have been quite upsetting. Who knew what kinds of things Yuta had seen in his life for his unconscious brain to draw upon? Anyway, the next morning Yuta couldn’t stop the incident from preoccupying him, apparently very worried that it would somehow make him less desirable or something. Taeyong was having none of it.

Yuta sighed as he sank farther into the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Taeyong felt a little pang of guilt that he might have insinuated that maybe he should fear Yuta for other, non-nightmare-related reasons. But like he said, he didn’t. He didn’t fear Yuta even though he’d watched him kill another man with his own eyes. Yuta was too sweet and odd, too predictably human, and made him feel too good to scare him.

“Okay, good. It just happens sometimes. Haven’t figured out how to control it yet,” Yuta said. He switched the topic. “How’s your ass, by the way?” Taeyong smiled to himself.

“It’s fine, but you did bruise me a tiny bit.”

Now it was Yuta smiling. “Sorry.” He didn’t seem very sorry, though. “Don’t Change” by INXS started to play over the radio.

“I don’t care,” Taeyong admitted. “I like a little reminder of who made me feel like this.”

“Good,” said Yuta. “Next time I’ll mark you up deliberately.”

Taeyong’s breath caught in his throat. Should they even be talking about this on the job? Wasn’t Yuta worried about being distracted? Still, he filed Yuta’s promise away in his mind so he could hold him to his word.

“You wanted tattoos, anyway,” Yuta teased. “I can give you the low commitment version.”

“You’re kinda corny sometimes, you know?” Taeyong said, causing Yuta to splutter laughter.

“Yeah,” he confessed, “I know.” He turned to regard Taeyong with a smile.

Taeyong hadn’t brought anything with him last night to change into for the next day, so (with permission!) he’d raided Yuta’s closet. Taeyong wouldn’t have minded wearing his clothes from the night before – they weren’t particularly slutty and no one he’d be seeing today had seen him in them the previous night – but they still smelled pretty bad from all the sweat and spilled alcohol lodged in their threads. Instead, Taeyong got to smell like Yuta.

He wore a Bauhaus t-shirt, black jeans, and a gray blazer with a little gold pin with the Inagawa-kai logo on it attached to the lapel. Yuta wore the same one on his black, patent-leather peacoat. He had paired that with black aviator sunglasses for a truly eye-catching combination. Taeyong thought it was funny that Yuta seemed incapable of not dressing like a mobster.

Before Yuta could say whatever he was about to, a blue BMW pulled up right next to them and rolled down the window, revealing Taeil in the driver’s seat and Mark by his side. Taeil was yelling something Taeyong couldn’t hear over the sound of departing airplanes, and apparently Yuta couldn’t understand it either because he yelled back for Taeil to repeat himself.

“What?” Taeil asked instead.

“He’s wondering if you’ve gotten any updates!” Mark repeated.

“No!” Yuta responded. “And why are you double-parking me? Just pull up a little!”

Taeil obliged and parked in front of Yuta and Taeyong, getting out once he’d cut the engine and walking to Yuta’s window. Yuta turned off the radio.

“Why do you need an update?” he asked.

Taeil rested his hands on the car door. “Because,” he explained, “Mark was hanging around headquarters and really wanted to come even though I kept telling him that if they brought more than one extra person with them I would not hesitate to leave him at the airport.”

“Why didn’t you just say no?” Yuta inquired.

“Because I thought he’d tell you I said no and then you’d be annoyed.”

Taeyong sat there as this whole interaction played out, watching Mark watch them from Taeil’s car. It seemed like Mark got a lot of preferential treatment. Not that Taeyong could talk.

“Alright,” said Yuta. “It’s not a problem. I don’t have any reason to believe there will be more people with Kun than he said.”

Taeil clapped his hands over the car door a couple of times. “Okay, just checking. Shategashira ?”

“Yeah?”

“ Would you have been annoyed with me?”

Yuta pondered the question for a minute, eyes dancing around the cabin of his car. “Probably,” he eventually admitted, smiling and looking at Taeil out of the corner of his eye.

“Knew it!”

Part of Taeyong wanted to know what Yuta’s deal was with Mark, scared the curiosity might be coming from a place of burgeoning jealousy. Taeyong was over the moon about his relationship with Yuta, but sometimes he cursed his own decision making. His infatuations always stressed him out terribly, and his situation was already stressful enough.

He watched as a group of well-dressed men exited the door Kun and his people were supposed to be emerging from. Yuta and Taeil were still talking – something to do with their meeting preparations, no doubt – and hadn’t seemed to notice the new arrivals in the pickup area.

“Is that them?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta and Taeil both snapped their heads in the direction Taeyong was pointing. Yuta blinked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It is.”

“How many were there supposed to be?” Taeyong asked as a follow-up.

“Seven,” Taeil answered this time. “They brought two extras with them. Fuck.”

“Looks like someone’s going in the trunk,” Yuta joked.

Taeyong and Yuta got out of the car, walking over to the Triads with Taeil and Mark, who’d finally stepped out onto the curb. Taeyong thought he caught Mark giving him a once-over, perhaps registering the presence of Yuta’s clothing on his body.

“I thought I told you to stay at your post,” Yuta scolded.

Mark shrugged. “I thought this was a special occasion.”

The Triads were more inconspicuous than the Inagawa-kai usually were, their tall builds and dark clothing lending them all an appearance more akin to a celebrity and his bodyguards (although who the celebrity was could be up to interpretation) than to a group of criminals.

Kun, or at least the man Taeyong assumed was Kun, stood at the front of a near perfect triangle of his men, a relaxed confidence defining his features.

Kun and Yuta acknowledged each other with a bow.

“ Shategashira , good to see you,” Kun greeted.

“ Fu Shan Chu , the honor’s all mine.”

Taeyong didn’t know what Kun’s title meant, but he had a feeling Yuta wasn’t pronouncing it very well. Not that he could have done any better. As Taeil and Mark quickly extended their own greetings, Taeyong prayed a silent ‘thank you’ that the Triads all spoke Japanese; he didn’t need to be any more confused than he already was basically nonstop. Although after a moment of thought, he realized this made perfect sense considering these men had been hand-picked to attend an important business meeting (if you could call it a “business meeting”) in Japan.

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, the indulgent tone Taeyong had grown more and more used to him using when they were together overtaking his voice, “I want you to meet some dear friends.”

Kun introduced himself first as a Deputy, second in command of his syndicate and in charge of international business; then came Sicheng, a skilled tracker and fighter despite his lithe build; followed by Ten, the Hong Kong liaison for the group’s Thai offshoot who explained by way of introduction that, since no one could ever pronounce his real name, he went by ‘Ten’ for the number of people he’d personally “interrogated” by the time he decided he needed a nickname (“but now I’ve lost count”). The three of them were followed by Yukhei, a tall Hong Kong native and self-described yes-man for Ten; Dejun, who kept his introduction succinct but fixed an almost manic positive energy on Taeyong the whole time he spoke; Kunhang, the “Macanese Snoop,” whatever that meant; and Yangyang who once worked for the Taiwanese Triads and was in charge of smuggling since he used to do it between West and East Germany for some reason Taeyong didn’t quite catch. The seven men were able to pack so much information into their introductions because they kept jumping in on each other’s sentences, adding information they deemed pertinent about their friends seemingly as a way of hyping one another up.

Once the seven men in front finished, Yuta peaked exaggeratedly to the back of the group to address the stragglers.

“And you two, it seems to me, are none other than Zhong Chenle and Huang Renjun, all grown up now, hm?” The pair smiled mischievously at each other. They wore almost schoolboy-like suits that looked a little too expensive to be trusted in the hands of a late teen or early twenty-something, as they appeared to be.

“Hello Yuta-san,” they each chimed, a bit out of synch.

“I can tell that you’ve aged too, Shategashira,” quipped the shorter of the two. The taller joined in.

“Yeah, please make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sir.” Chenle and Renjun tittered as the Triads rolled their eyes and Kun shot them an absolutely lethal glare.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Mark jested from over Taeyong’s left shoulder. “You’re on Yuta’s turf now and I can promise from experience you don’t want to see him pissed. Can’t run to your daddies here.”

Now it was Chenle rolling his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Mark,” he said, and Mark cackled in amusement.

“Thank you, Mark,” Taeil interjected, a cautious impatience practically dripping from his voice. “I think our Shategashira can defend himself.”

“Great!” said Yuta, trying to regain control of the interaction. Taeyong was starting to get nervous because they were all still standing out in the open outside one of Narita’s many exits, and it wouldn’t have taken that much imagination on the part of an onlooker to identify them as a group of gangsters. Yuta didn’t seem nervous though, so Taeyong pushed his anxiety as far down as he could until it was nearly imperceptible. Yuta leaned closer to him a bit as he aimed to guide Taeyong through their ongoing introductions.

“Those two meiwaku are the sons of Triad commanders. They’re completely spoiled, as you can see.” Taeyong almost giggled, amused by the amount of time Yuta seemed to spend getting bullied by people who were barely out of high school. Yuta continued. “So that’s everyone,” he concluded, pulling away from Taeyong.

“I’m humbled to meet you all,” Taeyong said, brain overloaded for the hundredth time in a month by all the new faces and by Yuta’s proximity.

Yuta brushed his finger over Taeyong’s sleeve. It was a small movement and he doubted anyone else saw, but Taeyong had to suppress the heat threatening to overtake his face. Yuta never got into the personal space of his subordinates while conducting business, but then again, Taeyong was an exception in more ways than one. He couldn’t decide if he was more irritated by Yuta messing with him or by his own oversensitivity.

“You don’t have to use kenjougo with them,” Yuta joked. “Polite language will do. They’re all younger than you, anyway.”

Taeyong balked. He knew that Chenle and Renjun were young, but his tone hadn’t been meant for them. And he thought Yuta was a prodigy...

“You want to introduce yourself, Taeyong?” Yuta suggested.

“Oh, right! Hello, my name is Lee Taeyong and I’m sort of a member-in-training, I suppose. I’m helping Yuta prepare for your upcoming meeting.” Taeyong bowed, having rushed through his introduction, and he was glad no one could see his downcast eyes go wide when he felt Yuta’s palm just above the small of his back, guiding him upright. Could he not?

“Taeyong’s been a great asset to us lately,” said Yuta, and Taeyong thought he detected the tiniest hint of teasing in his words. “I trust you’ll all come to appreciate him as we have.”

Taeyong heard Taeil sigh from behind him. “We should be going,” he stated, “but I regret to inform you that one of the pipsqueaks is going to need to improvise in terms of seating on the way into the city. We were expecting fewer people.”

Kun smiled wryly. “Maybe I should have hired a professional driver,” he joked and Taeil stiffened in irritation. “But no,” he continued, “I understand. These two insisted last minute on a vacation to Tokyo and their fathers didn’t listen to my concerns about bringing them, so here we are. We’ll figure it out.”

“Shall we?” asked Yuta, turning on his heel towards the parked cars, and Kun made a hand motion that signaled for all the Triads to follow.

“You know,” said Taeil, as he watched Mark drop back in formation to share more personal greetings with some of his Triad buddies, “we could just put Mark in the trunk, and this wouldn’t be an issue. He did insist on joining after all.”

Mark turned his attention from Yukhei to Taeil and scowled. “If you do that, I’ll yell so loud you get pulled over and then I’ll say I’m being kidnapped by the yakuza,” he warned.

Ten sidled up to Mark and regarded him casually, a smirk forming on his face. “Uh-huh,” he said, “and what do you think the cops will make of that Irezumi on your wrist?”

“Shut up,” said Mark, seeming to resign himself to an uncomfortable ride back.

Taeyong and Yuta returned to their car, trailed by Ten, Kun, and a skittish Renjun who held a finger to his lips as he slipped into the middle seat in back. Taeyong paused in front of the vehicle for a moment, next to the passenger side door. He was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to sit shotgun, considering he had the lowest rank of the five of them save Renjun. He looked at Yuta questioningly, expecting a word or gesture directing him to the back seats. Instead, Yuta nodded for Taeyong to enter where he was, so Taeyong opened the door and sat in front, trying to be small and invisible by moving as little as possible. Kun and Ten didn’t seem to question it.

“Thank you for choosing Inagawa chauffeur service,” Yuta said jokingly once everyone was inside. It took a moment to get going because Mark was trying to force Chenle into the trunk of Taeil’s car and Chenle responded by flailing and emitting a screech so high in pitch that Taeyong worried it might shatter all the windows of both cars.

“You’re a smart boy, Renjun,” Kun stated, “choosing to come in this car.”

“Yeah,” Ten chimed, “what would you have done if we tried to force you into the trunk?”

Renjun smirked. “I have a pocket knife on me and I’m not afraid to use it…” he explained in response, making everyone laugh. In front of them, Mark pouted as the trunk door finally closed over him. Taeyong caught a smile on Yuta’s face out of his peripheral vision as both car engines started.

***

Taeyong had only been to the “training room” at headquarters a couple of times before. The first time had been when Doyoung decided to nab him and teach him knife throwing, and the second was when Jaehyun asked him to hold arm pads for him to punch. The space was painted yellow from floor to ceiling and had harsh lighting and mold growing like shadows in the corners. One section had weights, mats, and boxing equipment set up next to a mirror; one, some knives and targets; and one, a table and small sitting area.

The Triads had only been in town a few hours and already, they seemed to be getting quite comfortable. When Taeyong had a moment of free time, Ten and a few others grabbed him without explanation and dragged him off to go “have some fun and get to know each other.” Apparently, that meant subjecting him to public mortification.

Sicheng had his arms wrapped around Taeyong’s midsection, bending him over and essentially demobilizing him. Taeyong breathed heavily, unable to do anything but struggle and watch the speckled floor under him shift along with his jerky movements.

“Sicheng, maybe go easy on him?” he heard Kunhang suggest from the table area, where some of the Triads were sat watching.

“I thought Inagawa was tougher than this,” Yangyang heckled, and Taeyong felt hot shame pile on top of his bodily discomfort.

Dejun piped up next. “He’s new, Yangyang, give him a break.”

Taeyong wanted to respond, but he was too busy trying to defend himself physically to do it verbally. Sicheng brought his knee up into Taeyong’s stomach, just hard enough to startle him without hurting him too badly. He used Taeyong’s disorientation to trip him, and next thing he knew, Taeyong was sore and heaving with his ass on the padded floor.

“Or don’t go easy on him,” Kunhang remarked. “Either way.”

Taeyong looked to his audience. Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang were all sitting around the table in the corner, a neglected game of poker which had started as a way of blowing off some competitive steam after “training” laid out between them. Ten stood a bit off to the side, arms crossed and gaze sharp with scrutiny. He took a couple of strides towards Taeyong and Sicheng, a smirk overtaking his mouth as he looked down at Taeyong like he was prey. Taeyong had met plenty of scary people in his life, and the frequency of such encounters had only increased since he started hanging around the yakuza, but Ten, with his wicked expressiveness and black leather suit in this moment gave Taeyong a chill of pure terror.

He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see it was Sicheng reaching his hand out to help Taeyong up. He smiled, face inviting and a welcome contrast to Ten’s entire aura. Taeyong took his hand and let Sicheng pull him to his feet.

“I thought you were supposed to be Yuta’s bodyguard,” Ten said plainly.

“Well, not exactly,” Taeyong tried to explain. “I just follow him around and keep a lookout for trouble; anything suspicious.”

Ten narrowed his eyes in a way Taeyong felt had to be partly for show. “That’s all, huh? Doesn’t sound like much.” Ten looked Taeyong head to toe and hummed thoughtfully. “Could there be another reason Yuta keeps you around?”

Jesus Christ, did everyone know? The room felt suddenly cold as Taeyong’s body came down from his previous exertion. He tried to suppress a shiver as his brain rushed to come up with a response. Thankfully, Sicheng stepped in.

“He knows how to fight, Ten, he’s just used to fighting brainless brutes.”

Taeyong nodded, hurrying to redeem himself. “Sicheng’s right,” he confirmed. “M’sorry.”

Ten let out a laugh through his nose. “No need to grovel,” he said, smile growing slightly less intimidating. He pushed a finger playfully into Taeyong’s shoulder, sending Taeyong’s mind reeling. “Anyway, I heard you saved Yuta from an assassin, so I’m in your corner. I’m just taking it upon myself to help you improve and make yourself even more useful.”

Taeyong laughed in confusion, spitting out a sarcastic, “gee, thanks.”

Dejun expelled a sound of wounded disappointment from behind Ten, certainly brought about by the poker game. Kunhang and Yangyang snickered. Ten ignored them all, keeping his attention trained on Taeyong. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, catlike.

“Wanna see something cool?”

“Sure?” Taeyong ventured, not sure if this was another way of saying “let’s have some fun and get to know each other.” He steadied his core in case Ten decided to tackle him or something.

Instead, Ten opened his leather jacket, giving his torso the effect of having bat wings. Taeyong was surprised, but not as surprised as he would have been a month ago, to see the glint of what had to be at least two dozen small metal weapons emanating from the lining.

“Shit…”

“Nice, huh?” Ten prompted, and Taeyong felt compelled to nod in agreement. Ten used his head to indicate the right side of his jacket, where he had stored a slew of small knives, brass knuckles, and throwing stars, among other things Taeyong didn’t recognize.

“This side is for hand to hand combat,” he explained, smiling like a snake about to bite. He indicated to his left next, where he had some longer and thicker knives, plyers, metal clamps, and a bouquet of slim needles, each about nine inches in length. “And this side is for extracting information.” Ten seemed to register Taeyong’s cautious surprise. “I only show you this so you know what you’re up against,” he cooed.

“Al-alright,” Taeyong almost swallowed his words. “I appreciate it.”

Before Ten could terrorize him any further, the door swung open and everyone was looking to see who had arrived. It was Yukhei, trailed by Yuta.

“Yup, they’re in here,” Yukhei was saying, holding the door open for Yuta to enter.

Yuta stalked towards Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng and the boys at the corner table all stood in greeting.

“Ten,” Yuta said in mock disapproval, “are you traumatizing my poor partner?”

“I’d call it ‘educating,’” Ten responded. “If he gets traumatized that’s simply a byproduct of necessary learning.”

“Okay, Ten, just don’t scare him off,” Yuta replied.

“It’s not like I could leave if I wanted to,” Taeyong grumbled, and Yuta shot him a cutting look, but it softened quickly into an expression of vague sadness.

“Taeyong, you’re wanted in room 2A.”

Taeyong schooled his face. “Right away, Shategashira .”

Yuta turned on his heel and exited the room. Yukhei stayed by the door, Taeyong figured, because Ten needed him. Taeyong followed hesitantly after, but Yukhei stopped him on the way out, looming over him but smiling so genuinely that Taeyong felt more comforted than scared.

“If it’s any consolation,” Yukhei began, a thick accent coating his deep voice, “Sicheng kicks my ass all the time too.”

Taeyong had a hard time believing that considering Yukhei, though he was roughly the same height as Sicheng, was noticeably larger in every other way. He was probably either too nice or too reliant on blunt force. Taeyong let out a breathy laugh.

“Thanks. That does make me feel a bit better.”

“No problem.”

Taeyong left, hearing Ten’s call of “bye-bye, Taeyong! I’ll see you again soon!” echo down the hall after him. His stomach sank when he thought of the coldness he’d accidentally caused in Yuta, but the other man was nowhere to be found so he figured he’d just report where he was needed and find Yuta later.

Room 2A was one floor down. Taeyong tried to open it himself but it was locked, so he opted to bang on the metal to announce his presence. It opened, a grinning pair of faces belonging to Johnny and Mina greeting him on the other side.

“Yonggie!” Mina exclaimed, moving herself away from the entrance so Taeyong could pass her, which he did. “Welcome!”

The room was little more than a cinder block box with a metal chair in the center. If Taeyong didn’t trust Mina and Johnny at this point, he would be expecting something horrible to occur in such a room.

“What’s going on, you guys?” Taeyong asked.

Johnny closed the door and came to lean on the wall across from Taeyong.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” he suggested, and Taeyong did. “We’re here to impart on you some very valuable lessons.”

Taeyong grimaced. He was exhausted from what Sicheng had put him through and just wanted to find Yuta. He’d had enough “education” and “lessons” for one day. Nevertheless, he figured he had no choice but to indulge his captors.

“What lessons are those?” Taeyong asked, rocking himself slightly against his chair. Mina joined Johnny on the wall.

She answered, “Tactics for resisting interrogation.”

Taeyong started. “Whoa. Okay…”

“I know it sounds bad,” said Johnny, “but it’s really important for you to know. Yuta asked us to do this.”

Taeyong felt his skin prickling as he grew more nervous. Why didn’t Yuta just teach him himself, then? he wondered, posing the question out loud.

Johnny smirked. “Because, he has important shit to get done. He can’t tend to his Yonggie constantly. He has to delegate some of that.”

Taeyong gritted his teeth. “Alright, alright. But why do I need to know this? I’m practically useless so why would anyone bother kidnapping me?”

Johnny slid down the wall until he was crouching against it, his face softening in mild concern.

“First of all,” he said, “you should know you’re not useless, Taeyong.”

“Yeah!” Mina added. “He might give you a hard time, but Johnny keeps telling me how much he likes having you around.” Johnny smiled at this.

“You hang around with a Lieutenant all day!” he said, and Mina finished his sentiment with, “you are TOTALLY kidnappable, Taeyong!”

Taeyong laughed at the preposterousness of this compliment. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a mood today,” he explained. “And I guess you’re right.”

“Of course we are,” Johnny said, pushing back off the wall to standing. “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same page, this is where things might get a bit unpleasant again. We give this training to every member of the syndicate and all of our serious romantic partners, so contrary to your instincts, you are doubly in need of this.”

Taeyong squirmed, uncomfortable in a bad way over the fact that he wasn’t technically a syndicate member yet and uncomfortable in a good way at the knowledge that Yuta considered him serious .

Mina smiled. “Don’t worry, this has come in handy for me, for sure.”

“That just makes me worry more, you realize?” Taeyong replied with a grimace.

“Okay, fair enough. Sorry. But it’s better you know than end up dead or betraying your friends and boyfriend!”

“Taeyong,” Johnny began. “Let’s start with what you know. When you picture a yakuza kidnapping, what’s happening?”

Taeyong’s mind flew to the image of Ten’s sparkling and deadly bat wings. “I try not to picture that, but I saw what Ten carries around with him, so I think I have an idea.”

Johnny laughed hollowly as Mina watched him. “Yeah, Ten’s a special guy. I think he’s the only person I’ve met who genuinely enjoys that part of the job. Anyway, so you know it could get bad.”

Johnny lifted his shirt to reveal his lower abdomen. There was a long, thin scar across his obliques, slicing an inked koi fish in half.

“Knives are common,” he explained vaguely. “I got this one from a Sumiyoshi thug nicknamed ‘The Butcher.’ But we’ll get to that later.”

Taeyong swallowed thickly as he tried to steady his buzzing eyes. Johnny continued.

“Obviously, you know that we expect you not to divulge any sensitive information. There are three things you are allowed to confirm for your captors though, just to get them thinking you won’t be a complete pain in their asses. Those three things are name, rank, and clan. Got it?”

Taeyong remembered how Yuta had lost patience quickly with the Yamaguchi assassin who refused to give any personal details. He didn’t want to end up like that guy. He nodded.

“Lee Taeyong, Kumi-in, Inagawa-kai,” he recited, as if anyone in the room didn’t already know.

“But no more than that,” Johnny confirmed.

“Another important thing to keep in mind,” Mina continued, “is that there are ways to avoid the worst tactics. If they’ve gone to the trouble of capturing you, that’s because they think you have crucial information that they need. It’s in their interest to keep you alive.”

Taeyong nodded along, determined to be a good student as he realized more and more clearly the very real possibility he might need to use some of what he was learning.

“Although it can be tempting to act defiant as if you’re not bothered by the pain, and many experienced gangsters will do this to avoid hurting their fragile little egos,” Mina looked pointedly at Johnny, who just shrugged, guilty, “it can do you some good to play to the opposite. You should exaggerate your injuries and pain. Even if they try to use that against you and humiliate you, ultimately if they think you’re closer to death than you are they’ll let up much faster. Make sense?”

Taeyong nodded quickly. Exaggerated pain, he could do that. “Makes sense,” he confirmed.

“Okay,” Johnny went on, “another thing. Obviously if you ever did get kidnapped, we’d send some people out to find you, and hopefully they’d be successful.”

Taeyong shifted in his seat, watching Johnny start to pace. Hopefully .

“When you do get rescued, for that to end well you need to stay calm and not try to join in the fight. If they see you moving around a lot or if you look like you’re about to break out of whatever restraints they have you in and fight back, then they’re way more likely to treat you like an enemy combatant and not like a prisoner. You could get killed. It’s kind of counterintuitive, but it’s important.”

Taeyong rolled his ankles, gaining some comfort out of the way the stretch and crack of the movement soothed his muscles. He took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, why are we doing this right now? Am I in danger?”

Mina and Johnny exchanged a glance, sending Taeyong’s heart racing even faster than it already was as he tried to decipher their silent communication. Mina spoke first.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“We just want to prepare you,” Johnny added. “Well, Yuta wanted us to prepare you because he’s been really worried since that assassin came after you two. We can’t be sure that anything too serious will go down but if, say, a gang war does start over this Mitsubishi thing, we want you to be prepared. Got it?”

“Oh…yeah, got it.” Taeyong sighed. “I supposed it’s too late to just…let me go, huh?”

Johnny’s face screwed up and Mina’s twitched. Taeyong thought of their conversation at Johnny’s pachinko bar, assuming she too was pouring over the memory of her own warnings.

“I – look,” Johnny began, and Taeyong already knew the answer he was about to receive. “It’s been discussed, and the higher ups are adamant; you’ll be given the choice as soon as the Mitsubishi deal is secured, but no earlier. They felt they needed to bring you on in the beginning, and I’m in no position to question if that was overkill, but at this point you’re certainly stuck, considering all the information you have.” Taeyong nodded, eyes fluttering to the floor as Johnny leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He huffed a breath. “Do you – do you want to leave, Taeyong?”

Taeyong blinked. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what leaving would mean or where he could ever go. His new life was exciting in a way he’d always dreamed about and he liked the people around him more than he’d liked anyone in a long time; Johnny and Mina going out of their way to help him stay safe, the other Tora regiment members all welcoming him so easily, and Yuta…god, Yuta… At the same time though, Taeyong’s new life hadn’t managed to shake the feeling he so often had that he was floating through existence, incapable of being grounded even by the most intense experiences. He wasn’t used to things working out for him. Besides, the last time he made a major decision for himself, he’d been called xenophobic names and battered within an inch of his life.

“I…don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, anyway, but I don’t want to be a liability.”

Johnny smiled slightly. “That’s not worth worrying about because you aren’t.”

Taeyong wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Alright,” he said. “What else have you got to teach me?”

Johnny and Mina let him go after another half hour or so of discussion, teaching him how to school his demeanor to fit somewhere between deference and defiance, how to relax himself in a way that would prevent excessive bleeding and make blows easier to endure, and how to give answers that kept the line of questioning going but revealed nothing to the interrogators. By the time he left room 2A, Taeyong was wondering if he should feel empowered or petrified, his mind careening from one emotion to the other with every new thought. Once he was done processing, he decided to find Yuta.

He’d barely had the chance to talk to him all day and it was weird for him. The night before had been ridiculously intimate, Yuta fucking him so well, opening up to him about his past, and holding him as they fell asleep; so the weird shifts Taeyong had observed all day in Yuta between teasing and aloof were giving him whiplash since he couldn’t ask what was causing them. He hoped Yuta wasn’t busy.

“ Douzo .”

Taeyong’s heart sank when he opened Yuta’s office door and saw Kun there, though he tried not to show it.

“Taeyong, what is it?” Yuta asked, an air of impatience radiating from him and from Kun as he turned around to see who was there.

“ Shategashira ,” Taeyong saluted. He felt like it was his first day all over again. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just hoping to speak with you whenever you’re free.”

Yuta’s expression softened. “Of course. Why don’t you sit by the window while we finish up?”

“Thank you,” Taeyong said, bowing sheepishly and settling into one of the indicated chairs. “Excuse me.”

Kun looked sideways at Taeyong, silent.

“You can speak freely in front of him,” assured Yuta. Kun nodded and pulled his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I just don’t understand how they would have gotten ahold of that information. Could it have been through Donghyuck’s crew?” By “they” Taeyong assumed Kun meant the Yamaguchi-gumi.

Yuta shook his head, placing his fingers in a check mark shape at his chin. “I doubt it. Donghyuck is extremely careful.”

Kun was growing exasperated. Taeyong felt like maybe this was an interaction he shouldn’t be witnessing. He didn’t quite know why he felt that way, though.

“Well, Yuta, there has to be a weak link somewhere, and I trust that you’ll eliminate it. We’re already in a less stable position than I was expecting upon arrival.”

Yuta smiled accommodatingly. “Thank you for your confidence. The leak could have also come from a different regiment, but I’m doing all I can to weed out whoever is responsible.”

“Good,” said Kun. “Our success and our partnership could depend on this.”

“I understand.”

Right then, Chenle and Renjun showed up at the door, having finished a shopping trip down the street, to tell Kun that Ten was looking for him. Taeyong thought he saw Kun direct a sliver of a smile his way as he left.

Yuta sat up and joined Taeyong by the window in the chair to his left. He sat and sighed, a big, open smile overtaking his face. There was the whiplash again.

“Hi baby,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did Johnny and Mina give you the talk?”

Taeyong snorted a laugh, looking at Yuta from under his fringy bangs. “Yeah, they did.”

“You okay?” Yuta asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“Could’ve been worse,” he guessed. “Good stuff to know.”

Yuta leaned in. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I guess a little. But there was other stuff too.”

Taeyong looked around Yuta’s office. He’d been stuck almost all day in rooms with concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, and it was making him want to jump out of his skin. He told Yuta to wait a moment for him to get up and turn off the lights. On second thought, while he was up and about, he opened the window to flush the room of the stench of stale cigarette smoke. Yuta watched him with caution as he underwent his little chores. Taeyong turned from the window and made his way back to his chair, eyes finally able to relax in the dimness.

“Johnny and Mina said you’re worried I might be in danger.”

Yuta sighed again. “I don’t necessarily think you’re in imminent danger, but I want to be safe. It’s always a possibility. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Like I told you this morning,” Taeyong repeated. “You don’t scare me. I just want you to be up front with me.”

“Up front, huh?” Yuta paused, his eyes flitting over the floor in thought. “Truth is I’ve been worried about you since the Yamaguchi assassin. It’s always risky to take on a new recruit, or a lover for that matter,” Taeyong blushed at the word, “but up until that point I don’t think the danger felt as real. I would never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you, Taeyong.”

One of the things Taeyong had been wondering about clicked into place for him. “Your dream last night…is that what – ”

“Yes. That’s part of why I was worried about frightening you. Thought I might have said something while unconscious about you, I don’t know, getting abducted or something.”

“You didn’t,” said Taeyong, breathing a laugh.

“Good.” Yuta smiled, gaze trained at the open window and fingers fiddling with the bottom of his blazer. Taeyong wondered if he was nervous to make eye contact. “And then later when you mentioned how you’re basically stuck with me, then I felt like shit all over again because it’s true: you’re essentially my hostage.” With that, Yuta finally looked Taeyong in the face. “I just don’t know what to do when you say things like that. I know this seems silly, I mean I’ve never shied away from doing arguably unethical things before, but I couldn’t help but ask myself if you even like me -- ”

The pressure that had been threatening to send Taeyong shooting out of his own body finally became too much, and in lieu of doing the impossible, he found himself damming up Yuta’s stream of consciousness with a kiss.

“There we go,” he teased, pulling away and reveling in the awestruck look on Yuta’s face. “I had to shut you up somehow.”

Yuta’s face hadn’t moved since the kiss ended and a smile was spreading over it like melting butter. “That’s no way to speak to your commander,” he teased back, sounding a little drunk on relief. Taeyong spoke.

“ Shategashira , I hope you can forgive me. But you are being ridiculous. I like you, okay? And it’s not because I’m scared or brainwashed. I like you because I like you . I like the way you make me feel. I’m sorry for making you think I wanted to leave.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand and kissed it. “ I’m sorry for being such a basket case. Aish, it’s embarrassing, huh?”

Taeyong snorted. “Oh please. If you weren’t insecure sometimes, I might actually be afraid of you.”

He smiled to himself, wondering for a moment if maybe he needed to stop thinking so much and just bask in the strange twist of fate that had brought him and Yuta together. They were still getting to know each other, but Taeyong had never been with someone so charismatic yet so open. If he was going to risk being kidnapped and tortured it might just end up being worth it. Taeyong allowed himself to be lost enough in thought that a few seconds felt like minutes and he barely heard it when the door flung open without warning. Yuta heard it though, wrenching his fingers from where they were laced between Taeyong’s.

“Yuta-san!” said Renjun as he entered the room trailed by Chenle. “What’s going on in here?”

Yuta glared. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? That’s very disrespectful.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you had anything to hide,” Chenle quipped. “Anyway, Kun is looking for you again.”

Yuta stood, reluctantly it seemed to Taeyong. “Why couldn’t he send someone else to fetch me?”

Chenle rolled his eyes as they left the room and on the way out Taeyong heard Renjun explain, “because, he told us if all we were gonna do was loiter he might as well put us to use.”

Taeyong giggled, catching himself when Yuta peered back through the door. “Hey, you can go home. Or stick around and make some friends, yeah?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and Yuta rapped his knuckles against the door with a grin before he was gone. Taeyong stood, determined to have some Triad friends by the end of the day.

#my fanfic #my work #nct #nct 127 #yuta #nct fanfic #nakamoto yuta #taeyong #yutae #nct dream #noir #1980s! au #neothestars #yakuza #gang!au #nct 2020 #nctnetwrite #nct lee taeyong #nct nakamoto yuta

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stellacolletore · 4 years

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08.21.2020

though i would hide it, in my face it still appears (it is true i love) anime: chihayafuru characters: oe kanade, mashima taichi/ayase chihaya summary: with a love like theirs, Kanade’s sure Taichi and Chihaya will be alright. note: covers the events from season 1 (had to rewatch a looot, taichi/kana brotp still the best), seasons 2&3, and my post-queen’s match headcanon (see 7 wonders of mizusawa for details)

President Mashima swipes block over the stalker’s number, and suddenly, Kanade feels things fall into place.

He’s in love with Chihaya-chan.

There isn’t enough room for celebrating her newfound discovery as she laments over the fact that she’s the only one around with eyes that see this. Ergo, she’s the only one who would be knowingly standing along the sidelines, watching wherever the depths of love would take two of her dearest friends. Surely, there’s nothing more frustrating for a lovestruck girl than that.

Chihaya-chan gapes at her phone, totally lost on the purpose behind Prez’s gesture. Kanade sighs.

This love will really take its sweet time, won’t it?

ii.

He’s just won his most important match to date and still, they find him only thinking of her.

“Chihaya, get up. Let’s go,” Prez is tugging Chihaya-chan’s limp arm, voice tinged with unusual urgency. Dazed at the turn of events, Kanade’s mind is unable to make sense of what’s happening in front of her. The match had gone most unexpectedlyーopening with Prez effectively losing the unnerving level of concentration that has kept him unbeatable throughout four straight games, continuing with the tension (and fault)-filled Class B finals that kept her, Chihaya-chan, and Hanano-san on edge until the last card, and ending with him donning a worried expression in place of a happy one after reaching the long-elusive Class A title.

Her inner voice spells the situation out for her.

He’s taking her to Wataya-san. Prez thinks Chihaya-chan’s been watching the wrong match, the wrong boy, all along.

That certainly explains the oddly messy game he played with Yamamoto-san.

But that’s not right.

Kanade’s about to shake him out of his self-sacrificing behavior when Chihaya-chan beats her to it.

“Omedetou, Taichi. Y-You’re Class A now. Congratulations.”

Like mirror, President Mashima’s eyes reflect Chihaya-chan’s glassy ones. Euphoria washes over him as he finally acknowledges his achievement. Kanade wishes she could capture the moment like a photograph, could mark it in long-lasting verses of poetry.

See, Prez? She cares for you just as much. It’s Wataya-san’s big match, too, but she’s only thought of you.

iii.

Prez is playing the game with his heart on the line, and finally, she’s looking at him.

Hanano-san sees this, too. Beside her, Kanade once again admires her kouhai’s pure love, steadfast in the face of heartbreak. It bears the same signature as the President’s, and a twinge of bittersweet feeling swirls in Kanade’s heart. She prays for Hanano-san’s own happiness before bringing back her attention towards the final and most personal match of the Yoshino tournament, sincerely hoping.

Please keep looking, Chihaya-chan. He’s there because of you. President Mashima’s made it there because he loves you.

iv.

When President Mashima leaves the club, he takes a part of Chihaya-chan with him.

Kanade’s well-aware of what it is, and so she picks up the fallen microphone on the ground, abandoned in the wake of Chihaya-chan rushing out after him. Even though she’s equally left in the dark about Prez’s decision, she understands. That is why, with tears brimming in her eyes, Kanade holds the microphone to her lips, wills her voice not to waver.

You can leave this to us, she thinks, it’ll be alright.

Needless to say, things are the opposite of alright after that, and soon enough, Chihaya-chan parted ways with the club as well.

Doubt, fear, and helplessness cloud over the remaining members of the Mizusawa Karuta Club now that their sun and moon are missing. Still, Kanade learns to find comfort in the fact that the string of fate tied between President Mashima and Chihaya-chan won’t easily give way.

A wave of loneliness sweeps her with the chilly night air on the road home. Kanade draws warmth from a poem that sympathizes with her deepest hope of the moment:

Swift waters Parted by jagged rocks Are joined By the river’s end.

Chihaya-chan is a formidable force, poise unbent and passion blazing just as strongly, even in the middle of unmet promises and a missing loved one.

She pulls them in the classic team huddle. And talks about the fear and the hope she’s been avoiding since he walked out on the club and out of her life.

“Mashima Taichi, a person who made the karuta club with me, quit the team, but… I believe he will be back someday, maybe years later, or tens of years later. In the meantime, I will become the queen. And...while I wait for him, I will make Mizusawa into a karuta powerhouse like Hokuo Academy…”

The karuta she plays against Wataya-san is one they’ve never seen before, but feels inexplicably familiar.

It takes Kanade a remainder of the match to realize why.

Poem 16.

vi.

President Mashima comes back to fight for the place closest to Chihaya-chan.

In the end, the match went in Wataya-san's favor; leaving everybody in tears at President Mashima’s defeat and Wataya-san’s sincere display of gratitude at the Prez’s valiant effort in playing karuta.

Kanade just dried her own tears off when she turned towards Chihaya-chan. “P-President Mashima gave it his all, did he not, Chihaya-ch…”

At the sight of the girl before her weeping with strong, bitter tears, Kanade’s thoughts come to a halting stop, untilー

If her tears are indeed for President Mashima,

Then he may just have reached the place closest to Chihaya-chan after all.

vii.

Nobody could believe it.

Chihaya-chan is going for the win, as if she hadn’t been on the brink of losing two matches ago. Taking Wataya-san’s advice of entering her own “arena”, Chihaya-chan played the third and fourth games as Mizusawa’s Ace, pushing the limits of her hard-earned skills and natural talents to get cards for her team. Kanade feels honored to be a part of Chihaya-chan’s strength.

Chihaya-chan swipes the last card at Wakamiya-san’s formation, and just like that, they’re down on the luck of the draw.

Kanade checks the two remaining cards on Chihaya-chan’s side.

No way.

There are a hundred cards in karuta, a hundred poems in Hyakunin Isshu, and yet those two cards remained. If this isn’t fate, Kanade doesn’t know what it is.

Kanade looks over at Wataya-san, watching Chihaya-chan’s match after claiming the Meijin title a game ago, and her suspicion is confirmed. The se card belongs to Wataya-san.

And, of course, the tachi card is Mashima-kun’s.

This is more than sending a card, Kanade realizes.

Fate is asking Chihaya-chan to choose.

She remembers a strategy Chihaya-chan has always followed as Harada-sensei’s star pupil.

“Since I’m an offensive karuta player, I would send my special cards to my opponent, and it’s because I want to get some things badly that I would part with them. And I would go into the fight with the resolve to get them no matter what.”

Chihaya-chan moves to pick up a card.

“Challenger Ayase-san sends ‘tachi wakare’...”

viii.

“‘Let’s play karuta forever, Taichi’ーSince when?! Ayase-senpai, since when did you like Mashima-senpai? What do you just mean by ‘play’? Is it play, play or play as in let’s date and get married and live happily everーhmhm, mph!” Kanade cuts off Hanano-san’s tirade, noting Chihaya-chan’s rapidly reddening cheeks and startled eyes. “Hanano-san, shouldn’t you congratulate your senpai before anything else?”

Hanano-san recovers quickly enough, her own cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and says, “Omedetou, Ayase-senpai. You’re incredible.”

Chihaya-chan merely blinks at them in reply, and Kanade’s instantly worried that her brain has gone haywire after being cornered with Hanano-san’s frank questions. She lays a comforting hand on Chihaya-chan’s arm, thinking about what to say to divert her attention. “Chihaya-chan, Harada-san’s waiting at the break room for you. Shiranami Society’s already throwing a party there, why don’t we goー”

“I just don’t want him to disappear again.” Chihaya-chan’s looking straight at Hanano-san, a mixture of desperation and determination swirling in her eyes. “Apart from chiha, the card that I won’t absolutely let go of is tachi. I want to show him how much I want to get to him by sending and getting the card butー” her eyes start to glisten, her voice shaky, “ーbut he didn’t see me, didn’t he? He’s not here, he’sー”

“Chihaya-chan,” Kanade tries to conjure a warm, reassuring tone. “Don’t worry. If he hadn’t seen youーwhich I highly doubtーthen you’ve just got to show him again, right? You’re an offensive player, Chihaya-chan, I’m sure you won’t give up without a fight.”

Thankfully, those words are enough to quell Chihaya-chan’s despair. She fixes her posture, her resolve following suit, and her eyes twinkle with a newfound passion. She smiles, “Thank you, Kana-chan, Sumire-chan.”

Kanade beams. President Mashima might have been MIA as of the moment, and Wataya-san is fast approaching with a look that tells he’s about to have a long, overdue talk with Chihaya-chan, but it’s all right.

With a love like theirs, Kanade’s sure Taichi and Chihaya will be alright.

#chihayafuru #taichihaya #kanade oe #mashima taichi #ayase chihaya #kanade best wingwoman #come talk chihayafuru with me!#also posted on ao3

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cienie-isengardu · 4 years

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The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 4: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (Birdcage, Pica & Doflamingo)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (A)>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>>

Once the two pirate captains were alone (with additional presence of Abdullah & Jet, who despite Luffy’s complaint did ride on the bull’s back with them), Law finally opened about his true goal. Though the plan he brought to Straw Hat was the safer option, in truth he wanted to take down Doflamingo by himself...

and explained his hatred:

Thirteen years ago, Doflamingo murdered someone I loved… His name was Corazon. He was once a Supreme Officer in the Doflamingo Family [...] He was the one who gave me my life. He was Doflamingo’s younger brother!!!

Zoro wasn’t there to hear Law’s story. A story that proves the existence of the hidden goal thus Roronoa’s instinct (the eventual suspicion) was foolproof. He may learn about it after battle, depending on Luffy or Law’s willingness to share. For now, Law opened himself only to Straw Hat yet I wouldn’t say he didn’t do that earlier due to Zoro’s presence - after all, there were still Abdullah and Jet to witness it, and both men were even more strangers than Zoro who up to this moment proved to be reliable and understanding ally. Looking at Trafalgar’s face and the “inner thought” bubble with three dots, seems like Law decided to talk about past in that moment because of what was happening - though fighting was the only one way for survival, everyone was determined to get Doffy’s head without caring for consequences (angry Kaido) and maybe Zoro facing Pica (who already was hit by three powerful fighters yet came out unharmed) all by himself so Luffy could get to the palace was another impulse affecting him.

In all fairness, the lack of Zoro’s grounding presence left Law alone to deal with Luffy’s madness and uncaring nature. The moments in question, where:

♠ Law asked how Straw Hat plans to get rid of seastone handcuffs blocking his Ope Ope no Mi powers - a matter that Luffy kind of ignored, thinking it will sort itself out somehow (chapter 751). Trafalgar absolutely disagreed. Though Zoro did not raise the matter before, there was a chance he would support Law’s objection. Up to this point, Zoro always secured (guarded) Trafalgar when the situation required it but in direct combat with Doflamingo, it could be too dangerous not only for Law, but for Straw Hats too. Fighting when one must look after a totally powerless ally was just a death sentence. Of course, Zoro could agree with Law’s demand either out of worry for Trafalgar or solely for pragmatism, which still would be better than Luffy’s lack of worry.

(On second thought, Law should be happy to not heard any Zoro’s hardcore idea of cutting his hands to free him from seastone so he could heal himself with recovered powers of Ope Ope no Mi. Frankly, I’m surprised Zoro didn’t bring up this morbid possibility).

In the end, Team Robin-Bartolomeo-Rebecca managed to smuggle the key past the enemy line and freed Law. Zoro had his part in it - he didn’t let Pica hurt (stop) them and secured their passage to rendezvous point with pirate captains (chapter 754).

♠ Luffy got tricked by Funk Brothers. As much as Zoro’s presence wouldn’t prevent them going straight into the enemy's trap, at least the two captains would have a non-devil fruit user to protect them from danger (the assassin, Doflamingo’s clone and water) instead rely on luck someone will come to save them. Frankly, the fact that Doflamingo saved them from Funk Brothers only adds insult to the injury (chapter 752).

Of course, the two Supernovas were thankfully saved by Abdullah and Jet, but once again it was more a matter of luck than any real control over the situation. With Zoro, Law at least had some comfort of security. Literally Roronoa disappeared for a moment, and Law & Luffy once again were close to dying in a pathetic way.

♠ After surviving the trap, Luffy made his own shortcut and carried Law alongside. At some point, they met Cavendish and Kyros. Together on Cavendish’s horse rode to the palace. Once again, the matter who should defeat Doflamingo arose and all four men argued. One would hope after learning about Law’s past, Luffy was going to respect his need for revenge. Except nope. Even though Kyros and Law have many more reasons to take Doffy’s head, Luffy was as selfish and irrational as before (chapter 754). None of the men thought about working together and really, up to this moment Zoro was the only one person who showed a will to cooperate while Luffy and Law still argued about who should finish off the enemy.

It seems like Zoro was in fact the only person who truly considered himself, Law and Luffy a team, while the captains were more interested in their personal goal - taking down Doflamingo, but for different reasons. Roronoa was the least emotionally involved in the conflict and simply judged the situation by cold logic rather than empathic nature (Luffy) or traumatic past (Law).

Ultimately, under attack of Donquixote’s officers, the colosseum fighters decided to unite and kept enemies from Luffy and Law - something that Zoro proposed from the start, but was then shut down. Now, the fighters, Kyros and dwarves, Candevish and Bartolomeo, Robin and Rebecca, Usopp and Zoro, all thanks to them, the two Supernova captains safely got to the fourth (the last) plateau leading directly to the palace. With Law freed from seastone cuffs, he and Luffy finally faced Donquixote Doflamingo (chapter 758). The matter of who should take down the enemy at last was put aside for teamwork.

Zoro and Law were busy with their own respective fights that for most happened at the same time in different places: Law & Luffy vs Doflamingo & Trebol in New Palace and Zoro vs Pica on Pica Statue (later, shifting the fight to other plateaus). On the farest left, in an old palace plateau, King Riku, Viola, Usopp and samurais gathered.

After Kyros defeated Diamante, Pica started attacking injured fighters and then tried to kill King Riku, Viola and Usopp, who were at the mentioned former palace plateau. He changed his stone body into gigant - and this gigantic man was hard to miss. Zoro came up with a daring plan to stop the enemy and to do so, he used special powers of other fighters.

Zoro cut Pica’s stone body into pieces, defeated him and - thanks to coordinating his attack with King Elizabetto - ensured that stone remains will not fall down on King Riku, Usopp and unarmed civilians (chapter 778).

With the gigantic stone body towering above town, Zoro’s action didn’t go unnoticed - Trebol informed Doflamingo about Pica’s fate and mentioned destruction of the factory (done by Franky). Law most likely didn’t have a chance to see it for himself - unless he already switched his place with the dead body, using it as decoy and could allow himself a moment of distraction.

Similarly, Zoro remained far away from the main battle between Law & Luffy vs Doflamingo, but once he joined King Riku on plateau, Viola became his reliable source about the ongoing fight. There is a high possibility she did summarize what Zoro missed due to fighting with Pica. For sure she told him about Law’s bad condition (chapter 780) and that birdcage is slowly shrinking.

Thanks to Viola, Zoro may more or less have known the course of the fight - and with that, guessing the emotional state of Supernova pirates. Ultimately, Law was hurt badly, so Luffy entrusted him to Robin’s care while he alone took on Doflamingo.

Despite the danger, Law decided to stay where he was, so he could either see Doflamingo’s defeat with his own eyes, or die alongside Luffy.

Cavendish remained with him, to protect in case of Doflamingo’s attack, so Robin could get Rebecca and the rest of their little group to relative safety (chapter 783). Once again, depending how much Robin and Zoro share information off-panel, she could tell him about Law’s choice. Another missing puzzle that she and him started putting in the whole picture. Even more important, since it speaks about Law’s loyalty and determination when he previously at least twice dismissed the bond with Luffy - threatening him and denied their friendship (Luffy’s idea of alliance) in front of Zoro.

With Gear Four, Luffy managed to overpower Doflamingo (chapter 784) but his stamina ran out before he could finish the enemy. Only thanks to the help of Gyats, the colosseum announcer and remaining gladiators - and later, Sabo, Viola and Law - Luffy was kept safe from Doflamingo. For ten minutes needed to regenerate his strength, Straw Hat was protected by people who didn’t lend him a hand before, but now believed in his promise to defeat the tyrannical Shichibukai. And for that were willing to put their life on the line. At some point of that, thanks to the narrator box, it was outright said that Luffy needed 4 minutes to recover while birdcage would kill everyone in three.

Around the time Luffy passed Law to Robin and his fourth gear, Zoro already left Viola’s group (chapter 783/784), taking with himself two samurai. He decided to stop or at least slow down the shrinking birdcage, to buy as much time as it was possible.

In all fairness, he was the only one person who thought about such a solution - who thought it was a possible thing to do. Everyone was so sure of its invincibility; Doflamingo, Law (who reacted with fear at the mere mention of Doffy’s technique), the samurais, the common people running in fear for their life. Kinemon outright called Zoro’s plan a madness to which Roronoa asked back how he could know that. Because after all, the birdcage was a power of just one man thus shouldn’t be unstoppable.

On his way, Zoro passed his plan to Franky who decided to use the factory building made of seastone (thus invincible to Doffy’s strings). With the help of dwarves, Franky did the same as Zoro, only in a different part of the area.

The Pirate Hunter was the spark that mobilized other people to do the impossible - stopping birdcage. Following in his footsteps, other colosseum fighters

and marines (with admiral Issho himself aiding Zoro)

and even simple citizens

all of them joined forces to stop shrinking birdcage. AND IT STOPPED. For a moment, but still stopped and that brought hope to all people. Even though it moved again, with their determination, the birdcage shrinking slowed enough to buy Luffy so needed time (chapter 788)

While Zoro focused on buying Luffy time to recover, Law took Straw Hat into safety and guarded him, while Gyats focused all Doflamingo’s attention on himself. And then Luffy came back.

Law didn’t take part in that last fight, but assisted Luffy in saving Straw Hat’s new friends - Viola and Rebecca from enemy’s attack and later, saved unconscious and exhausted Luffy from falling.

Without anyone in the way, Luffy could finally knock out Doffy once and for good. With that, the birdcage disappeared and Dressrosa became a free country again (chapter 791).

The next part: Aftermath

#one piece #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #zoro and law #monkey d. luffy #donquixote doflamingo #pica #birdcage #there is something interesting in how law feared the birdcage and how zoro (with help unitied people) stopped /slowed down it

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corpse--diem · 4 years

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Ghosts That We Knew | Blanche & Erin

TIMING: A few hours after this PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @harlowhaunted SUMMARY: When Blanche wakes up in the hospital, she has something to tell Erin. CONTENT: House Fire tw (mentions)

Blanche dreamed of darkness until she awoke to a steady beeping and a too-bright light in her eyes. She let out a quiet moan. Her limbs were filled with cement, and she couldn’t really move as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. Blanche was in the hospital. Oh, the hospital. Fan-fucking-tastic. Properly admitted too, or so it looked from the hospital bracelet around her wrist and the IV coming out of her arm. It took her a second to remember the fire, and it was only then that Blanche forced herself to sit up in bed, chasing away the tiredness that hung around her. Her back hurt. Her everything ached. Her eyes shot around the room, and she saw Erin in the bed next to her. “Erin?” Blanche croaked, voice hoarse and thick. She coughed once, before the questions spilled out of her before she could stop them. “Erin? Where’s Rio? What happened? Are you okay? What’s - I mean - What’s going on?”

Erin didn’t want to be here. She could leave against medical advice if she really wanted to - wasn’t like she had handcuffs securing her to the bed, which was a surprise in itself. The police had come through to talk to her about the fire and Roland’s death. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a suspect they were prodding too hard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was just better judgment keeping the more pressing questions from the woman who’d gone through a trauma like that until later. Turning her head slightly, she peeked behind the half-drawn curtain that separated their beds for the fifteenth time that hour. The guilt needling her bones each time. Still quiet, still sleeping. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. Erin could only hope it was restful. Rest. Roland jumped out in her mind’s eye. She kept seeing him falling over and over into the flames, stuck on a loop. Closing her eyes, she ground her teeth down hard. No. Not now. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and knew if she allowed those thoughts to permeate, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She couldn’t lose control. Not now and not ten feet from Blanche’s bed. What right did she have to mourn him, anyway?

She opened her eyes, forcing her attention to whatever As-Seen-On-TV kitchen appliance was being overhyped on the screen. When she heard Blanche stir, she instinctively shot up, wincing as her bandaged arm hit the side of the bed. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Medication could numb that pain at least. Mostly. She reached over as far as she could, holding a hand up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Rio’s fine. You’re fine.” Her chest tightened at her other questions. “There was an accident at the funeral home. Do you--do you remember anything that happened?”

Blanche coughed some more, looking at Erin as she tried to calm her. “I -” She still had the lingering headache that told her she shouldn’t have pushed herself too hard. Her hand rose to her forehead, squinting at Erin. “I remember what happened. Rio and I … I picked us up food while we were both on our breaks. The smoke alarms didn’t go off.” And oh god, the fire had been so horrible. Blanche could almost feel the thick smock scratching the back of her throat as she slumped against the wall, waiting to die with Rio. Things went hazy after that. Rio picked her up and passed her through the door to Erin and the police officer… Her heart sunk in her chest. The police officer. What had his name been? Roland. Blanche saw his burned form once they were finally outside, lingering over Erin while her wounds were getting treated. His words burned her ears. He said her own name as Blanche faded back into unconsciousness, unable to do anything else. “That…. Man.” Blanche didn’t see him fall through the floor, but she had heard it. She had seen the aftermath. The flames leaping out of the hole. She looked at Erin, her mouth going dry. “The one who helped us. He was there and…” She rubbed her aching forehead, shifting in the bed to pull her knees up to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “How did it start? The fire?”

The severity of her injuries reflected how much longer her and Rio had been exposed to the smoke and lack of oxygen and Erin physically cringed at the sound of Blanche’s painfully dry coughs. Didn’t have the courage to keep eye contact. Rio was recovering surprisingly well from when she last checked and she had to wonder if that had anything to do with the way he literally punched through that door. Blanche had a rougher journey ahead of her. “Roland. He’s--was the police sergeant,” she said quietly, easing her legs over the side of the bed to better face her. Shoved that swelling in her chest away as hard as she could. Blanche deserved to know the truth, she’d almost died for it, but the words kept sticking in her throat. “This is my fault,” she finally answered with a stoicism that surprised even herself, even if she could only meet her eyes for a few seconds at a time. “My boss. He did this. The one I told you about?” She recalled their conversation very clearly, remembered promising her she had it under control. So much for that. “Let’s just say I gave him my resignation and he didn’t take it well. I think I started something I can’t stop.” That was all Blanche really needed to know. She lifted her chin to face her properly, finally, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blanche. You shouldn’t have been in any part of this. This is my fight and that sick fuck took it too far--” she paused, chewed at her cheek when her voice rose and nodded firmly at her. “I’m going to make this right.”

Roland. She remembered being an ass to him online. Her heart tightened, and she cleared her throat again as she shook her head. Blanche looked at Erin, pressing her lips together as she digested Erin’s explanation. The situation with her boss - the one that Erin was supposed to have under control. Only for a moment did Blanche feel a spark of anger. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it wasn’t fair. “This isn’t your fault,” Blanche found herself saying, shaking her head. “You didn’t… You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t lock us in. The only thing any of us can control is ourselves.” Rio and her were shut in there on purpose. The lock had been tampered with and they were barricaded in, left to die of smoke inhalation and fire. A cruel death, likely meant to get back at Erin. Blanche remembered glumly thinking about how much it would hurt before she lost consciousness the first time. She shifted on her bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position that had her back aching less. Blanche washed a hand down her face, looking away from Erin to stare at the stark white sheets and blanket they put over her. “... I need to talk to you,” Blanche finally said, glancing back at her. The heart monitor picked up the anxiety she felt, and Blanche shot a glare at it. “About… Roland. I saw something. Before they… Before they loaded us into the ambulances.”

Erin didn’t say anything when Blanche insisted it wasn’t her fault. It was. She knew it was and arguing about it with Blanche in this sad, dark hospital room wouldn’t change that. Sure, she hadn’t touched the fire to the house but there wasn’t any question about who had ignited the flame. She shook her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Either way, after we get out of here, I need you to keep your distance. No joke. From me, from the funeral h--” She froze, shoulders tensing, face flushing at her glaringly obvious error. The structure stood still, stubbornly intruding on the skyline. From what the police had told her, with enough money and perseverance, it was salvageable. Probably. Not great news but it was better than what she expected. “Stay away from anything to do with this or me,” she said, the edge in her tone sharp and unforgiving. This wasn’t a suggestion and she needed to make sure Blanche realized that. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Roland, uncertain but far softer than they had been seconds ago. “What do you mean? What about Roland?” He was dead, there was no question there. The doctors had delivered the news personally after she had been taken care of and bandaged up. “What did you see, Blanche?”

The words were cold, but familiar. She hated that they had come from Erin though. Blanche’s eyes closed as she once again adjusted, unable to find a comfortable position longer than thirty seconds. Her legs had this irresistible urge to move; despite feeling like her limbs were weighted down in cement, she wanted to leap out of bed and start screaming. The anger that was there before was back in just a brief instant, her fists curling around the cloth until the skin stretched across her knuckles turned white. Stay away from me. Stay away from danger. “Yeah. Okay,” Blanche said, blankly. “You have it under control, right?” It was a snide comment, but it wasn’t like Blanche had asked for any of this to happen - like she asked to be put in a burning building from some asshole who had a vendetta against an organ dealer. Blanche had grown up used to disappointment, but hearing that from Erin made her so angry that it took her a second to remember the responsibility she had.

That responsibility hit her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The damn ghost situation. Blanche felt the tears prick her eyes, and she felt so ridiculous for feeling so upset over something so stupid when someone had died for her and the rest of them. They couldn’t do a single thing for Roland now. Blanche would have to go and make sure his soul was gone, but other than helping him find peace, there was nothing anyone could do for him now. Blanche pressed her lips together in a thin line, not looking at Erin as she answered her, instead looking at the silent TV trying to sell her some fancy juicer that would break after using it two times. “His ghost,” Blanche said, finally. “I saw his ghost. He … said things to you.” Blanche finally looked at her, her tone softening slightly at she remembered the man’s words. “Do you want me to tell you what he said? Or do you want me to wait?”

Erin wasn’t expecting her demand to go over well but the anger she saw Blanche tensely hold back caught her off guard. Of all people, Blanche deserved to be angry, and especially at her. Stung a little but if that’s what it took to keep the younger woman at a safe distance, she could take it. What hurt more was the question that followed. It hurt because the implication wasn’t wrong. Hurt because it came from Blanche. Guess she deserved that. She clenched her jaw, settling her gaze on the dark window at the far end of the small room, shrugging. “I’m working on it,” she answered simply.

Her attention turned back to Blanche, bristling at the word ‘ghost’, piling onto the confusion that followed immediately after. What would he have to say to Erin? She almost didn’t want to know. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with her after the arrest and she shifted uncomfortably as her imagination ran wild. He also had no reason to forgive her. Making her feel guilty about his death from the other side didn’t seem like his style. People could surprise you, though. She’d surprised him after all. After a long silence, she nodded her head. “What did he say?” She asked, her voice small but sure. Whatever it was, she could take that too.

Maybe Blanche wasn’t being fair, but right then and there, Blanche didn’t want to be fair. Stay away from anything to do with me. Blanche heard that before, and it meant trouble and pain and, now, it meant death. She thought of the police officer again, how he was so ready to literally carry her out of there, and how his last action was to throw her to safety as the floor gave way beneath them. It wasn’t fair, Blanche realized, to let her anger mask over her duty to the dead. “He said he was sorry,” Blanche said stiffly, her cheek resting on her knee as she stared at a patch of wall. “That he doesn’t understand how you got mixed up in something like this, but…” Blanche was unsure how to word it, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if the memory she had of Roland’s voice was right. But didn’t Blanche owe it to Erin to tell her what she thought she heard? “But he wants you to find your way out of whatever this is.” Her voice hardened again, despite herself. The anger she felt was real, and she was having trouble swallowing it back as she became more and more aware of just how much everything hurt. The pain gnawed at her like an aggravating itch she couldn’t get rid of, even though she was sure they had given her something for the pain. Her fists clenched around the blankets, and for a second she thought the whole room was going to consume her. Breathe, Blanche. Her eyes closed, and slowly, she forced herself to relax out of the stiff position she wound herself into.

“I don’t know if he passed on,” Blanche finally looked back at Erin. “I… couldn’t stay awake any longer.” She was uncomfortably guilty about that. “I’ll have to go back and check later. Once…” Blanche looked around, squinting out into the dark. “Did they say how long we’re stuck here? I want to go home.”

Erin had naively thought she was ready for whatever this fight would potentially give or take away. The nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, were spent picturing the 1001 ways this could go wrong. As if armoring herself with any foreseen pain could make the actual thing more bearable. Didn’t work like that though. Emotions couldn’t be planned out ahead of time. She could suppress them, switch autopilot on when it was necessary to get the job done. She’d gotten good at that. The way Blanche was looking at her--or more aptly, not looking at her--seared a white hot guilt through her chest that rivaled the literal burn on her arm. A look she had thought she had prepared herself for--the anger, disappointment. Roland’s final words only added to the noise in her head. “He’s sorry?” She blurted out while the rest of his final words processed. “Why would-- For wh--” Her jaw slacked as her mind tried to catch up, to try and understand his reasonings. It never quite got there. The man had nothing to be sorry about. No good reason to hope for the best for her. She had gotten him killed and still, he was more kind to her than she ever deserved. Angry tears clawed at her throat, burned behind her eyes until her vision blurred. Oh god, she couldn’t break down right now. Not here. Not in front of Blanche. Wasn’t fair to put that on her on top of everything she’d already endured. “Thank you. For telling me,” she nodded earnestly when she finally pulled herself together.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me how you were doing,” she finally managed after Blanche asked the question. Something about HIPPA or whatever. She pulled her covers up a little higher, afraid if she moved too abrasively or made any sudden movements, the whole room would crumble in on itself. Home sounded good. She wanted to go home. Wanted to disappear into Nic’s arms for a little while. She ran a hand over her cheek, took a deep, sharp breath. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or get the nurse to?”

“That’s all he said. I’m sorry.” Granny said a medium’s gift was for the living just as much as the dead, but she couldn’t give the living answers that were not there. What was Roland sorry for? The fire? The way things went between them when he was alive? Blanche didn’t know, and she couldn’t give Erin the answer she wanted. Her job was to speak for the dead, not to put words in their mouth and lie, even if making something up seemed better now. Remembering Granny’s words kept Blanche stone faced as she stared at the wall, not responding to Erin’s gratitude. She didn’t want her thanks, she didn’t want any of this.

Her icy facade only broke when Erin asked if there was anyone she could call for her. A name caught in her throat before everything hit her at once. Everything was fucked. Erin’s home, Roland’s life, Rio, how quickly she gave way to the smoke and how tired she was. Why did this keep happening? If things were just normal she would be sitting here, her mother and father and brother at her side already. If things were normal, Blanche wouldn’t be here at all. She wouldn’t even be in the state. She’d be in Massachusetts, getting ready for her senior year of school if she could have just held on for a little bit longer. It was thoughts she had before, and Blanche knew that dwelling on them would do nothing for her now.

Tears had come out of her eyes before she could stop them, and Blanche crumbled in her bed, right in front of Erin, suddenly too viciously upset to be embarrassed. Her arm with the IV jerked. Blanche knew there was only one person in the entire world that could give her any comfort. “I want Granny,” Blanche said angrily, knowing just how impossible it was. “I want to go home.”

If Erin had known the question would set Blanche off into a torrent of tears, she would have kept her mouth shut. Concern spiked through whatever grief or guilt clouded her thoughts. Granny? The one Blanche had been mourning, who had crossed over not long ago? “Oh, Blanche…” she murmured softly. Words failed her the rest of the way and they died in the air.

Comfort usually came much easier than this but her own pain and exhaustion refused to let better words come. Instead, she shifted tenderly off the bed, wheeling the IV attached to her arm to Blanche’s bedside. “Blanche, I’m s--” she shook her head, sitting at the edge but close enough to rest her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Apologizing again felt hollow. She tried to meet her watery eyes, her sobs piercing her skin like knives. “Please. What can I do? Who can I call? Let me just--please let me help you,” she pleaded. Even if she could just sit there while she cried, to help her feel a little less alone right now, she’d take it. If she wanted to scream at her for putting her in this position, she’d take that too. Anything at all would be better than helplessly watching her fall apart.

She wanted so badly to rip the IV out of her arm and shove Erin away from her. What was she doing? What were either of them doing?! This was so stupid. This was all so stupid! Granny was gone, someone was dead, and they were almost burned alive. Blanche cringed away from Erin’s touch, wanting to rip her arm away from her. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Delivering messages while she sat in a shitty hospital bed, in pain, exhausted, and angrier than she had been in a long, long time. Hadn’t she accepted this when Granny moved on? Her mediumship was her duty and her responsibility, no matter the circumstances because so few could give a voice to the dead. Who else would have heard Roland? And Roland should be heard, his words and his wishes should be heard. But, Jesus Christ, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to sit here in this shitty hospital room and look Erin in the eyes after she just told Blanche to stay away from her? Why did she have to provide her that comfort? Granny would remind her to be kind and have compassion, but at that moment, Blanche had no kindness or compassion for Erin.

She shook her head, wiping her tears away in fury with the back of her trembling hand. “I want to go back to sleep.” Blanche snarled, finally wrenching her arm out of Erin’s grip. “I want to go home. I want Granny. I want Adrien. Nell. Rio. I just want - I want it all to stop! Can you make it stop Erin?” Blanche looked at Erin severely, unable to truly focus as the hot tears blurred her vision. Erin couldn’t make it stop, and that wasn’t her fault. She was grieving the loss of her home and that policeman she saw - the one who whispered to her before she died. This wasn’t fair to her either, but Blanche was done being fair. Her energy was spent, and she had nothing left to give. Maybe she would regret it later, but now? Blanche just shook her head, pulling the thin white blanket up and over her head as she curled back down into the thin mattress and shut her eyes tight. She could deal with Erin later. She could text someone later. She could deal with anything later as long as she didn’t have to deal with the weight of the world now.

There was nothing Erin wanted more in the world than to make it stop. Make this all stop. The death, the destruction, the fresh pain rippling through town at the hands of this monster. Monster. It wasn’t a word she used lightly anymore but there was no better descriptor for Roy Chambers. Roy and the easy smile he wore while he flippantly decided who lived and who died. Who had to bear the burden of the ash he left in his wake. Erin could take it. She would, whether she liked it or not. She’d signed up for this. Rio hadn’t. Blanche hadn’t. Roland sure as fuck hadn’t. Nothing Erin said or did right now was going to change or dull the pain that Blanche was feeling right now either. She wouldn’t take back her demand, either. This was exactly why she needed Blanche to stay away. Space was the only thing that would keep her safe. If that meant she’d hate Erin for the rest of her days, Erin could only be thankful she had those days to hate her with.

Still, the rejection that came when the blanket was pulled over Blanche’s head gutted her like a knife. She sat quietly at her bedside, hoping maybe she’d rip the blanket off and even scream at her if that was what Blanche needed. When it became clear not even that was going to happen, Erin padded slowly across the cold floor back to her side of the room. Grabbed the curtain that separated the both of them, sparing one last look to the rumpled bed. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here if you really need me. She didn’t say any of those things and knew it was probably better that way. The less she confused the young woman about her previous demand to stay away, the better. She’d done enough damage as it was for one night. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, Erin drew the curtain shut.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #ghosts that we knew #house fire tw #mentions #chatzy: blanche #:/#meri hurt me with this

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exodusmc · 4 years

Text

Outsider 06

Genre: Power au, war au, rebel au

Words: 1495

Paring: Light manipulator Baekhyun x Lieutenant Reader

Side character/s: Yixing

Warning!: Mentions of nightmares, drugs, medical equipment, needles, stop of puls, talk about death

a/n: Chanyeol’s solo is so beautiful and I really like that Vivi is in Sehun’s. :)

Gif is not mine

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The reflexion in the mirror looked tired, weak with bitten lips. Baekhyun stared at himself, not believing it was him. Was that really him? Looking so empty? It was and he shouldn't be surprised. Ever since he had been caught and put in the box had he not been forced to make sure he survived, no, he would just wake up and there would be something to eat, which meant he had time to think, remember all the suppressed nightmares swirling in his mind. A sigh pushed past his mouth, orbs slipping through the empty room. He was alone, like most of the time, and it hurt. Before could he at least pretend but that wasn't the case anymore, his differences always shoved in his face.

Getting out from the bathroom, Baekhyun tensed. Beside the guard were you standing, talking lowly. The door shut behind him and he felt dread pinch his skin, you gazed at him, speaking words which dried his mouth.

“Good morning Byun, I have to perform some tests which had been left out from your file.”

The light was dim, a lone chair standing in the middle, Baekhyun sitting on it. Tubes and machines were connected to him, pierced his skin. You stared through the glass, glaring at his vitals, making sure you didn't miss a thing. The black patch attached to his forehead read his brain waves, another right over his heart. A special form of drug had been given to him, a drug which let your organs keep working but taking away you, the power to move when you wanted. It didn't work for too long and if it was given in high doses could it kill.

“Put on the first scenario…”the hospital didn't have everything needed to perform all of the tests but you were unsure if you really wanted to do the worst ones.

His brain waves increased, signaling he started to see pictures from the needle in his neck, heartbeat going a little faster. What you knew was there only images of the republic sigil and ads beings shown but his reaction still fueled by fear. Someone wrote down his vitals, every move of the green line.

“Next one..”an exhale left you, eyes following his still body, but the line turned straight.”What is he shown?”

Darkness creep up Baekhyun's legs, clawed at flesh until it was everywhere. Thick and like oil, swallowing him whole. He felt like he was a child again, covering in his room, crying. Figures moved around, grabbed him, tore his skin. Air couldn't reach his lungs, shallow breaths racing through his body, but it wasn't enough. Panic crawled over his numb limbs, unable to move, to see.

“No no no NO!”suddenly was there no darkness or monsters, only light. It held him carefully, cradled his tear stained face. His lips were parted, chest slowly stopping the rushed intake of oxygen. He relaxed but kept the light close, let it be a part of him, making him less lonely.

Yixing watched you with surprised eyes. He had never seen anything like this happen before, a high ranking person struggling to help an unnatural. When Baekhyun’s mind had panicked, creating a light so bright it crushed the glass and machines, had you jumped to him. All the tubes were taken out from his trembling body, hands helping him down on the floor as you searched for a pulse and breathing. You hadn't felt it at first, even when his body jerked, so you performed cpar, hands burning from the sheer heat he was lingering in. It had been so bright, his light, bright like you had never seen before. And when a sigh left him, were you panting by his side. Baekhyun survived but didn't open his eyes. That’s when Yixing stepped in, taking the sleeping boy to one of his rooms, however, now could he be sure, sure that you would help him as the time came.

Why? Why did you jump through glass, ripping your arms open, just so you could help the unnatural? You shouldn't care but you had and it hurt your head. Bandages wrapped around your wounds, laying softly against the wood as you wrote, letters not as neatly as they should be. Byun was scared of the dark, so much so he almost became pure energy in the form of light. You had closed your eyes just in time to keep your sight. He had been on the brink of death, a few wires having tron his skin open.

“Case 04’s biggest weakness known as of now is darkness. It forced his body to turn into the most primitive way of protection, almost killing himself in the process…”he had lit up like a thousand stars, black hair burning gold together with his eyes. It scared you slightly, because it meant that the unnatural were extremely powerful, but at the same time was it dangerous for themselves.”...Case 04 were unable to continue tests after. Lieutenant Shin Y/n Juniela 23 year 4508, time 20:02.”

The pen landed against your desk, laid still as you stared. Ever sinces you got to this place with case 04, had your head hurt. You had seen things, felt things, done things, you shouldn't. It was like your reality was slowly crashing down, lies reaching up to your ears. Never had the scared eyes affected you but it changed, made you want to throw up when you were the monster in their eyes. The nightmares felt like memories and you couldn't think of the unnatural as bad. Red and black were what you wore but it meant nothing.

Outside your window was the world in peace, grass covering the ground, but there was so much more going on, you just couldn't see it like you used to, hidden so far away from it all. Rebels were coming close and they were after what you fought for, maybe even you, because even if you hadn't killed in months, didn't it mean you’ve never done it before. Crimson had splatted over your boots and they had gotten cleaned of, while whoever was unfortunate was forgotten, erased from this life. Killing was what you did, raised on fear and anger, but they were put on the wrong people. Innocent were no one, however, some were evil.

A sigh passed your lips, glass panes open so wind could stroke against you cheek. You eyed the forest, wondering of the world’s secrets and what it was like living in the past. All of earth couldn't be dying, there had to be a place which was blooming, full of life like it was back then. There had to be a place where you weren't a killer.

Baekhyun groaned, mind groggy and body sore. The last thing he remembered were needles, so many needles poking his skin. But then there was darkness, and his throat clogged up. Sitting up rapidly, Baekhyun felt his head spin, whatever he had in his stomach coming rushing up. Someone held out a bucket were the content of his stomach could fill, coughs rising up through his lungs as he tried to breathe. Baekhyun saw his hand through the unshed tears in his eyes and felt more panic hit him. A needle with a clear tube was connected to him, just like before. Muffled cries left him, fingers trying to rip the tube out.

“No no, Baekhyun.. relax..”Yixing held back Baekhyun’s hand, forcing him to keep his breath until it steadied and he slumped back down on the white sheets.”..It’s okay..It only an IV bag with saline..for your dehydration..”

Cloudy orbs moved around the room, lips dry. Yixing exhaled, staring at the white bandages Baekhyun wore, swallowing when the boy leaned back.

“It’s okay now, I promise..”the doctor started writing and Baekhyun couldn't stop feeling like when he was lock on the chair, but his arms were free, he could move.”..You’re alive because of Lieutenant Y/n and that is great news, it means our chances of getting out of here increase ten fold.”

Yixing spoke but Baekhyun couldn't get over the first part of his statement. You saved him? Why? You were the one who put him in that situation in the first place, so why save him? Did you know something?

“Sleep some more..”Dr Zhang's voice broke the spirleiling of Baekhyun’s thoughts, coaxing his heavy eyelids to fall down, but he couldn't stop thinking about you, what your motivation was, where you had your heart..if you had a heart. He almost felt scared of the thought of you having no heart to strear you. In some ways were you like him, alone and not like anyone else. His eyelashes fluttered as new thought danced across his mind, made him see your empty eyes filled with something else. Maybe you were even more of an outsider than he was.

Tags: @shesdreaminginoverdose

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creative-type · 5 years

Text

Guess who wrote about Chopper keeping Zoro alive after Thriller Bark...again

Title: The Good Fight Rating: G Word Count: 2230 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204785

Sixteen hours of surgery. Ten pints of blood. Countless stitches and the devil’s own luck. That’s what it took to keep Zoro alive after the battle of Thriller Bark.

Chopper laid his head down against Zoro’s bed, listening with a clinician's ear to the beep of the heart monitor, the steady drip of the IV, the rasp of each shallow breath. If he strained hard enough he thought he could hear the rapid, thready beat of Zoro’s heart, but he knew it was his imagination. He’d stabilized his patient, somehow. Brought his heart back into rhythm and sewed his eviscerated organs back into place. Zoro’s veins and arteries, the connective tubing that pumped his lifeblood from head to toe, were now attached to their proper ports instead of leaking immense volumes of fluid everywhere except where it was supposed to go.

If Chopper had the energy he would have cried. Instead he took a shuddering breath through a face full of linens and tried to keep his hooves from shaking.

Zoro claimed god didn’t exist, but Chopper had fought Death itself too many times not to believe in some higher power. He hadn’t lost... yet. But there had been too many close calls lately for him to believe things would get better anytime soon. Chopper was afraid to even think it, but this latest battle had been a near thing, with Zoro’s life in the balance.

Too near.

He didn’t mean to doze off sitting like that, leaning over his patient like some kind of watchdog, but he must have because when there was a soft rap of knuckles against his infirmary door Chopper jerked violently awake. The sudden motion was enough to tip his chair over backward, and it was all Chopper could do to avoid cracking his head against the ground. The last thing anyone needed now was to give himself a concussion.

“Hey, Chopper, are you okay?”

Usopp popped his head in the doorway, then rushed in when he saw Chopper laying in a dazed heap on the floor. He helped him to his feet and righted the chair, then brushed off the front of Chopper’s shirt like an older brother who wanted to help but didn’t really know how. Once assured that Chopper wasn’t harmed turned his attention to Zoro.

“Is he…?”

Usopp left the question unfinished. There was still an ashen, unhealthy pallor to Zoro’s normally bronzed skin, the barest hint of blue at his lips visible beneath the oxygen mask. But his respirations were steady and his blood pressure stable, and that was more than Chopper could have said sixteen hours ago.

“Everything has gone as good as I could have hoped for. Better, even,” Chopper said.

“That’s great!” Usopp exclaimed. He wrapped Chopper in a tight hug and danced around in a wild circle. Even after being set back on the ground, it took Chopper longer than it should have for the room to stop spinning.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Usopp asked earnestly. “Everyone’s just starting to wake up, I think Sanji’s putting together a party. You should come out and eat something.”

Chopper shook his head. “I can’t. I need to know right away If he starts bleeding again, and with all the transfusions I need to be careful not to put him into fluid overload. Plus with all those open wounds there’s a huge risk for infection, and...and…”

He meant to say more. He needed to say more, for Usopp to understand that while Zoro was better, he was by no means well . But the harder he tried the more his tongue tied into knots. Chopper knew he wasn’t making any sense, which frustrated him even more , the emotion of it all building up within him with no valve for release.

Chopper let himself plop onto the floor before he exploded, sniffing piteously as his vision went unexpectedly fuzzy. Usopp blinked, body going lax as his usual bravado rushed out of him like Luffy after a gum-gum balloon.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Usopp knelt down and patted Chopper awkwardly on the back. “You did good. Maybe you need to take a nap or something.”

He faltered, his eyes going wide as saucers. “Wait, you’ve been up all this time? We were awake all night chasing zombies, and then that weird bear guy came and blew everything all to hell, and we found Zoro, and ohmygod you’ve been awake since before yesterday .”

“Zoro needed me,” Chopper said simply. “He still needs me.”

As if agreeing, Zoro groaned in his sleep, making a feeble attempt to scratch at the drain that kept his right lung from collapsing on itself under the weight of the blood and fluid in his pleural cavity. Chopper hurried over to sedate him, mentally running through the dosing calculations and praying that he wouldn’t drop his already-precarious blood pressure off of a cliff.

When Zoro was once again resting comfortably Chopper returned to his chair to document, jumping a little when he saw Usopp staring dumbfounded out of the corner of his eye. He’d forgotten anyone else was in the room.

“Y’know, I bet one of Lola’s crew is a doctor,” Usopp said. “Maybe I could go ask--”

“Zoro is my responsibility!” Chopper said shrilly. “I can’t trust Zoro with some random doctor I’ve never met! If something happens I need to be here, because if I’m not I...I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I mean, I guess,” Usopp said, defeated. “But Zoro wouldn’t want you to run yourself ragged, either. What if you’re too tired and make a mistake?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Chopper said stubbornly, even as statistics of the effects of sleep deprivation rolled through his mind unbidden.

“I won’t lose him,” Chopper said, more quietly. Except the won’t came out sounding a whole lot more like can’t , and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It made the fur on his face feel funny, and Chopper concentrated on that instead of the pitying expression on Usopp’s face.

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t, not without being a doctor. Chopper’s fight started when Zoro’s stopped, and it was up to him to make sure that his efforts, whatever they were, hadn’t been in vain.

A normal person would have died taking half of the punishment Zoro had. Even a fourth would have been crippeling. Yet Zoro stood tall, so much blood slicking his skin that it was a wonder he had any left inside. Usopp couldn’t know the look Zoro had given him right before falling unconscious, the faint smile of relief as he realized it was finally okay to let go, because his doctor was there to keep fighting the battle he had no right winning.

“Chopper?” Usopp asked, startling him back to his senses. There was something in his expression, hesitant and a little frightened, that made Chopper think it hadn’t been the first time he called his name.

“Hmn?”

“You did your part. Now let us do ours.”

The thing about Usopp was that he wasn’t afraid to play dirty, and when it was clear that Chopper had no intentions of listening to him, he went and found Robin.

Not that she looked much better than Chopper felt. Having her shadow forcibly stolen from her had taken its toll, and of all the Straw Hats she was the one he trusted to assist with surgery when he was unable to manage on his own. She had stayed until Chopper was reasonably sure Zoro would pull through, but only after making Chopper promise to call if he needed assistance once more.

But Chopper hadn’t needed assistance, at least not as much as Robin needed rest, so he had plowed on, breaking through his second, third, forth wall of fatigue through caffeine tablets and sheer force of will.

“Your hands are shaking,” Robin observed. She had a bottle of water with her that she handed to Chopper, fixing him with a look until he sheepishly took a drink. Chopper could see Usopp’s shadow in the doorway of the infirmary, whispering fiercely to Sanji and Nami.

Robin noticed his gaze and shut the door before kneeling down to his level. “I know it can be...difficult, at times, to ask for help. But we all have limits, and you have long-past yours.”

She pressed a hard candy into his hooves. “Sanji will be in shortly with a proper meal, but this should hold you over till then.”

“But if something happens--”

“I will wake you,” Robin said. “Nami is getting your bedding now, so you can rest here with Zoro. You don’t have to leave him if you don’t want to.”

All the air left Chopper in a rush. “Oh.” He unwrapped the candy and let it melt on his tongue, even that small amount of sugar boosting his dangerously low levels. When was the last time he had eaten?

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You are exhausted,” Robin said matter-of-factly. Then, with a note of reproach in her tone, “You cannot treat anyone if you do not take care of yourself.”

Before Chopper could argue there was a knock at the door. Sanji swept in, and foregoing his usual praise set a tray down at Chopper’s feet. There was a steaming bowl of cinnamon and sugar rice, milk, more water, and a cookie. Out of deference to Chopper’s patient, the cigarette that hung from his lips was unlit.

“Those shithole zombies took our food supply, and I haven’t had much luck raiding theirs,” Sanji said apologetically. “Looks like most went to feeding that great shithead Oars.”

Chopper nodded. Luffy’s appetite was bad enough on its own, but in the body of a giant it was nearly insatiable. “Thank you.”

The smell alone made Chopper’s mouth water, and he ate with mechanical efficiency, scarcely tasting the food before shoving the next spoonful into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, and the rice settled like a lead block in the pit of his stomach. His limbs felt heavy as he drank the rest of the water and his eyes burned with lack of sleep.

While he ate Nami came in with a pillow and blanket, but Chopper ignored it in favor of curling up in Robin’s lap. “Lemme know if his heart rate goes up and his blood pressure down, or if he wakes up, or if...if…”

“Hush, now,” Robin said, placing a calming hand against his back. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard someone start to sing, but he couldn’t place the voice.

It sounded nice, Chopper thought, and he hoped he’d get to hear it again when he woke up.

Chopper woke up entangled in a pile of limbs and blankets. He blinked against the light of the infirmary, realizing somewhat befuddledly that his hat was not sitting on his head. His eyes were sleep-crusted and his throat was dry and he kinda had to go to the bathroom, but Chopper did not move. For some reason, he didn’t want to.

The smell of blood hit first and hardest. Somehow Chopper squirmed enough to get himself turned around and looking directly up at the bed were Zoro currently lay.

And if he was looking up that meant he had to be laying down . It took another long moment for his brain to reboot itself back to waking, and only then did Chopper realize he was on the floor and surrounded by Straw Hats. His head still lay in Robin’s lap while she herself was sitting up against the wall of the infirmary, and it was Nami’s arm that was currently wrapped around his torso. Sanji lay curled up on top of the blanket haphazardly thrown across Chopper’s legs, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Usopp and Luffy (when had he come in?) were on the other side of Robin, sprawled and taking every last bit of space, while Franky sat in Chopper’s tiny chair with his head rested against his massive forearms.

They were all here. They were all alive. Chopper took a deep breath, feeling it catch in the back of his throat.

Music came in through the doorway, a smooth caress to Chopper’s soul.

Maybe Luffy was right, and they’d gone too long without a musician. Hopefully he would find one soon, Chopper would like to study the therapeutic effects of music on the crew…

He drifted back into a deep and dreamless slumber.

The Straw Hats threw a party, as they always did after their biggest and hardest battles. Chopper still didn’t trust Zoro to leave him alone, and Luffy wouldn’t allow Chopper to miss out on the fun, so they arrived at the festivities together. Patient and doctor. Big and little brother. Crewmates.

Friends.

Chopper won this round, but deep down he was still afraid. Afraid that each success would encourage Zoro to greater recklessness, afraid that someday he’d go a step too far and Chopper wouldn’t be able to bring him back. Afraid that he wouldn’t make it in time.

But that was the thing about the Straw Hat Pirates, they trusted one another. Just like Chopper believed there was no one Zoro could not defeat, Zoro believed there was no injury he could not fix. That’s what it meant to be the greatest doctor in the world.

Chopper could only hope that he was right.

From across the room Brook began to play a round of Bink’s Sake. Beside him, Chopper’s small hoof nestled into his hand, Zoro smiled in his sleep.

#one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #tony tony chopper #straw hat pirates #creative-type writes

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